Searching for the Sun

 

Joy found herself in a slump but, not in the usual way.
Everyone has their down days, and this isn’t something she’s alien to.
This time it was different.
It wasn’t the usual sad cry over a puppy or worrying about something blown out of proportion. For those situations Joy is prepared. She has her happy playlist of songs. She has saved videos on YouTube that inspire her. She has her creativity as an outlet. She has people to share with and support. Joy is completely aware of all these things.
Yet, this time it was different for Joy.
It was different because she didn’t want to listen to the songs or watch the videos or talk to anyone. She wanted to remain sad, which scared her.
She did the opposite of what she usually does. She listened to sad music and watched sad videos, stopped engaging online and faded out of her social groups.
She doesn’t know why.
I don’t know why.
I don’t know what has caused the different hormones and stress levels and chemicals to react the way they have to create someone I don’t recognise.
I’m scared that I’ll remain this way.
But I’m even more scared that I’ll want to remain this way.
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Title Needed

What will make words
Run and jump from my brain
Into a story
That is unique and insane
Ending with a shocking twist
Remaining forever in the minds
Something that lingers or will be missed

But words don’t work that way
Locked out of my creative mind
On a day my brain
Can’t think about anything else but
K

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A Different Type of Sad

It’s a weird feeling to be alone
After 7 days with a thousand friends
And 6 nights with seven sisters
The present silence is not there because a curfew is enforced
To a room with people who have so much to say to each other
The silence is now there because no one else is
It’s strange to think I’d switch my “luxury” double bed
For a single bottom bunk
In a room filled with spiders and bugs
Smelling like pot noodle and perfume
With clothes and things sprawled out everywhere like an obstacle course
But without any doubt I’d trade everything
If it would bring me back to the stars
Where I found a type of comfort I’ve never experienced
Rather than being here
Aimlessly looking at the stick on stars that dull in time
My soul was opened and shared in the place where it felt most at ease
To new people I felt vunerable with
I felt a different type of sad this year
There were no explosive tears or desperate promises like the times before
It was just a week full of raw, exposed emotion
Where no one wanted for anything
But everyone still gave all they had
It’s the type of sad I don’t want to be poetic about
It means too much to me

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Eye Spy

Sometimes I look into my own eyes
Wondering what someone else sees
Eyes are said to be a gateway to the soul
But demons can hide there too
A blink causes a different emotion

No one else knows the difference to my fake smile
My eyes are the only ones I can’t fool
Even if you tried to try
Your eyes know what losing the last glimmer of hope looks like
They can spot sadness over tiredness
They know the difference

Show me something new they say
As they’ve already seen everything
From the bright white wall when you first open your eyes
To the darkness that engulfs you when you close for the last time
Everything in between is just a grey blur

Sometimes I look into my own eyes
Just to try and find my story

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I am not a character in one of your books

I am not a character in one of your books
My thoughts cannot be written down for you to control
You cannot lose interest
Or just pick up from where you left off
Stop trying to manipulate the story
Without considering all sides
Do not dehumanise me
I have no vengeful past you can blame
I have no definite future you can create
My hard stare appearance does not reflect me at all
I am not the character you built me up to be
There is no control over me like control over a character
Made up and already planned out
Stop shortening my dialogue to make room from your thoughts
Do not reflect or pin point things I have said
While justifying your own mistakes
Just because you remember more of my story line
Stop trying to jump ahead to the ending
To peak to see if you were victorious
The real world doesn’t work that way
I am not a character in one of your books

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More Love. Less Hate.

My brain is trying to process
How
How the world has so much cruelty
Fuelled by humans
Connected to each other
Who perceive life so differently
Without looking at each other
Without knowing each other
A life can be gone
Because someone wanted to take it
For no good reason
There will never be a good enough reason
I’m heartbroken
For families I have not met
Who have to suffer a pain I hope to never feel
Despite my lack of direct connection
I’m still grieving
For the girl who filled my ears with beautiful music, the people who just wanted to dance and an innocent child
So much potential and promise for a better world crushed by cruel minds
To be helpless is a horrible feeling
And I just feel horrible

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Focus. Forward. Freedom.

There hasn’t been a time I felt like I wasn’t in a race.
Not winning, or losing. Just… running. But the difference is there is no finish line, like there is in a race. My mind is just focused on moving, advancing, and trying to get further and further and further and… well I don’t know what comes after that.
It’s not like I never felt “enough”. Rather, “old enough”. Age has always been something I felt restricted me. I’ve never been “old enough” to myself. My mind refuses to accept it can’t control something like age. I’ve never been satisfied with my age correlating to the stage of my life I’m in.

The usual response to this is “slow down”, but to be slow isn’t a familiar feeling to me.
The average age a child walks at is anywhere from nine to twelve months. My first steps were taken around my seven month mark. It wasn’t to explore, it was to keep up with my three years older sister. This was adapted to be the mantra of my life “keeping up”. Whether it was my sister, cousins or family friends, my head always told me I had to “keep up” to be tolerated around these people who were miles ahead of me because their age was miles ahead of me. This made me want to finish school earlier to go to college earlier to leave earlier to follow what everyone else does while trying to be on the same level as them.

One thing I never calculated into my mantra was that there was more than one route on my running track once I left school. I kept running to keep up, but this has left me with no idea which direction to keep running on. I’ve never had to stop and think because there was always a planned safe route I knew I would have to take eventually, completely self-imposed. There was always a system I was good at getting through quickly to get to the next phase I could get through quickly to move on to the next phase.

Suddenly there was a “then what?”, which no one could answer for me. The race hasn’t ended. The race won’t end. The race will never end because there’s always an option to run in, but it’s by my own choice rather than following someone this round. Being told I’m “too young” is a phrase I hear often, and often pride myself upon when looking at what I just ran from. Despite thinking to myself that my mind is “too old” to still be in the place I was currently in.

Another repeated occurrence in my life is getting told off for “wishing away my youth”, and trust me…. I have heard every variation of this argument possible. Please don’t start telling me you wish you could go back to binge drinking, youthful looking skin, no responsibilities, no headache the morning after drinking memories away. I want stability in my life and feel needed enough to stay somewhere to grow attached too. It’s impossible for me to not think of tomorrow. Tomorrow has always been my way forward, and always the place I wanted to be

The envy I felt towards my sister, my cousins and their friends was always their age and that I was always following. To experience life with them was what I craved rather than just trailing behind them trying to keep up to be considered mature enough to be kept around while I watched them be in the phase of their lives I wanted to be in. I’m not wishing my youth away, rather the stigma of my age. The feeling of an arrow above my head pointing at the girl who feels like a woman looms over me pointing out how I don’t belong.

Now that everyone around me is slowing down and I’m slowly catching up I don’t really know how to react. Excited, yes. But extremely scared of suddenly having no one ahead of me to tell me which is the safest route to choose. Possibly even more scared that I still won’t be “enough”.
Mature enough. Experienced enough. Educated enough.
When everyone else is slowing down, I’m still maintaining the pace I’ve kept since I was seven months old. It’s all I have ever known, and I don’t know if I’ll ever reach a finish line where I can collapse with achievement, satisfaction and exhaustion.

Nineteen years waiting for the day that I’m not “too young” anymore.

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The Countdown 

One more day done
Two meals to satisfy starvation
Three cups of green tea
Four litres of water
Five miles everyday
Six fruit blended
Seven seconds to stop temptation
Eight hours sleep
Nine times typing in my calories
Ten to lose
Nine times refusing a snack
Eight more hours to get through
Seven extra mistaken calories
Six sips between each bite
Five pills not prescribed
Four mistakes washed away
Three fingers down the throat
Two times caught
One more day done

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Goodnight Jupiter

Goodnight Jupiter
The last light I see at night
Before I close my eyes
To go to places my mind creates

Goodnight Jupiter
From the comfort of my bed
Viewing more stick on stars than real ones
But always seeing you

Goodnight Jupiter
It’s your time of choice again
To make yourself visible to us
A privilege we probably don’t deserve

Goodnight Jupiter
Constantly present in the clear air
Even after a long day
Your brightness is never dulled

Goodnight Jupiter
I hope we meet again

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Forgotten Moments

I’m back in the village I grew up in and I never thought of it as small as it actually is. I ran into someone I went to school with for seven years, and haven’t seen for another seven years. It amazed me that he grew up just as much as I did. In fact, I didn’t even recognise him… I recognised his dog! We had awkward eye contact, then he acknowledged he knew me. It took me a second to realise that this was someone I had memories with in my childhood, and I thought of him as a stranger to me now. We reminisced a bit and he told me a story he remembered of me at his eight birthday, which I completely forgot about. It got me thinking of moments and memories.

There’s some moments which are remarkably special. There’s others that even thinking of you want to crawl into a hole even thinking about. Either way you cannot change them, even if you wanted to. However, I sometimes wonder if I’m remembered in other peoples moments. Something that changed their world, that I had the honour to be apart of. But times change and people drift and I wonder do I get written out of the memory or am I apart of the memory? Just another fact to the story. I’m awful at letting go of people who I’ve connected with, but I know…well I’ve learned it doesn’t always work that way for other people. Sometimes I think about what I could do to fix all these relationships, but that’s just as painful as living through it all again.

If I was able to forget a moment in someones eight birthday, what memories have I been holding on to where the other person included has completely forgot? So I began to think of moments and the relationships I have with the people I shared these moments with.

I was there when my friend heard his first niece was born.
We saw each other once last year.

I was there when my friend got her first dog.
We like each others instagram photos.

I was there when my friend got the college she had worked hard for.
We drifted apart and neither of us tried to fix it.

I was there when my friends dad got a job offer after months of trying.
We haven’t spoken in four years.

I was there when my friend was asked to step in for a lead role on stage.
We pretend like we’re as close as we once were when we see each other on nights out.

I was there when my friends brother arrived home drunk for the first time.
We talk about it as if it’s our only memory together.

I was there when my friends dad walked out.
We exchange awkward glances when I’m home at holidays.

I was there when my friend got bad news about her granny.
We text each other a vague happy birthday to each other each year.

I was there when my friend failed her most important exam.
We act like it never happened.

I was there when my friend broke down about his parents.
We avoid each other on nights out.

I was there.
I was there for these important moments that touched my heart and I hardly speak to the people whose life I experienced for a brief moment. It makes me incredibly sad that absolutely nothing is stopping me from reaching out to these people, except for the fact I know they won’t reach back.

So I wonder.
I wonder if I’m a apart of these moments. Or if I’m purposely unwritten in the memory. I wonder if I’m a fact to the story. I wonder if I’m blocked out. I wonder if these memories are even thought of like I think about them. I wonder if they meant nothing. I wonder if I meant nothing.
I wonder.

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