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I had my appointment on a Wednesday. Morning. Up with the sun. I’m on a wavelength. There’s a difference. An energy swirls around inside me like rings of fire in an upward spiral. How do I tell you I’m anxious in my hips and I feel so restless that words are my only comfort. You want to accuse me. My life is mine, work around it and help me will you? I don’t remember how I got so depressed. I’m not sure I ever felt like this. I have memories now that I keep close to my heart, not ready to let go of yet. They’re points in time. They’re points on a line. The points of my life. It all make sense and somehow it feels like you don’t get it. Do you not believe in de ja vu? That one day, I swear it was funny. I dropped the Star card and the Hermit. I said I’m GOING to be famous. Then I told you ser estar. I said be, friend, just be. He sent me to the psychiatric unit instead. That being said- I prefer women. Understanding and compassionate. Never being told it’s all in my head. You know, when I was in there, I had a good time? I had powerful strong beautiful women who had my back and supported my art. I sent them a card. Especially for mother who took care of my friend. “I dropped my @ in the psych ward” and that’s the funniest line I got so thank you.

Why is there so much fear? I won’t even lie I like to think about dying. I imagine the freedom of not being tamed and controlled by a body that feels so broken and yet has so much potential, energy. I’m not afraid to be vulnerable anymore. I once thought I looked stupid or was annoying. I know now it’s needed. The Truth, honesty. My core values. Imagine keeping it all pent up inside. Imagine all the people I could help if my words were seen by an audience? I don’t know how to feel about the medicine I’m on. I’m going to see a functional doctor. I follow My Path that leads me to the Next and the Next all in Divine Order. What’s wrong with me? Nothing. I’m just sad sometimes I guess. A perfectly normal feeling given the context. I’m at home. I live with my parents. Honestly, honestly, honestly that’s all that really needs to be said because I so very much obviously crave autonomy but my body keeps getting in the way. My manifestations feel like they’re delayed. I’m writing, though. It makes me feel like I’m doing something right for my future. I feel like the Artist, I am. That time you think was a mistake let me feel that my dreams are real and I reached out to them directly. I won’t say who. People in my heart and my head. A sentence never said out loud except only to my best friend and sometimes my mom, she worries, he gets it. We’re friends. We’re more than an acquaintance. They meet and greet my imagination. I don’t have to pay to be in your presence except work hard to make sure we’re all okay. I must be strong. There were the days where I had my feet planted in goddess asana with fists at my side and a voice inside me that said do not move until you are done and I listened and it scared and it scares you it’ll happen again and and and that’s just my life. A broken body, visitors, followers, friends in my head. I hate my life sometimes because I am living in two worlds. One where my future is so bright I see it in my mind, I feel it in my teeth that chatter in the night when I cry because I miss what’s, who’s.. right next to me. I ask what if because I feel like my friends are still debating. What if we already know each other from another life? I say. What if I know you? I ponder, you sway. What if we’re connected like the way I can hear literal people in my life through their voice in my ear? It’s a good point. I am a channeler. I am a Writer. I am the Poetry Dept. “You better expect it / The intention in my voice / I’m making the choice to be better.” I wrote in my college days when I broke open the dam in a poetry class.

So, all that to say, stop being scared. I say this with anxiety in my hips and restless legs and cringing about the past even though I’m doing right by myself- the fear from my mother’s best interest is lying to me- scolding, scorned, for a mouth open.

My brain speaks in poems. I am THE Poet. My life is poetry. I am the Creation of the Poetry Dept. #dummygummi is what I had to do to push past the energy. I know you don’t understand what that means. It’s all perfect. Even with this mass of inflammation that lights up my cheeks when it’s swollen- I am reversing the subject. I am no object. I have agency for my future and I get anxiety because it feels unreal still. A blacked out future despite the exact vision in my head is where I am. I go there. I hang out in my loft in a city I love. My favorite. I have pets with names. I have money and life is nothing but a game to me. I get sad because I get sad because I’m living in the world where I have everything I want. Then I open my eyes and see just a room. I know it’s a foreshadowing – to be surrounded by everything inspiring. I’m residing in a house I hate. In a city I despise. It all exists as reminders of the past. Overcome the environment is my only focus -Dr. Joe Dispenza.

I go on with complaints… I don’t even know if I want to. be a boy. be a man. be a GirlBoyGirlBoyGirl I am. I’m cosplaying in gender. A GirlBoy in both clothes at one time. I wonder I’m wondering I keep wondering if I, Divine Timing, the doctor I would need I have now, on deck, if I if I if Me Kelly Alexa Steele Max Mister Steele should add hormones into my body and make me more masculine. What would it do? What should I do? Should I ask my psychiatrist today because I think by law I need approval that I’m sane. Hard to say if they’ll think that of me or not. It’s sad. I’m sad. I can’t believe unfathomable I don’t know you yet while you know everything about me. I feel selfish for it. I want you to share. I don’t know if you want to or it’s just too hard in the sphere that we’re, you’re in right now. You are sped up. I am not in mania anymore. It’s called energy. I will not I WILL NOT let you do that to me again- take my choice away from me again- she is Choice that I respect.

I went off on a tangent.

The stuff is always going- the feelings are swirling like flames lit up in my head- the smoke is drenching my feelings to get out of bed. I can’t say it. I can’t tell you. All I can say is that I’ve been sad this month. Maybe you have a drug that gets me out of bed- I want it to trigger in me Inspiration, motivation to go forward toward my dreams – I have I have so many plans. For now the words are doing it. I see that now. Medicine. Medicines. I’m allowed. I’m allowed. It’s none of your business. I’m a patient. I am feeling really impatient because I am too excited to live my dream life – I let you dress me up today in suns and moons and stars and blue and pearls and my schoolgirl skirt that makes me feel like I’m an anime character. So does my hair. I’m not crazy for being blue. For being blue in and on my head. Why must I convince you? I thought it was rude of you to say that to me.

It was triggering. I felt like you thought I was stupid. I felt undermined by a man. I said No. I said woah. I said take a couple steps back, my brother died from that behavior. I’m not an idiot. It was rude. It was intrusive. I can redefine how I see it now. I, actually, don’t see how. I’m not fucking stupid and you know what if I did do what you said, I would’ve been honest, but I didn’t. I don’t know why I take it so personally. I think I have a thing about being undermined by men, I imagine every woman does, gets angry, when hearing it. Do you know what that feels like? For someone to call you stupid to your face? When- I blame you for lowering my meds too fast and putting me in this position. I genuinely think it’s your fault. I know I could have communicated but compassion is not in your lexicon- not in the way it is for her. It’s nice to feel seen by women. It’s nice to be talked to. Talked with. I’m going to this appointment, psyilly, ha ha ha who cares as long as my heart rate is in check there’s no way you’ll notice. I’m only saying, mostly, because it rhymed. I don’t care who you think I am. I am contesting the vibration with my words. I’m being honest to you through a screen and I know she is watching. I can feel her feeling me. I allow the truth to be heard because I am a person and I deserve to be seen.

my sister. yin yang. do you know how much grief I have had to be with? A cat died under my palms. I know it’s not my fault. I’m a channeler, though, you see. I talk to Casper as a ghost. Not a dream but reality. Don’t you dare- tell me it’s all in my head- I actually am so scared you would say I’m schizophrenic- then watch me spin out.. I’ll need you then.

We. have dreams. Dreams. Reality. It’s not just in our head. It’s not just a website. We’re living it with inspiration that comes in sprints. There’s nothing wrong with taking a moment away from it.

I’m writing now and I’d take a break if I knew how. I’m ahead in school. It’s almost time to focus again- on school. I want my own my own my OWN apartment. Why can’t I have it? It’s perfect and it makes sense. Why would anyone get mad? Find a job, make money, in that city and I would be able to decorate the place so pretty and have my own craft room- I’ve been dying to see it. I’ve been begging for space. I like my space. It’s safe. It’s blacked in with a No. Give me Grace. What are you so hellbent on seeing in me? I take it as a sign of the way I’m feeling about myself, about my life. I feel nowhere and everything that I could be and am. The Poet. The Poetry Dept. #dummygummi

a bitch 

went 

dummy gummi 

/ 

I said 

I don’t quit 

I’m resilient 

gingko 

…

sometimes all it takes is a moment 

in time 

when once was forgotten 

that I didn’t happen

I happened Upon 

a Once. 

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I Create My Own Story in fonts of my favorite. Lora. 14. Purple. Unseen Unseen unseen. It hurts me so bad to not be heard. It keeps coming up so I must write it down. Wild fire. A candle. A wick that burns. Two candle sticks tied together with black string- please don’t DON’T make me be a part of your life anymore. I am grateful for the support.

Not in my vocabulary. I’ll forgive you. I will not forget. I will not fix you. It’s not my problem and that’s my boundary. Go live the life you want to see. One where there’s little little less (none) of me.

I talk to everyone on my screen. I move vibrations like the ocean tides pull in like breathing. Writing, I’m exhaling my thoughts on paper. I write like I breathe. I write so I can breathe. I write so I can see clearly, so I can feel clearly in my head and my body.

Words are a spell and I miss witchcraft