Snow.

I love snow. Really. I know a lot of people really hate this time of year because it gets cold and snowy, but I think it's really beautiful. Everything is crisp and clean looking.

There is something about it, though, that I don't like. I'm trapped in my own apartment. There is just so much of the white stuff on the ground that going out into it is a chore. Unless there is something I absolutely have to do, it generally isn't worth bundling up and going outside.

This creates a problem.

For anyone who has mental illness, you will probably agree with me that this time of year can be hard for a person's symptoms. Less sunlight and all. Isolation and lack of outdoor exercise only exacerbates the issues. This is where I am right now. I am feeling irritated by everything. The way I feel when I'm sitting, the way I feel when I'm laying down, the lack of places I can move to in the apartment, how much my dog wants to play (especially because there are few places for her to go as well). I can feel all of it closing in on me and, unless springtime magically falls from the sky tomorrow and melts the bridge-less moat that is wintertime, it is probably only going to continue this way for the next few months.

Sand

Why am I doing this?

Slow torture.

Lost in a desert

licking a moistened rock.

Sandpaper tongue.

Scrape

Scrape

Scrape

Thirsty for even a drop.

Standing Under the Stars.

I imagine myself, standing in a wide open field. The air is full of the scent of wild flowers, soft perfume in the night. Above me the sky is powdered with stars, watched over by the moon.

I open my arms to it all, staring with wonder at how beautiful the world can be, head bent back to the heavens.

Then I close my eyes and pray again.

I am grateful that all of my needs are met, except one. Though I should be content, my heartaches with the loneliness.

I pray that they are gentle. I pray that they are kind. I pray that their hands are warm adventurers and find me an ever fascinating world to explore. I pray that they are intelligent in different ways than I. I pray that they are giving. I pray that when they hold me, the world falls away, except for their heart beat and the scent of their skin. I pray that they find me exciting and beautiful. I pray that they want to wake to me every morning and fall asleep in my arms every night. I pray that they cannot imagine a world without me. I pray that they love me.

Most of all, I pray that they are brave enough to take the jump with me. To know that I would spend every day making them happy. To weather the bruises, for the rewards will be oh so sweet.

And there I wait. Under the stars. With the moon. In the night air. Praying.

Moments Like Roses

Even when the world feels frighteningly savage

There are such petal soft moments

Honey soaked words

That fill the air with shades of warm pinks

Sunny and golden yellows

Passionate bursts of reds

Words that fill the void

Pushing out the darkness and tears

And leaving behind beauty

Glowing like the dawn

Like blossoms blooming

Heartache

When there is hope and happiness

Words fill my mouth like stars

Sparkling and glowing

When the ugliness comes

Bringing heartache and despair

The stars turn into stones

Weighing down my tongue

Filling my mouth and throat

So that I cannot breathe

And they threaten to stay there

Company to the ache in my chest

My heart, my heart

That Doll

I have been

a broken doll of bisque.

Lines cracking across

her pretty, delicate features.

A road map of where she has been

and who has touched her

I have been that doll.

Played with,

then dropped

and put away.

She is hollow inside,

that doll I’ve been.

Nothing behind

those shiny, sparkling, hazel eyes.

Her chest void of a heart,

which was stolen and replaced with fluff.

I have been the doll

who once was a girl,

and would be again,

but was only a doll.

The In-between Place.

I can't describe
the feeling I carry around inside
Not quite depression
Not quite pain
It makes even well days
grey and sinister
It is the in-between feeling
The feeling that getting by
is not good enough
Will never be good enough
Like a bubble in my chest
that just won't pop
A bubble made of fog
and dust
and weight