So I wondered how far I'd get until I addressed the fact I am not okay.
I am not okay with the fact I hate the way my hair falls and the way I lean into the mirror hoping something might jump out. I am not okay with the fact I'm not perfectly defined, the fact my waist doesn't sinch in to meet my ribs and my legs aren't as slim as toothpicks. I am not okay with the fact my mind expands to leave room for the bugs in my head. I am not okay with the images I create. The clenching of my teeth leaves me in desperation of pushing them far enough they carve through my gums. If the pain wouldn't be so intense I picture what it'd be like to snap all my fingers backwards, and pluck all the strands from my head. I hate my hair. I hate it with every inch of my soul. I hate that my smile is a coping mechanism. I believe in everything but what the world gives me. For Instance, I don't agree with the way the world falls: money has become no object but a number, to study is to define, to love is to hurt, to kill is to make. Creation is silenced if not by those in power and diversity is now considered war. I am not okay with how restricted my thoughts are. I am not okay with being unexplainable. I don't pay attention to the world ending. I am not okay with how alone I feel. I am not okay with how restricted my thoughts are. I am not okay with being unexplainable. I am not okay with being Ineffable.
The thoughts just keep coming, and coming and coming. They spread like wild fire. They give me pain in my legs, in my arms, in my heart. They give me headaches and make me jittery. They expand like icing sugar does when it's opened. They burn. They burn like acid with no alkaline. I feel the thoughts in my entire body, I hear them eating away at my skin.
Dad tells me they don't exist.
So do the doctors.
But when they feel like a billion micro needles, when my eyes become numb and my body is hot to touch, there's only so far science can go.
I feel psychotic sometimes, but I truly believe being psychotic is the opening of the third eye. I see past all the bullshit we portray as life. It's not made for social gatherings and coffee dates. You enter the world alone, as you'll leave the world alone. Just as your head and your heart are alone. Just as those bugs we call thoughts are alone.
Sometimes I forget I'm a whole solar system pretending to be a person.
She's clarity
And confusion
Never enough
Always too much
A simple
Complicated
Perfectly flawed
elegantly displayed
ineffable mess
I turn fifteen tomorrow but truth is I feel thirty.
