unhappy with my existence, i aim to mold my space to be timelessly calming. pale yellow walls to trick my mind into gladness, the lack of mirrored surfaces to forget what i look like—hopefully offering moments of solace from my inner critic—repurposing the empty spaces to feel like i've dragged some outdoor happiness into my life. filling the colorlessness with mismatched pots for mismatches plants—living by the idea that the new air will bring me a new air. candles with calming scents and smudges of cleansing herbs to change the scent pallet of this desolate room, and though i cant smell, i hope it'll successfully mend my maleable psyche.
if you'd asked me years ago in my blue empty room i would've told you that it's current configuration would have cured my sadness. but depression seeps through the empty spaces i have yet to fill, manifesting itself in weeks-old cups, laundry that has yet to be cleaned, clean laundry that has yet to be dealt with, and the incurable feeling of emptiness that fills this overcrowded space. i've achieved a decorative maximalism, thinking things will chip away at the sadness this room remembers—no matter the layers of paint i aimlessly use to forgot the sadness, the walls sponge wet with tears.
YOU ARE READING
the night the stars fell - poetry collection
PoesíaPLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS this poetry collection includes themes and descriptions of: sexual violence/assault/harassment PTSD hallucinations depression anxiety self harm disordered eating in my experience feeling seen through works of writ...
