I want out.
I want to be fucking done.
The author and site owner can be reached at leeundercedartrees@gmail.com.
No leaves have grown here:
This chilly spring reminds me
It all turns to black
Everyone makes distance
I get too close
Do I suffocate them?
I’m not human
I will never be
I’ve lived long enough
I feel so disconnected
I can’t connect
It’s so little so rare
I have earned nothing good that I have
I thought I’d be ok now
.
April 15 – 16, 2025; Sitting in my car after a class.
Sometimes
it feels like
the greatest act of rebellion
I have ever done
when the thoughts
begin to stagger
when the sentences
are stuttering
when the will
is faltering
is
to choose
nothing
My high school French teacher
told us in class one day that it’s important
to be “comfortable in our skin”.
My skin is simply a boundary.
It draws a perimeter for the others,
dividing the delicate from the wilds.
It contains the sensitive ones, guards my vitality,
and houses a precarious family of slight dysfunction.
Don’t need no booze
Don’t need no weed
Don’t need no ecstasy
This ain’t no “high on life”
This just me
I’ve been wrong about a lot, but one big thing is that this can’t be fixed. It can be fixed! It can be fixed! It can be fixed! There’s one way. Just one.
Seeking clear paths to
free everyone I’ve tangled:
I see only one
I’m here, and I’m not here. I shouldn’t be here at all… I’m blinking and fading in and out of existence…
Night calls me to bed
The promise of snow lingers
Most unwelcome guest
11:59 pm