Aubrea

Every hour was trouble

Every day was sour 

Nothing but struggle 

But when i met you that all seemed to change

Even on the sunniest days you managed to be the best part

You are the time we spent together 

The times we value

You are the times to come

The times we pursue 

I'm done with school tired and sad

I go to work somehow more tired than before

Your the caffeine that helps me leave my bed

Your the sickness in my head

Your the reason i'm not dead

Everything you do makes me smile 

The way you speak

The way your face shows excitement 

I feel so undeserving of you and your time 

But even with those feeling you somehow make me better

I used to hate my hair 

I used to hate how much i weighed

I used to hate my voice

I used to hate me

But knowing someone as great as you can love all those so effortlessly and unconditionally gives me strength 

I don't even care how corny that sounded 

The old me would have hated even thinking that but i don't care how anyone sees me anymore

Knowing that you see me the way i see you is enough 

You tell me i'm good enough but you don't deserve enough

So every day i'll do what i can to be even better then enough

And that's why I wrote this cheesy poem.

abode to all tomorrows

Deep in the stars without worry or fear a looming, terrifying presence draws close. Once first contact is made it's far too late morphed and changed beyond Recognition. Some large some small none human anymore, the worms dig for their entire lives only stopping to mate with or eat another worm. The striders are as tall as trees and as fragile as the paper they once made said trees into. People were not made just for the q’s entertainment but some used as tools such as the mantolope, could sing with sweetness and lusted for knowledge they could share amongst themselves and with the q. But the q did not stay for long, and after there disappearing the mantolope no longer had purpose. Once used to store information now wander in groups in a world most would consider paradise with all the food they could want. But the mantolope only wanted one thing, knowledge. They now depressingly sing songs of the q in hopes they return. Not all of the new humans suffered however, the hedonists were made as pets for the q and given a world that was paradise and long after the q left it remained paradise. The temptors were bizarre cones made of flesh that would plant themselves into the ground; they rarely moved, those were the females. The males were small mindless imp like creatures that were controlled by the females with pheromones. Despite how strange the temptors were they were also one of humanity's best hopes at becoming an intelligent species again, however they were incinerated by a stray comet. But eventually humanity would resurface in a handful of creatures and would become the post humans. Because history tends to repeat itself, for better or worse…..

volume 

I don't understand

I don't understand

I don't understand

I don't understand

I don't understand

I don't understand

Should I understand?

M̷͍̊y̸̺̎͆ ̵͕̩̈́̽h̵͍̥̐́è̷̢a̴̜̅̐d̴̰̫̓ ̵͚͘f̵̹̎e̴̢͖͂́e̵̜͕̒ľ̶͍s̶̺̓̾ ̶̬͗̓s̷͍̀͝o̵̡̜̍͐ ̴̣̰͑͝ḷ̸̗̀͋ȯ̴̟̈́u̸̟̾͝d̸̯̩̉.̵͖̀ . moments of peace only come when she's around, Aubrea is her name and she makes me feel ok. At the moment at least. Everything inside feels calm, silent yet not boring. I feel like myself, but it's over quickly as deep down I crave the lack of order I'm accustomed to. I hate myself for pushing those who care about me away, Resorting to self sabotage to feel normal. But normal isn't good.

Normal isn't good.

 But since I feel normal I'm unhappy. My moms worried about me but I couldn't care less as I have convinced myself I'm just over dramatic, motivation fleeting from me like air from a popped balloon as I waste time feeling bad for myself. The melancholy prison in my head of my own construction. A bed of discomfort I sleep in constantly. As all the nails in my bed pierce my skin I find myself feeling fine. At the end of the day Adrian deserves the bed he made and now sleeps in. as he's only known as neurotic escoria. My bed tells me that I deserve better but I don't believe it. But maybe I deserve something different, could I make a new normal? Could I feel good about feeling good? Maybe after I put in the effort I need to, I can feel normal again. But effort isn't an option, I won't let it be an option.

substitution 

do i look like him?

do i sound like him?

These feeling you once made me feel still linger, i needed someone else to make me feel complete. He claims to wanna be your friend. At this point i just want to be free. i might miss you but im still trying to get clean.

I don't exist to fill a template for someone lost. im not here to be some niche for you.

at this point i just dont care, to spite you ill break my glasses, i wanna dye my hair. im not him and never will i be him. I don't need you to make me feel complete. 

Florida

I was 9 years old when my dad told me we would go to Florida, he spoke about beaches and Disneyland. I was so excited. The car ride was long and the car ride was boring but sitting with my sisters while playing phone games was so much fun. Once we got to Florida I met my uncle scott and his son, we stayed up late watching Christmas movies in the summer and playing with small lizards. My aunt was mean, my stepmom was stressed. The beach was fun, I saw a crocodile. Everyones worried. Nobody tells me why, but later everything seems fine. My dads yelling in the car, my stepmom yells back. I feel the car starting to go faster and faster until it just stops. I don't remember much after that. I get in the car with my father and he barely speaks. The silence was so loud and my head felt static. I watch dumb videos on my dads phone as we keep driving home. I notice nobody else is coming with us, I ask my dad why and he says nothing very loudly. I can't help but notice everything around us more than I naturally would. The crumbs on the floor, the

Rickety engine of the car. My brain felt so numb, as we got closer home I got more and more worried about why no one came with us. My pounding heart kept telling me to say something but I knew it would lead to nothing. Talking to my dad was like talking to a salesman, he already had a response planned for whatever I had to say, and never was it true. My mom never had nice things to say about him, as I got older the more I understood. The more I knew the man who was my father. He went from the man who knew how to solve all my problems to a hollow mannequin of a person. He would confuse me and lie to me about small things at the time. Before long I was outside of a red apartment complex my mother lived in. me being happy to see her rushed in through the doors. My mom was not happy to see him limiting their conversation to the bare minimum. Afterwards my mom with a disappointed look on her face told me I needed to talk to my dad outside and so we did. It was then he told me why nobody else came back from Florida, they were moving there. He told me I wouldn't see him for a while but he told me so many things. All I could do was cry as he drove away.