🔥182: panic at the tesco
🔥181: karmic crescendo
💜💜💜180: konmari
one of these days, i'm going to write about how taking care of my heart
is a chore i wish i took more seriously.
every time i try to clear out the cobwebs inside my chest, i bump my head and shoulders into things hooked on its walls; knock my knees and toes into things stuffed in its nooks and crannies.
i would lay low and slowly
unpack the baggage i accumulated and start learning to compartmentalise,
unhang the skeletons of souls that have been chasing me in my dreams,
undogear the chapters that are done and dusted where you, like all the others, remain a metaphor, a foreshadowing, a symbol, a period that i thought would fit my lifelong sentence,
but that's a story for another day.
my obsession with hoarding memories like my life depended on it
has long been a problem
just like my system being an "organised mess"
— you and i both know, i am the mess.
until i can fold away my feelings from my past
and tuck away my thoughts about my future
to make sense of my present,
i will have to keep collecting these scattered words and phrases
waiting to be bound and sealed in a box somewhere.
one of these days, i'm going to write about how taking care of my heart
is a chore i took seriously
so that when it stops beating
it is full
and light
at the same time.
- konmari (draft?), 20200218 1347
🔥179: supreme
178: (re)vertigo
in these ungodly hours,
between sneezing fits and coughing spells,
i am reminded yet again of my choices in life:
what i shouldn't have done
where i shouldn't have gone
who i shouldn't have loved
why i shouldn't have cared
when i should have stopped
trying
as i inhale yet suffocate on nothingness,
my breaths wheezing in and out of tight airways
squeezing through inflammed slime-padded walls;
if the air pressure drops, i know i need to get my oxygen first before
i focus on others, but every time i stumble with my own mask
to deal with a vessel that constantly breaks down
triggered by too many things that it thinks is a threat,
i realise that no one else around me has lungs that malfunction
like we have left our atmosphere despite still being on land.
as an alien living in constant fear of unidentified flying objects,
my eyes are as cloudy as my thoughts, but i am not high.
i'm too acrophobic to be in heavenly spaces
so i stay displaced and disgraced, grounded
feet firmly planted in a foreign home
that regularly chokes me.
tell me, when should i stop trying?
- (re)vertigo, 20191118 0745