I Can't Sleep

Looking through old photo albums, feels like reading the life’s story of a familiar stranger.

Someone who once was my person of comfort— memories lost and disconnected in the back of my mind.

If she stood here before me I don’t know if tears would flood my eyes, if I would run for a hug, or if I would feel anything at all.

I don’t remember much about her character— I don’t remember her mannerisms, her fears, or really anything personal about her. All that I have left of her is her favorite flower and her favorite songs.

And I’m sure we would’ve been best friends, but I lost her too soon.

I miss my mom.

What is missed is the lifetime of growing old with her that was taken from me. And I will never have that back.

I will never have my mom.

I guess this was kind of cute, but it would be too narcissistic of me to post on my Instagram lmao

squirm the herm worm

with no little toes

and no little eyes, and no little nose

a small long body

a body that’s round

that rises occasionally

up out of the ground.

Mahogany

The color of mahogany

Begins to drape my thoughts

Until it's all I can see.

The difference between

Fantasy and Reality

Is really only

The difference between

Open and closed eyes.

~ceramic-feelings

Painfully drifting

from people I called my best friends.

I reach out my arms

but they don’t see me.

My ship is sinking

and they float on

the way they always did,

just without me.

You have a nice chest. You should show it off more in your photo posts here.

My chest?

You mean like this?

Small baby girl

still sees the world in color,

how can I teach her to handle the world?

My small, sweet girl,

how come she has to grow up too?

I hold her close to me every moment I can,

but she’s now big enough to play on her own,

little independent.

Sometimes I miss the smaller baby she once was,

still cherishing the baby she is today.

Raising a daughter is scary,

I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing.

Perhaps one day she may be a mom like me, wondering too, how she can raise one of her own.

My sweater unravels,

A thread locked around a knob.

As I walk away, my sweater becomes undone,

Back to the single-stringed rope it once was.

~ceramic-feelings

me n rob

I snuck out last night and made frog bread