I get sad on Sunday mornings, lying next to you underneath big windows as you’re glowing in sunshine, eyelashes shimmering, lips outlined by blue sky and I become entangled in the breath that falls from you


Please don’t let me be a sad Internet girl, I’m trying hard not to be



Work until it kills you like a good citizen, stare dead-eyed into your cubicle as your soul begins to wither, sit on deteriorating muscles and still be expected to be healthy, get stuck inside your anxious head all day and still be expected to be healthy, watch a bright screen till your eyes can no longer see, till your brain can no longer compute, till your body can longer stand, till your heart can no longer feel.


Who are you, beneath all the layers of your superficial surface? If you were not anxious most of the time, who would you be? If you were not lonely most of the time, what kind of person would you be? Do you care about animals and writing and music and friends and travel? Are you someone who gets introspective in coffee shops? Is that who you are? Is who you are defined by your age, race, gender? Are you just an accident produced by this particular universe in this particular era in time? Are you nothing at all?


There are billions and trillions of thoughts bumping around in your brain everyday

Thousands of neurons are firing, creating a constant stream of feelings and emotions and consciousness;

You focus on only a few of these little connections,

Replaying them over and over, letting them fire again and again

Listening to their destructive messages, trusting what they’re telling you,

Believing these little bolts of electricity that are traveling in your head, unraveling your head.

Think of how many neurons sit idle in your brain that haven’t been fired in a long time,

Because you keep going over and over the ones that tell you everything is shit.

Think of what you could know, analyze, and discover

If only you could push out the anxiety and halt the damaging cycle

To make room for the important unknown.