The twenty-ninth of the month is always the most difficult for me.
I was watching Grey's Anatomy some day in the last week (it shouldn't be surprising that I don't remember which day; I watch Grey's every day) and one episode had a woman who came in because she had a heart attack. With testing and a little background search, they found out that she had come into the hospital with the same symptoms on the same day every year for seven years.
The why? The neighbour Ted had died that day seven years before, and she had been having an affair with him. They had been in love for over twenty years. Now, on the anniversary of his death, she literally came in with a broken heart against her will.
The twenty-ninth of the month is the same for me. It's not even that I hurt on the yearly anniversary; I am broken again once a month and don't even realize why until I check the date.
It's been almost five years. That's fifty-four months. Fifty-four "episodes." I want it to stop but I don't know how. Especially when people insist on using this day to break me on their own terms.
End rant.


violet makes me think violent
violently unfolding
I never wanted this
this is the way you make me feel
I've never wanted more
more time is what you said you need
but you'll never get there
there's this ache and I'm filling it
with more
more words, more hours, more truths
won't change anything
anything you say means nothing
if in the end it will only fade
fade away to black
and eventually back to violet



If life were a rainbow,
you'd be red
At the top of my priorities,
the colour of my heart
And just in case you make me bleed,
you'll already have it down

I would be indigo
The colour forgotten,
the shade no one can quite pin down
The one that washes skies,
pours down cheeks,
and laps at my feet dangling off the dock

One day
you might happen upon me by mistake
Once you finally get past the few in between,
orange and yellow and grass and sky,
but not eager enough to skip me entirely
Then you'll finally see me
and wonder what took you so long



I feel like no matter where I stand, raindrops keep falling on my head.
I love the rain. I have always loved the rain. Literally. Figuratively, not so much.
This week has been thundershowers and lightening bolts and hail and freezing rain. My teensy umbrella wouldn't do anything, even if I put it up. Even if I could.
I hate my blogs. They're all doldrums and sadness and self-pity. But here I am. What else will mark where I was at this point in my life if I don't? I can't be anything but what I am.



Grass is green. So is this sweater. So are my eyes. So is youth. So...what?
I miss the smell of wet, freshly cut grass. All my favourite sweaters are green, and so is my least favourite. It usually takes years of someone knowing me for them to realize the colour of my eyes. Young, innocent, easily broken like a tree, youth.
So is my envy.
It's one of the ten, one of the seven, and the one that I can most easily disguise because it looks pretty good on me. Everywhere I look, there are people who I consider enviable. When will I wake up and finally have those things that I don't consider too much to ask for?
Sane, healthy, lovable, fertile (for lack of a better adjective)...too much to ask? Happy, even sometimes? Apparently.



Graduation is fast approaching; not for me but for people I care about. People are leaving who I may never see again, and I seem unable to reach out and embrace the last precious moments we have. I'm stuck. I'm stuck in my house, stuck in my head, stuck in a place I do not want to be. All I want to do is get up, get out, get enjoyment out of these last few weeks of school. All I am able to do is...

So then I took my time. Oh, what a thing to have done, and it was all yellow.



The walls are crumbling.
There is a chink in the wall and, if I put my eye right up to it, I can see light on the other side. The light crowds out the darkness, the waves wash away the foundation of my fortress, the wind blows through every crack and extinguishes my pride, and the fire consumes all that is left of me.
I have to be His. I have no choice.

the walls are high / the walls are strong / i've been locked in this castle / that i've built for far too long / You have surrounded me / a sea on every side / the cracks are forming / and i've got nowhere to hide // now i see / the walls i've built are falling / and Your waves of grace are washing over me // my heart's been hard / i have been blind / i have often worked so hard / to keep You from my mind / i have ruled my life / in a palace built on sand / i want You to reign, Lord / please take me by the hand // Lord please reign / in every part / i give my life to You / i open up my heart / i want to be like You / i want to seek Your face / o Lord please wash me / in Your awesome waves of grace



Image changes everything.
So do I be the me I have always been for the sake of others' comfort, or do I be the me I know is in there somewhere but have always kept down for fear of rejection? It's easy to just go on always being the person I've been because it suits others and I can get by. But when will I break out and finally just let my outside reflect the inside?
Maybe one of these days it will just burst out.
I am ready to burst.