I am just skin

I feel like a Halloween pumpkin, all carved out and hollow. All that is left of me is this skin. I have never had thick skin. It’s all thin and frigid around the edges, curling in on itself. There’s not much left of me here inside. I gave away my soul long ago, passing fragments of it out like candy on a crisp fall evening. This soul belongs to the trees, to the dirt, sinking so far away from me I can no longer grasp it in my clutches and urge myself to not let go. I’m all skin, wrinkly, woven by molecules choosing everyday to weave themselves together. I gave my soul away a long time ago to the thud of heartbeats and the feeling of the first snow fall. I gave my soul to the overwhelming joy of my father coming home and welcoming us at the door. I’m just this skin fragile, as delicate as the spider webs that blanket the front porch of my childhood home. This soul is long gone, given to the feeling that warm tea gives my insides, given to the way it feels like home when I hug my mother. All that is left is this skin, wrapped around nothingness and tangled within itself. My soul was given to the feeling in the pit of my stomach as I dipped my feet into the vast ocean for the first time, given to the way it feels when a kiss lingers a little longer than expected. I am just skin. My soul was given to the way my brother tilts his head back when he laughs at my jokes, given to the tickling feeling of feet tangled within blades of grass for the first time. I am just skin. My soul was fragmented into pieces and encompasses beautiful moments of my life. I am just skin, how lucky am I.

Notes for my guardian angels

To feel grief so deeply shows how much love we are capable of. Grief is disguised as the greatest form of love there is. To ache for someone, to miss someone so much your soul feels like shattered glass. That’s how I know love conquers all because it can bring so much pain in the form of loss. Grief proves that love exists in astounding quantities, that we can love each other until our soul feels like it’s going to erupt. Love doesn’t come without grief or loss because it’s both of those things. Love is all. Grief means I love you, I will keep loving you until the end of time in unmeasurable amounts. You may not be here physically but within my heart there’s fires you have lit that ache and burn like a thousand suns. Grief reminds me of this everyday, of the love I have for you. The love that resides forever in my soul. Thank you for allowing me to know grief because with it comes love, with grief comes reminders that love is all consuming and so worth every ounce of hellish pain I feel now that your gone. Grief is the all mighty price I’ll pay for loving so deeply. Grief is love. Thank you to all my guardian angels for the unmeasurable amount of love. 💔 🕊️ 😇

Depression is never ending

Sometimes I see light shining through the window even though the blinds are closed and I think how dare you sun. How does the sun have the audacity to let light in here when all I want to do is bask in the darkness. Depression is like a vampire. The sun feels too much like hope and it makes me want to vomit up the only meal I remembered to eat today. Depression is soul sucking, so much so that I forget I have one at all. It is probably lost in this room under the piles of clothes I have yet to wash, hiding in a corner afraid of what awaits. The sun is radiating and I pull the covers up over my face in anger and defiance. How can the world keep turning? How can the sun rise and fall when I can barely wiggle my toes without the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. Depression is feeling so much you feel nothing. The sun rises and basks through my window and then sets and rises again without my permission and I feel betrayed. If there could only be a darkness outside that matches this feeling I have inside maybe then it wouldn’t feel so consuming. Depression is sadness on fire. The sun gets up everyday and I wonder why can’t I? Why does it feel like I’m cemented to this bed, my legs turning into concrete every-time I even think about getting up. My body is morphing into this mattress we are becoming one and parts of me just accept my fate. Depression is…

Becoming a writer

My feelings scratch the surface trying to come out of my face, lips and eyes. Out of every crevice I have. They want to touch the piece of paper I am holding, they want to seep into it and fumble into words.I have gotten good at shoving them back in... stuffing them into a tiny box deep down in my soul that is stretching at its seams. People love writers but hate to read our work. Because things are too open, to true, to dark, or simply just to long for them. Become a writer they said, but don't write about the sad shit, don't write about feelings, write about a "she" and make it two sentences long. Always shoving, shoving feelings into boxes. Conform to the "good" writers and write a life that isn't yours. A life that is short and to the point, easily read quickly, and contains some motivational crap on how women should date from the eyes of a man. My box of wound up feelings is getting full and nothing good comes easy. If I wrote like everyone else, what kind of writer would I be? I empty my box, spill these words onto plank pages regardless of who’s reading. I feel free. The day I let what is popular conform my writing is the day my soul will die. Fame isn’t worth murdering my freedom. -M.D.L

Vulnerability

To me you are not the moon, a hurricane, or any other earthly force. You are exactly what you are. You are messy, Wild, carefree and breathtakingly human. You fucked up, gripped onto your pillow for dear life as you cried yourself to sleep over some guy. I watched your hands turn white from your grip as you clenched onto the pillow like it would save you, take you to some other realm. You were beautiful then, in the mess of it all. You were not gracious, not bold you were falling apart at your seams, heartbroken, filled to the brim with feelings. I laugh in the face of people who want to nickname you after bullshit natural forces. You are the most powerful fucking thing there is on this planet. You are human and you are the most beautiful when you show it. -M.D.L

Trauma

Trauma is not knowing if I can accept your love for fear it will leave me. Trauma is not knowing if I can accept your love for fear it will tear me apart from the inside out. Trauma rests inside me, like a rotting disease. Trauma is saying “sorry, I can’t love you, I don’t know how.” Trauma is saying “I’m sorry, I can’t accept your love because I fear it’s not real. “ Trauma is pain disguised as protection of ones self. Trauma rids us of the love we want most.- M.D.L

Sadness and me

Wallowing in gloom, this feeling fills this room. Don’t be sad they all say but they aren’t the ones who have tried to get away. Ive tried several times to escape, the sadness hangs over me like a drape. I’m no contest for sadness so I’ll just sink further into this mattress. I let it consume me, swallow me whole, I just give up all control. It won’t let me be free we have some type of bond, sadness and me. Sadness tells me it’s okay to feel, to let down my guard and be real. I don’t want to feel this way anymore so I try and close the door. The door to this madness, to the overwhelming sadness. The door is always cracked, waiting for how I’ll react. I just wanna leave with happiness in tact. Sadness is something that must be, it’s simply a part of me. Don’t be sad they all say, like it’s something that can just go away. The sadness in me is here to stay.