I’ve Been Haikued

The local Batdad is preemptively getting grey hairs

When I found that you were sad

All I wanted was to help

I loved you dear mom and dad

I would try to make you well

All my friends are full of color

Vibrant lights of time and change

Even so I helped them over

Fading colors brought by rain

Every hue that I contained

Full of angersadnessrage

I would take the time to drain

For no one else would do the same

Whether idle hands or aim

They all bled thru me the same

Till I could no longer take

No matter what was at stake

What will you do when I go

When my body overflows

When my glass container breaks

Leaking all the muted fakes

I have nothing left to give

Nothing further here remains

Leave me to my muddled colors

I will never be the same.

Sometimes hope feels like a hearth in your chest

It’s startling, an unexpected warmth

But when you turn to it,

Feel the glow on your face,

You may find it reflected in your heart

Top 3 most unfortunate things I have mixed up while not wearing my glasses:

-my contact solution w/ mom’s hydrogen peroxide contact cleaner

-orajel and wart remover

-my prescription ointment and travel toothpaste

It took me over a decade to figure out that I was mistaking hunger for thirst. All those bathroom trips and for what

The difference between cacti and all other plants is that cacti are invincible.

My cacti have survived being drop kicked off my window sill multiple times by my cat,

Emergency surgery due to similar circumstances as above,

My forgetting to water it for like a month because I moved it and the adhd brain threw that info into the garbage,

The toxic nature of my cake-plaster, single pane aluminum window room.

All other plants can be on a specific regiment with directions followed and still decide that life is simply not for them.

There is a very specific and painful uncomfortable infuriating frustrating dreadful sad feeling of desire, when you care so much about something, and you just want to tell someone about it.

To take a character and make someone else care about them they way you do

To show someone how fascinating a topic is

To demonstrate how intricate a story is, how intertwined the world is

To bundle up the bright, overflowing bundle of care/excitement/intrigue and share it so someone else can experience it too

…

But sometimes, perhaps often, there is no one to tell.

No one you haven’t bothered recently. No one who has a similar interest. No one who will be willing to read the outpour. No one who would care. No one you haven’t already handed a new interest.

And that desire to share, give, offer, show, and tell someone sours. It melts into a charred mass of dread in your stomach that seeps into the subject itself, if only a little.

This is what Porter Robinson’s Worlds album sounds like to me (I haven’t listened to the other albums)

Does anyone get a diff feeling? Similar/same?