WE’VE ALL GOT A TYPE

Sometimes I wonder,

when I’m sprawled across your bed

and the sun is just starting to rise,

How would you describe this moment?

If you had to write it down–

If you had to capture it,

What would you say?

What would you notice?

Would you talk about the way the light hits my skin?

Or the separation between my lips,

or the curve of my back?

How would you describe my stare?

Would you call it pensive,

or vacant?

Would you wonder about the thoughts that lay

just behind my eyes?

 

But then I snap out of it,

look over at you,

and realize what’s happening

and who we are.

I didn’t find you pouring over literature in coffee shops,

I find you in math lectures.

I see you solving calculus problems,

not writing poems in the park when you’re in love

and suddenly everything looks beautiful.

And maybe you don’t even fall in love,

because you choose numbers over words every time.

So I stop thinking of the words you’d assign to me

when I’m staring into your eyes

or playing with my hair.

And I wonder if I’m just another number to you.

and what that number is.

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{ESC} BOOK SEVENTEEN: I WROTE THIS FOR YOU AND ONLY YOU

Dear Reader,

Merry Christmas Eve! I’m currently partaking in a Mario Kart tournament so I’ll make this book review quick.

I got the book “I Wrote This For You and Only You” as an early Christmas present (thanks Zach!) and I read it in one night. It’s this book of short poems that are each paired with really cool photography and I couldn’t put it down. I was marking the pages with different bookmarks and writing some of my favorites in my journal and all of a sudden it was 2AM.

I mean, it happens.

I’ll probably make another post with a few of my favorite ones, but for now all I want to say is this book is great. A lot of the poems are so deep and thoughtful and choose all the perfect words to say things I’ve felt but could never articulate. There are also other books in this collection and I’m looking forward to reading more.

Alright, I’m going back to my family now, so I’ll just leave with you with this:

“If all you do is making something beautiful for someone else, even if it’s only for a moment, with a single word or small action, you have done a great service.

Because life can be ugly and frustrating and for so many, it is.”

Sincerely,

Sammy

SOMETIMES I WRITE CRAPPY POEMS IN MY NOTES AND FIND THEM LATER

I often find myself reflecting at night,

Thinking about this diagnosis I try to pay no attention to while the sun is up. 

And sometimes I’ll slip and think, 

“Well, of course. Anyone with my life would be depressed.”

But I know that’s wrong. 

I have so much. 

I’ve been given so much. 

I’m so fortunate for it all. 

The unfulfillment and self-loathing and all these thoughts are separate,

For I recognize my life as good. 

So then I rephrase. 

“Well, of course,” I’ll think. 

“Anyone who thinks the way I do–anyone with a brain that works like mine would be depressed.”

And then I start to get it. 

  

LATE NIGHT THOUGHTS

We all like to think that we’re destined for great things.

We all see our future as brighter than our present

and we long for the days to come

because we like to think that they’re better than the days we’re having now.

I mean

we certainly don’t think they’ll be worse.

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How can they be worse?

But we look to the future with dumb optimism.

We see things better than reality

because we compare ourselves to people we can’t become.

We see ourselves as better than average.

We all do.

But that, in itself, is flawed.

We cannot all be above average.

It is impossible.

And I’m starting to realize

more and more

how unfortunately average I am.

And I don’t know how to be okay with it

because I was raised to believe I was better.