Sometimes I try and squish all the poem ideas I have into one clusterfuck of a piece and I end up with something like this:
I chewed my bottom lip apart today
in an effort to keep from falling apart
in the middle of the classroom.
I took my teeth to the soft flesh there
and marred it until the taste of blood
was just the taste of my own mouth.
I thought that if I could slowly take myself
piece by piece by piece
(instead of leaving the job to someone else)
things could get easier
Because if I can focus on the blood
and the little pieces of skin
between my teeth,
if I can focus on that,
then the sadness and compression
in my chest gets buried just a little bit.
And I’m able to exist beyond the guilt
of simply doing so
and pick myself up,
because falling apart is just too painful
I have really gross habits of biting my lips and picking at my fingers a lot and I’ve always wondered why it was such a thing for anxious people. I think it might have something to do with the fact that we’re so tired of being ourselves but we know that we’re the ones that will ultimately be our own destruction.
Officially a part of Confessions of a Serial Human Being.
Before I became a filmmaker I was a writer, and writing is really what inspired me to go into the world of film and translate the stories in my head into tangible pieces of art. While I originally intended for this blog to be solely about my life as a filmmaker, I cannot ignore that my life as a writer heavily intertwines, especially since I would love to write my own scripts in the future.
It is November, which means it is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). I have been participating in this month’s writer-ly festivities since the age of 13 and I am in no way going to stop now, despite the fact that I am now in college and running on about -24% brainpower most of the time.
But instead of writing a novel this year, my goal is to go on a different kind of journey. I hope to produce a series of works including poems, essays, scripts, and short stories, dealing with a number of themes: anxiety, depression, failure, and relationships. This collection of works I have decided to call Confessions of a Serial Human Being. Call me a weird-ass writer if you want for that title, but I aspire that it will make sense at the end of this month.
Throughout the course of November I will be sharing pieces of my writing on this blog. Below is an introduction to this journey.