Typewriter Series #838 by Tyler Knott Gregson
I’m not a huge fan of small talk. I’m bad at introductions and my tongue trips over its own feet more often than I can keep count of. I’d rather not speak because I’m bad at it. My voice quivers, I speak too fast and too quietly. The only thing I can do is write because my fingers know how to fly while my tongue is still glued to the ground.
My first psychiatrist sits me down after my second overdose and tells me, “You have a beautiful mind.” I want to tell him that it doesn’t feel beautiful from the inside. The roof is caving in, the doors are splintered, the paint job was never finished to begin with. There are cracks in the foundation and my mind was built on a fault line. Maybe, this is why I cannot stop shaking in public.
I eat every two hours. My stomach is located near my heart and between the two I’m not sure which one’s emptier. I’m not sure which one’s bigger either. They seem to both be the size of my fist but they can stretch beyond human limits. I seem to waste my time on people who don’t deserve it.
I crave physical intimacy more than love because I don’t think I have the patience for the latter. I seem to have commitment issues and sometimes I even have trouble committing to the idea of braces. The only thing I can seem to commit to my cat. I can’t stand the idea of getting close to someone and sometimes I even run away from my own family.
I’ve burnt down my body so close to the ground. I’ve spent a year trying to build something out of my own ashes. People think I’m worth loving but I’m still having trouble convincing myself that I deserve to be loved.
I think I am scared of being happy because I’m not sure how long it’s going to last. I’m learning to remember the good moments instead of focusing on the bad.
Maybe I burnt myself down just so I could get a fresh start."
4:58 p.m. (An Honest Poem)expresswithsilence)
"does this darkness have a name? this hatred, this cruelty, this darkness—how did it find us? Did it steal into our lives or did we seek it out and embrace it? What happened to us that we now send our children into the world like we send young men into war? Hoping for their safe return but knowing that some will be lost along the way. When did we lose our way? Consumed by the shadows, swallowed whole by the darkness. Does this darkness have a name—is it your name?"