thesleeplessdreamer

instagram.com/thesleeplessdreamerdiaries

I drink copious amounts of coffee and I like to write dark poetry, check it out. Follow me on the gram @thesleeplessdreamerdiaries. 📖📝🌜☕️

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  • thesleeplessdreamer 4d

    I spilled liquor in the hallway and now the house is spinning. I’m weaving in and out of nightmares- deciding which ones are true. Write sad poems about a sad girl who had a lot of sad things boil over- they say she’s still finding her way back. Hurry up and get lost in the woods so that they’re forced to find you again. Suffering and aggravation and helplessness can all be true, but so can bliss and calmness and serenity. I choose them all. You choose them too. Let it wake in the midst of a storm as your crashing and rebuilding all at once. I am every part of the story. I am spinning in circles. I am finding my way back. And even though I made several tempts to run away, I never wandered too far. Tonight, I heard wolves howling outside my window. I wish they’d come in- I think they’re sad too. I wonder if they want to help me drain the sunlight so that the moon can live forever. Maybe they only stay awake to sharpen their teeth. Drink it all down so that you can’t remember.

    -AMT
    ©thesleeplessdreamer

  • thesleeplessdreamer 4d

    they’re foolish for ever thinking they ever could.

    I was breaking down the parts of me from yesterday because I ran out of space. Watch the leaves break their spines, begging to hang on for the rest of winter- they’re foolish for ever thinking they ever could. I’m peeling back layers from the sun that never stayed on my skin. It feels soothing and dangerous all at once. I let my eyes wander across the room until they land on the corner of the ceiling where the paint gives in.
    Remember the house I grew up in? My father had someone patch the ceiling when it began to buckle near the center. Dozens of holes woven throughout the ceiling, but you never noticed because you were too busy looking at the cracks in the floor. I dare you to step on one to see if it caves in- at least you’d be buried in grace. Everyone keeps asking me how I’ve been holding on. They look through me like a ghost and I have to remind them that I’m still very-much a live. I hate changes. I hate that we ever painted the living room beige. I hate that everyone had to say goodbye because I’m still waiting for one of them to come back and say hello again. And when they do, they’ll ask me where I’ve been. Ask me how I could see the world changing colors if I’m colorblind. Ask me what happened. I’ll tell them everything about this past year. I’ll tell them the truth. I’ll tell them I was breaking down the parts of me from yesterday because I ran out of space.

    -AMT
    ©thesleeplessdreamer

  • thesleeplessdreamer 1w

    How to start the whole story over after I already fell in love with every character.

    Take everything you need from the warm lit room. That’s what he told me. I was never good at holding out my palm, but I guess I can try. Around this time last year I panicked in an instance - watched the red lights I ignored flood my body. I washed up with the shore and heard the breeze sigh at my dismay. I’ve always hated the beach, anyways. I guess I can try to let the saltwater heal my wounds, but I’d rather lick them in knowing that I can heal myself. So now I’m sitting in a pew in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon asking where to begin. How to start the whole story over after I already fell in love with every character. I guess I can try to dismantle the parts where I keep replaying the sadness in my mind. Hold it up to the light and ask it to be put away for safekeeping. I can start there. I can keep writing. I can try.

    -AMT
    ©thesleeplessdreamer

  • thesleeplessdreamer 1w

    but I am good at digging it up.

    Maybe I need to find a way home. Trying is reaching and my arms are sore. I rest them while the world sleeps. Write sad songs about me and sing it back to everyone you know. Maybe I think to highly of my sadness. Maybe it’s just another story. Maybe it’s the unveiling of all that must happen- only this time it happened sooner than it was supposed to. I know the holidays are creeping in and I know everyone doesn’t want to talk about it and I know it’s uncomfortable. I create a nest in the corner of the floor where I burry myself in rotations with the moonlight as it bounces off my window. My mom told me that Jesus once looked at the same moon and stars as I do. I think I believe her. What’s home to you? I bet you’re lucky if you can answer. I bet it falls from your lips like an instinct. I bet it floods your being every time you rest. Hang onto each moment like a treasure only you can burry. I was never good at finding things, anyways. But I am good at digging it up. Find a picture tucked inside a poetry book. I see the house I grew up in. I feel a moment of silence and I swear the world finally turns it’s arrow away from me. Let a halo surround. Maybe I need to find a way home.

    -AMT
    ©thesleeplessdreamer

  • thesleeplessdreamer 2w

    I’m just aiming for the clouds because my arrows don’t need to protect me how they used to.

    It’s just saying hello as it passes through. The holidays are coming up and I feel dread. I’m mirroring everyone’s sadness for me- I guess it’s a reflex. Everything that happened screamed through the quiet forest and sparked a hurricane. Some say that I’m still under the wreckage. Help me out if you can. I’m counting backwards and getting angry. I do this to calm myself down. My mom keeps reminding me of how I smoke too much. Hold it all in too much. Carry too much. Swallow the saltwater because I make drowning look graceful. I’m just aiming for the clouds because my arrows don’t need to protect me how they used to. Sadness greets me in the morning- tells me everything I need to hear about sinking deeper. Digs it’s knuckles into the small of my back and dares me to jump. Comes and goes as it pleases. People ask me where I hold all these things. I tell them that I’m neck-deep in it. And i remind myself that sadness is just saying hello as it passes through.

    -AMT
    ©thesleeplessdreamer

  • thesleeplessdreamer 3w

    My heart isn’t beating how it used to.

    It feels so far away. I woke up this morning and drove to my parents house, but they don’t live there anymore. I left my heart buried in the garden which is why everything still blooms in winter. Hollow spaces fill my mind and this year reminded me how everything ends: The music stops. Smoke dissipates. You drown without suffocating. Black skies make me numb and calm all at once. Cut my mind into pieces and you’ll still see similar shapes- just a bit sadder than before. Walk into a crowded room and everyone feels your sadness.
    You reek of it.
    You taste like it.
    You try to hide as it’s slipping from each pour. Stretch your arms out to hold me- I’m trying to learn how to let you. This is me trying to mend myself-trying to believe again. I pull out of the driveway like I’ve done countless times- only this time it feels final. This time, I tell it all goodbye for good, and I truly mean it. I feel my heart beat from miles away as I drive south to the next town over.

    -AMT
    ©thesleeplessdreamer

  • thesleeplessdreamer 3w

    And when the music stops I’m not bothered because I was never dancing in the first place.

    It’s my dream to hold onto- I’ll keep it close. Warmth meets me in the afternoon. I’m groggy from the emptiness- filling it with anything but substance. It’s lining my brain in this vail of numbness. I find a moment to ask myself, “is this feeling really okay?”. Guilt gathers like old friends meeting up, except my cup is empty and I’m not smiling. I’m gnawing at my fingertips- breaking down the skin to feel something I can understand.
    And when the music stops, I’m not bothered because I was never dancing in the first place.
    Look: I know this sounds sad and unfamiliar.
    I’m trying to rework the pages to line up better.
    I’m trying to sew a wound shut that I didn’t tear open.
    I’m trying to ignore the world because it scares me. I feel sad talking to Jesus because I’ve been mute for over a year- not because I’m mad,
    just empty.
    Trying to fill my body with things I don’t need.
    Chase the numbness by racing it to the finish line - expose its reasoning.
    Everyone tells me that this is okay, but only I can convince myself. Right?
    Trust in my palms and how they reach out- let myself accept everyone’s grasp. I’ve always dreamt of peace so when pockets of it flood my subconscious,
    I want to hang on.
    I want to forget.
    I want to let myself be okay.
    I want to wake up as I’m dreaming so that it actually feels real.

    -AMT
    ©thesleeplessdreamer

  • thesleeplessdreamer 3w

    I remember that the things I love can sometimes hurt, especially when I hold them too tight.

    I feel Autumn slipping away-
    It always leaves me.
    I wish that I could stay young forever. The thought makes me bloom from the core of my ribcage as everything breaks free.
    I wouldn't want to live forever,
    but I would love to stay recklessly pure and naive.
    I’d breathe loosely.
    I’d surrender to myself.
    I’d bask in the leaves as they change colors. Wish this could bring me peace- like running through the winding pavement, barefoot and clumsy with drunken laughter filling the air. Nothing means everything when you loose a part of the puzzle that made so much connect-
    now it just doesnt look the same.
    So when I pick roses from the garden I let the thorns gently puncture my skin. I remember that the things I love can sometimes hurt, especially when I hold them too tight.
    Ive always been so afraid of loosing it all. But im still here with open palms and tiny scars that trace the outline of my fingertips. Constantly welcoming everything that I push and pull away.
    Just how the leaves break from their roots, but come back again every year- they always promise to return and they always do.

    -AMT

    ©thesleeplessdreamer

  • thesleeplessdreamer 4w

    Just because the sadness is there doesn’t mean it’s ugly.

    Write poems about falling apart and being okay with that. I hate happy endings because most people don’t understand them. They grasp and reach and look through broken windows just to get a glimpse. But I’m defending the real story- the one where you try really fucking hard and barely graze the surface. I’m reading my own mind - the only voice that matters. Talk out loud in my sleep. Cry out for a home that was never mine to keep. I do this often and I think I lost count. Don’t rewrite it because it’s still a beautiful story. Just because the sadness is there doesn’t mean it’s ugly - didn’t they ever tell you that? Didn’t they care enough? Didn’t the hero dying bring you any sort of peace? I guess you were told that princes can only save princesses and it all ends with a sunset over the castle. I say burn the whole fucking thing down. Watch how the orange hues cascade over the town. Let the servants be free as they catch embers on their tongues. Taste the endings you crave. The pressure shatters everything that’s glass, even your heart. It took burning a village of sadness in order to rebuild the part of you that needed to feel. Brings you warmth and some sort of freedom that only exists in poems about letting yourself fall apart and being okay with that.

    -AMT
    ©thesleeplessdreamer

  • thesleeplessdreamer 4w

    I don’t gasp for air until I feel worthy.

    I feel the wrath creeping towards the windows. Let everyone see it. Let it break. Let it shatter. I threaten to throw everything away in one breath- but I lace it in between my poems like a threat. I let it fall onto strangers who might be sadder than me, but I don’t let the liquor fall. I keep that close to me. I keep that in my veins. I keep it like suffocation in my lungs. I don’t gasp for air until I feel worthy. This is how to punish yourself, right? But I never let the fuse die- I’m made of flames and you’re made of water. Cool me off when I need to restore the embers- preserve them for light in this darkness. It’s truly a dark time, isn’t it? Don’t answer me. Don’t answer me. Don’t answer me. I can hardly sleep without rewriting the pages like a wrongful ending. This time it’s more permanent than that. Hold it all in and let it all out when the timing sits on my windowsill reminding me of everything that happened this year. I feel the wrath creeping towards the windows.

    -AMT
    ©thesleeplessdreamer