lack of

reality grows

i've fallen out of reality and sometimes i wish i hadn't.
because, i know there's more to the world than these post it note drawings i tape to my wall.
i know there is more out there than these paint chips in my hand, more than plently of childhood stains on a carpet.
there's more than the trying of abstract art, more of the cloths in my different colored dressers.
there will be more than these shoes i don't wear, there will be trees not outside my window, grass i helped grow, and more mushrooms i didn't try and make out of my hands.
there also can be more than some skin i peel of my fingers and into some plain art work.
these two four walls of rooms will not be able to hold the more of me that is destined to come along.
i will grow out of these baggy shirts, these two blankets, and these three pens drawing subtle depths of my thinking.
and it's sad to see the memories fall from my walls.
how the pictures fall and slide down into a place i will never physically reach.
there's a place these rememberings will go, a place i will never be able to touch, and i hate forgetting everything.
i hate how my realities switch as maturity comes along to steal the things that made me happy.
now i'm left with big canvases of seven year old smears, and a space like blanket with an odd smell.
there's not much left of everything i tried, and promised myself i would remember.
and- and that sucks.
how later on i won't remember where i wrote these words, and how i drew that concept.
i will forget everything in time, except for the flashes of color.
the flashes of orange school colors in the sunset, as i drink apple juice in a van with my father after running with not much effort.
the flashes of purple into one of the most comfortable things outside my body and outside my home.
those flashes of lavendar from the memories and moments i tried to recreate on white canvases.
the flashes of so many grey mornings that shifted into laughter filled lunches.
the warm, sweating heat of so many summers i wanted to make happy.
i will remember only impressions of my childhood and troubling teenage years.
i won't remember the- the everything i felt, the everything i do not feel in this sickening moment.
i'll look back on my words and see disgust as i was this weird little lady full of so much nothing.
or, i will transported to the days of digging my hand into dirt, smelling my play dough cupcakes, listening to a blue static-y moon tune, wishing for a lover to not hold me.
i will be shoved back into the days where all i want is a future where i'm happy, and then i'll wonder if i truly did make it.
i won't remember the threatening tears i hold now.
i won't remember the sunsets i never took pictures of, the memories i could have kept safe, the friends i wanted to make.
when i sit down with so many wrinkles i'll only remember the sadness i wrote and drew down.
i don't want to forget, but i know i will.
while becoming launched back into a reality where i have thoughts, and where people actually look at me in a way i don't know, i wish i hadn't been at all.

May 2nd, 2020