1) do your laundry.
2) drink chamomile tea. with honey. no, don’t think about the calories,
3) get your baby photos out. and your kindergarden drawings. first grade notebooks. remember who you wanted to be back then. what’s changed?
4) watch your favorite show from when you were 11. no earphones. volume up.
5) spice girls. dance-it-out.
6) take your camera and go for a walk. take photos of people you’ll never see again. try to capture moments, smiles, real ones. how many have you got?
7) watch kids ice skate.
8) join them.
9) tell someone you miss them. mean it.
10) get your laundry out of the dryer. put your pjs on while they’re still warm.
11) hug your hot water bottle.
12) watch: before sunset.
13) you will be ok. you will get through today.

m.v.thirteen ways to make a bad day better.

people don’t fear darkness
for the unknown,
for the monsters they have not seen,
no,
they fear
the monsters they glimpsed
when they were getting ready
for work in the morning.

m.v.we all fear our own evil.

i shouldn’t be jealous
but it’s just that
parts of you come alive
at the mere mention of her name
that my entire being
cannot awaken;
and every time
you smile like that,
i swear -
a butterfly dies
inside my chest.

m.v., i wish you could admit what i can see.

1) it feels a little bit like those summer days when the sky is completely clear and then clouds gather… no, no, appear, from nowhere and before you know it heavy drops are hitting your temple and your tears are no longer the only things soaking your cheeks and now everything is different, heavy, but also kind of clean, and it’s over just when you get your umbrella to open. it might start again. you don’t know when.

2) it feels a little bit like when you’re watching your favourite show and it’s your favourite scene and suddenly it stops and the wheel keeps turning, and turning, and turning, but it’s not loading, and you sit there and you stare at it and wait. it feels a little bit like that.

3) it feels a little bit like a hangover, but not the easy kind, the kind that an aspirin can fix, no it feels like the hangover that you get from mixing too many kinds of alcohol, the kind you can only wait out, with a heavy head and a body that aches and fuzziness, yes fuzziness, because your brain can’t focus and it’s not that you’re thinking about other things, it’s that you can’t think, it’s that thoughts are an actual effort, and the light hurts your eyes and all music is too loud and no, you don’t want to see people.

4) it feels a little bit like first heartbreak because the world seems the same but also infinitely different and you can’t remember how you used to do things, how you made sense of washing the dishes and how you used to do your laundry and how homework made sense, suddenly the world is a scary place, a strange place and you’re afraid, you’re alone and afraid.

5) it feels like being in a room with no doors and no windows, but being told that there is a way out and you try, you do, you try to figure it out, except that you’re too sad and too tired and what’s the point really, the sunshine would just burn your skin and people are callous and mean and maybe you’d rather stay here. maybe. but then you check the walls for secret seams, again, and maybe there’s something you missed. maybe. and it’s the constant maybe, the inability to want, to desire, to just know. it’s the maybe that’s the end of things.

1) it feels a little bit like those summer days when the sky is completely clear and then clouds gather… no, no, appear, from nowhere and before you know it heavy drops are hitting your temple and your tears are no longer the only things soaking your cheeks and now everything is different, heavy, but also kind of clean, and it’s over just when you get your umbrella to open. it might start again. you don’t know when.

2) it feels a little bit like when you’re watching your favourite show and it’s your favourite scene and suddenly it stops and the wheel keeps turning, and turning, and turning, but it’s not loading, and you sit there and you stare at it and wait. it feels a little bit like that.

3) it feels a little bit like a hangover, but not the easy kind, the kind that an aspirin can fix, no it feels like the hangover that you get from mixing too many kinds of alcohol, the kind you can only wait out, with a heavy head and a body that aches and fuzziness, yes fuzziness, because your brain can’t focus and it’s not that you’re thinking about other things, it’s that you can’t think, it’s that thoughts are an actual effort, and the light hurts your eyes and all music is too loud and no, you don’t want to see people.

4) it feels a little bit like first heartbreak because the world seems the same but also infinitely different and you can’t remember how you used to do things, how you made sense of washing the dishes and how you used to do your laundry and how homework made sense, suddenly the world is a scary place, a strange place and you’re afraid, you’re alone and afraid.

5) it feels like being in a room with no doors and no windows, but being told that there is a way out and you try, you do, you try to figure it out, except that you’re too sad and too tired and what’s the point really, the sunshine would just burn your skin and people are callous and mean and maybe you’d rather stay here. maybe. but then you check the walls for secret seams, again, and maybe there’s something you missed. maybe. and it’s the constant maybe, the inability to want, to desire, to just know. it’s the maybe that’s the end of things.

m.v., what does depression feel like?

we shed our skin
every time we touch things.

we shed our soul
every time we feel.

now,
my soul feels too thin -
i’ve felt too many things,
loved too many beings.

m.v., i wore myself out.

my mother raised me
to be a (good) girl -
to build homes
in people;
to fear shifting sands
but yearn for castles;
to settle;
to arrive;
to see life
as a destination and
not a journey,
because
good girls don’t have quests,
we are the quest,
the conquered,
the discovered;
we are stillness,
quiet,
quiet death.

m.v., i think that maybe i don’t want to be a (good) girl.

i want to go back
in time and space
and reclaim myself.

m.v., i gave my soul to too many boys i didn’t know. 

sometimes you leave a place and the farther away you get from it the more things you seem to remember, except it’s not really memories, it’s your mind playing tricks, constructing narratives you wish were real and it’s all fine and well and great really, except, you’re far away and longing for a place that doesn’t really exist. you’re in a foreign city and alone and it seems like there was a time and a place where darkness held more than emptiness and home was a feeling and not just a cold bed and a light that flickers.

sometimes you leave a place, but you don’t leave it, not really, you carry it with you, like sand in your palms and it trickles down, down, down, and you try to hold on, but then you look around and you realize that you’re waist deep in the sea and you swim and you find that maybe you were meant to be a fish. the shore was never your home. the sand was weighing you down.

sometimes you leave a place.

sometimes you leave a place and sometimes you go back and sometimes you find everything’s the same, but it feels different, it feels like there’s glass between you and everything you touch and people are speaking in a language you no longer understand and they smile differently and yes, that’s lines on your friends’ faces, and yes, you have them too. time.

sometimes you leave a place and sometimes you go back and everything’s different.

sometimes you leave a place and never go back.

one time, after many sometimes, you’ll realize it’s the people you love, not places, and home can be anywhere, anyplace, just find someone to build pillow forts with you and eat ice cream at dawn and laugh, laugh, laugh until it’s laughter that’s trickling down your palms.

m.v., you’ll find a place you won’t want to escape. 

i can kiss you,
but i can’t heal you;
i can hold you,
but i can’t shield you;
i can love you,
but i can’t save you.

m.v., i found love’s limit (please live).