I’m fucking sad

You feel like the old chair I had in my living room as a child. Soft, warm, comfortable. Something I had gotten so used to as a part of my life, I never gave it a second thought. I never noticed how my weight has imprinted on the cushion just enough so if I were to sit on another chair, the uniform plateau would almost be uncomfortable. It was always by the French windows, perfect for facing the salty sea air in a warm summer day. I was perfectly acquainted with the old wooden legs being uneven and wobbly and even the slightly loose arm that jerked if you leaned on it. Sksjsbsndjzk I’M SAD AND I CAN’T WRITE IN METphors
I can’t write at all
Falling on deaf ears

Musings

Somedays I wanna be in a fast fashion brand commercial, where my friends and I in excessively glittery clothing stick out if a convertible, enjoying the wind in our hair and faces and we race through a sepia toned tunnel on the highway. Or being on a rooftop at midnight laying on the concrete squinting our eyes while we look for stars in the urban light.

But sometimes I also want to be in an underrated indie boy bands music video, walking through a beach in a drop dead gorgeous crimson gown, not caring how the saltwater wets the hems, or how my hair sticks on my neck as mascara runs down my face almost elegantly and nearly seamlessly.

– Utsha

To live for someone else

I’ve always wondered what that weight would feel like. The one I so easily hand over to someone else. The weight of being the sole purpose, the last string, the very last hope of a person. Being the only line between life and death itself for someone. Having the power to tip the balance so easily, to destroy or let life blossom.

Indeed, it is extremely selfish. Giving someone the responsibility for your very being, your entire self. After all, they are they are the reason you are alive today.

For the longest I didn’t have this reason. I was aimless, and wondering. Just slowly shuffling from one checkpoint in my life to another. And from a young age, I’ve always known the minute I have someone in my life that I cherish, they will inevitably have to feel that burden of my existence. As much as it pained me, I really couldn’t help it.

‘Why not live for yourself?’ You ask. Well, I would, if I could even stand the sight of me. You see, self-hatred runs deep in my veins. To want to live for myself, I would have to see myself worthy. I am alive for myself, and what a joy that is. But why would I do so, when I see no redeeming quality in me? On the other-hand, I am alive for the sole purpose so as to not upset those close to me. Now that sounds like a better way to go.

Well, I met someone.

As wonderful as that is, I’m afraid. Very afraid.

April Utsha, the dreaded predecessor of March Utsha (incomplete)

April Utsha is here, and she is here to stay. She is here with me, alone in quarantine keeping me company as I count the many ways I can go insane. She’s here stroking my hair as I lay in bed counting the cracks on my ceiling.

After all it feels like she’s the only one who will be with me through it all.

She was there when he cheated,
She was there when he didn’t.
She was there when he dumped me,
She was there when I did.

No matter what route I seem to take, she is there. Waiting for me. Black fingers stiffened to talons, waiting to brush my hair and give me comfort. Waiting for me to envelope myself in her. Waiting for me to leave so she can be right there again, knowing I will never know anything but her.

She is my comfort, she is my bain. She is my captor without any chains.

She is me.