daphne gray
Bio
just a girl in this world who thinks a lot and writes a lot and some of it makes sense and some of it doesn't. enjoy nevertheless.
Stories (34/0)
venting at 6 something pm
Everything is awful. Scratch that. Everything feels awful. I sit on a random curb, by some beer store that’s —for some reason— closed on Super Bowl day. My plans got canceled so I’ve opted for painting my nails alone in my room. Maybe I’ll call my mom. I don’t feel like talking to people, or eating, but that’s another story. Nothing in the world belongs to me. I Irish-Goodbyed yet another party last night. I was anxious —really, I was crossed— anc I didn’t know 75% of the people there. Usually, for a party, that’s normal. But this wasn’t a usual party and I know I disappointed my friends who'd asked me to sleep over. They always ask me to sleep over; do or don't, I disappoint them, but that's another story. This cigarette is not doing me any good, but I guess that’s not not-normal! I’m listening to my good playlist, but still, I don’t feel anything but awful. I want to sprawl my each and every limb out on the ground beneath me but I’m in far too public of a place for that. I need to do laundry when I get home. I have to submit a paper. I have to use the bathroom. I have to do a lot, clearly. I’m glad my plans were cancelled. My mom would be disappointed in me, in all the avoidance I’ve partaken in this weekend, and how that is all I want to do for the next week, or God knows how long. I am getting cold out here; I’m five minutes from home and I have no desire to get up and put my legs to work. I have to call my Godmother. My to-do list now overwhelms me, on top of all that of which I already feel. Is it too much to ask for time to stop? Just for a little? Really, I’d like it to stop for longer than that, but realistically I know none of that is possible. I’m biting on my hair now; my feet are sore, my back aches. I reek of a kitchen ambiance that I desperately want to get rid of, but still, I have no desire to get up and put my legs to work. I want to be saved, from what and by whom I couldn’t tell you. The moon shines pretty tonight, it’s a shame that I can’t worship her like I otherwise would. I don’t have it in me, but then again, what do I have in me tonight? There are no longer thoughts in my mind, only discomfort in my heart and some in my chest, both of which I’m unsure of how to rid myself of. Maybe I should get up, maybe I should just go. But I don’t want to. Maybe I should fight against that temptation, the one to do nothing. Would it help me feel something? Something good and pretty? I feel doomed. That’s better than feeling nothing! That’s better than feeling nothing? God, I want too much, and yet nothing at all.
By daphne gray5 months ago in Poets
what i want
I want your arms wrapped around me as we waste the day away. Tangled up in silk bedsheets, in each other, with the sunlight saying hello through the blinds that dance in the wind. I want your hands on my hair, twirling it gently, your fingers dancing down my back, spelling out soft “i love you”s. Your eyes, big and brown, glimmering, as they always do, staring straight into mine, speaking with no words at all.
By daphne gray5 months ago in Poets
December 19th.
You have been, involuntarily, the only thing on my mind for the last week and a half. You are my favorite catchy song and I am a broken record player. You are invading and all-consuming, and I can’t seem to get you out. I’d chew some gum, but I don’t like to. I’d listen to another song, but I don’t want to. I’d do a puzzle, but you’re confusing enough. I’d let it fade away, but I've no desire to. Finishing the song might be my only option, but I’m not brave enough to, and now, you’re so very far away.
By daphne gray7 months ago in Poets
Hope in December
I slept late last night, I tossed and turned; artificial rain noises lulled me to sleep only so much. I woke up okay, though. My morning cup of coffee, made with love and flavored with brown sugar cinnamon only woke me up enough to last half the day, so I made a pit-stop before class for a second cup.
By daphne gray7 months ago in Poets
Suddenly
In this loud house with obnoxious lighting, you pull me aside when the music gets too loud to talk over. Sat on a ratty couch, your arms spread over the cushions behind us and my heart beats almost right out, into my hands. The only thing that scares me more than you wanting to talk to me is you not wanting to talk to me. This scene feels familiar, the déjà vu hits me, and the replay gives me motion sickness.
By daphne gray7 months ago in Poets
November 30th.
I am sat by my favorite tree again, 13 days later. The ground beneath me is still familiar, and so is the smell of smoke, but I am trying to get used to the ache in my lungs. I try not to ruminate on these next three weeks, my least favorite of the year, but it is futile. I feel stuck. I am unsure if I have it in me to turn my pain into some glorious metaphor tonight. The sun sets too early now; they’re each different, sure, but in this moment, it feels all the same. Blue and yellow and orange muddled together until the canvas becomes dark again, like I am used to. I like being used to things. My roommates’ conversations sound foreign, the girl in the mirror is a stranger, I have this weird pain in my left shoulder, maybe I should have gone to my weekly yoga class after all. For 13 days, I was someone different, and 13 days later, I don’t want to know her anymore. I feel stagnant. My to-do list is a mountain and I have no plan for when to climb it, much less how. I am sat outside, on the golf course that has become my second home, hoping desperately to find the place in which my remains are buried, but I’m not even trying. I see no grave and there was never a tombstone to look for, all that I am met with is a rabbit hopping by, that’s new. I don’t like new. The next three weeks shouldn’t feel new, I’ve been through them before and I’ll do so again next year. New, new, new, everything feels new. The girl I once knew would know what to do, but these 13 days have killed her, and funnily enough, there’s still no tombstone to look for. Last week was warm but tonight the weather chills me to my bone; my hands are always cold but I worry my thumbs might actually freeze. These sweatpants were given to me yesterday and my comically large coat has finally made its debut. The growl from my stomach is almost comforting, if only it didn’t pain me in a way I wasn’t used to. I twirl my hair, the same piece I always do, but I just found out it might make it shorter than the rest, that’s new. Everything seems so close, but when I reach out my arms, it is only a gust of wind that greets me, and a magnifying glass falls out of my hands. I didn’t know I was holding that. I don’t know a lot anymore, apparently, and, worst of all, I don’t know if I have it in me to learn again.
By daphne gray7 months ago in Poets
