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Admittedly, I have a pretty bad temper and I can be prone to drastic reactions to seemingly inconsequential stuff (and even more prone to drastic reactions when the stuff is of more importance), which makes it a constant battle to contain the more destructive parts of my malady-stricken brain. For a long time, I was the type of person that just broke everything when they got angry and I am sincerely trying to keep shit intact these days. How successful am I? I don’t really know yet, but here’s a poem about the process. As always, flicks from my notebook are below the poem. Share your thoughts or temperamental behaviors with me! I need connection!! PLEASE!

On Not Being a Volcano

Hi, nice to meet you, Earthquake,
   I don’t know why you want me so shaken;
      it isn’t like I couldn’t feel you approaching–
              it isn’t like it would have mattered

I push against walls to hold them up
    or to hold myself up or both or neither;
                it isn’t like it matters,
       the damage will run along the fault lines and that
            chasm can be filled with all things broken

Ropes can be made with discarded clothes,
           incense made of memories;
     we could descend into the maw with
        those firsts and lasts as torches

We could find the source of the tremor and
        I could break that fucking plate

I could gift compressional stress or an aftershock–
             a kiss of fatalflaw to the richter;
                              I could
   trace the fissures on every piece of paper within reach,
                 slide each sheet under the last;
                      seduced by subduction

I could introduce you to the epicenter of my face,
         placed just above a ruptured geology

I could show you landslides made by hand–
       displace myself into another valley

Head rested on bedrock, I could hum a magnitude;
   ductile to brittle, I could turn flexible to fracture,
     take the strain in our spines, make it seismic–

I could,
   but the shakes give me away–
      so I do my destruction somewhere else:
                        I stay inside

Surround myself with shared stories and pillows

I watch the books fall from the mantle and
   I make plans to put them back in order

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