january mania
thinking thoughts
On New Year’s Eve I cried. I begged my mom to take me home but, after noticing my distress, my cousin offered to take me on a walk in order to calm my self. The twenty five degree weather seemed to soothe my nervous system and once we got back to the function it was time to get drunk. I drowned myself in Crown Apple until I forgot why I wanted to leave in the first place and fell asleep before midnight.
It had been awhile since I’ve gone out to a party.
That following week started my manic episode and it ended with me cutting off all of my hair.
The last time I went to the mental hospital I was still an adolescent. It felt strange to go back now, but I didn’t feel safe with myself and that was even more strange. I begged and pleaded my way out, and since I had no thoughts of harming myself or others they let me out. I felt fine, I didn’t feel crazy like I did at sixteen.
I am usually very aware of how my personality and emotions are perceived. Most may see me as quiet and awkward, some will see me as only bubbly and optimistic. But no matter who I portray myself to be, sometimes I cannot control my accursed brain.
Because I want per ora to be about everything, it’s hard to find a balance between personality and marketability. Per ora is known for my poorly thought out thoughts, but I don’t have the life for the thoughts I want to think.
I talk a lot about men but is it my fault they always prove a point of mine?
2026 will be the exploration of per ora and I hope you will stick around to see where I can take this in a year.
I ended January by printing out all of my poems and buying a pink wig.
What is per ora doing? What is per ora wearing? What is per ora thinking?
12/23/23
I’m 56 days clean today
Yet I feel more dirty than before
I’m 56 days clean and my mom is proud
I stopped ruining the discernible body she constructed in her womb
But on the inside I am still wounded
On the outside I’m 56 days clean and my scars are fading
But I haven’t been sober in months
I threw away the blades for bottles
I threw away the injuries for intoxication
I am 56 days clean and I can wear shorts
But I’m now immune to the fire
Pain that is not visible to the eye is the pain that hurts the most
But the difference about this poem
Compared to the ones before
Is that as it goes from winter to spring
I know I can also change
Next year I will swallow my pride
Allowing my soul to get a taste
Allowing my body to rest
And hope for the best
per sempre ora: not forever but for now
new post every friday
your doll,
bambolina ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚