VIBE CHECK

Pick a light to sleep with:

I have a night light, something small and nostalgic.

I have Led lights, a bit of warmth and familiarity so similar to the comfort of dakrness.

The door is open and the hall light floods in. It’s just enough, something so real and familiar it’s home.

A small projector of moving lights, colorful and calming and mine.

Pick a weird line of poetry

Tell me. Tell me there are consequences to my actions I will laugh and wear your pain like the finest silk and make you watch as I dance in front of you I won’t care

The only truth a liar ever tells is that lying doesn’t get you anywhere. Listen when they say this, so you don’t have to be the bastard to pass down this knowledg

Yknow I considered signing up to donate my brain after I die, because if that’s possible, I’m truly curious as to what’s up there

You can be a cunning prophet of the heavens, but you are forever cursed to head gods whispers.

Think of yourself, now pick an object in my room

A blue acoustic guitar, barely played but still loved and polished because I’m scared of letting it go

My plant Fred, who I’ve watched flourish and grow even when I was at my lowest

The spider in the corner, there but not quite forgotten. Just an old memory.

My old sketchbooks. I cringe looking at them but also can’t help but yearn for simpler times.

The universe is listening, what do you have to say?

Why do I always get the short end of the stick? Don’t you have a plan for me? Why did you leave me stranded here?

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. I know I didn’t do enough and I don’t know how to fix it now.

I’m so angry. I’m always angry. I can shout and scream and curse to the gods but it doesn’t matter. I am alone.

Why? Was it fulfilling? Why?

Pick a book based off the title alone

Strangers in a strange land

All the lives we’ve ever lived

Stargirl

The diary of a young naturalist

Pick an art supply

A faded highlighter I’ve had since third grade. It barely functions, but it will always be vibrant in my mind

A green pen. A beautiful green pen. Why green out of every other color? It’s just green.

Buttons and beads and other stray items I’ve collected. They once had a purpose but now they are lost. Maybe one day they can be whole again.

A paintbrush. The bristles are soft and worn, used with love over and over again.

Everyone needs a place to rest: Pick one

It’s quiet and warm and there I know I am safe, like in the cozy glow of a lantern.

There’s so much history behind these walls. It lives and breathes and I get to see it.

There are open arms. You are seen here. We know of your struggles, your secrets can now find a place to lie.

The ocean could swallow your worries and salt can stain your hair. There’s more for you now.

What is love? (Platonic or romantic)

Love is not supposed to be saved to use sparingly. It is not a birthday cake to be eaten only once a year, because birthday cake is better months away from the date eaten alone at midnight, special and personal.

Love is lasting. It keeps going and going even when it hurts. It doesn’t stop or pause for anything. Even death cannot stop it, because what is grief if not love preserving?

Love is just you. It’s just. You. It’s shifting and growing and so incredibly real.

What color is sorrow?

It’s blue, like the cloudless sky that just keeps going and doesn’t end. It’s blue like an unused guitar, like an old jacket, like a forgotten friend.

It’s yellow. Yellow like the bar of soap I got that smells like you. Now you’re gone and the soap remains no matter how many times I scrub.

It’s white. A searing hot white. God it hurts so much, everything hurts and I don’t know what to do.

It’s red. Scorching red as everything mixes and mixes and churns and twists and festers. Maybe it will never be the same again.

Tell me who you are. Whisper it close, I won’t tell a soul.

I’m me. I fight and fight to escape it, to escape myself but no matter how hard I try I can’t.

I don’t know. I don’t know. I will never know. I walk around lost turning in circles as the ground shifts below me and I still don’t know.

I am broken. I broke long ago and I have to pretend to be whole. I have to be strong.

I am never going to be one thing. Words are too simple and maybe I am too, but I refuse to box myself in.

You’re waiting for something. The words you’re waiting for, what are they?

I know. I know and I love you regardless. It won’t have to haunt you anymore. We can carry it together.

I swear. I promise you that I am here. I am permanent. I know that it hurts still. We can cope together.

Life is hard. It’s full of misery and sorrow. But you’re doing it. Look how far you’ve made it. Look how much you still have left to do. We believe in you.

You did it. You didn’t think you could but you did. You have made it and it’s okay. Everything is okay now. Rest in this paradise, you are safe now child.

We were made flawed: tell me about it.

When you die you have nothing, not your name or a place to go. By dying they give you something to live for: life. The only way out is to never enter.

We are angry. We are full of violence, and overwhelming urge that takes all of your being to defy. It eats away at you.

We are small. We are so small and insignificant on a grand scale. It hurts. We can cry out but ultimately we are alone.

We are selfish and vain. Our gods are fashioned after ourselves because we have been placed on a pedastal we don’t deserve.

Pick a place to stop:

There is a creek early morning. The trees are calling me by a name I don’t remember, but I know it is mine. I belong here.

There’s an empty field lit up with fireflies. The stars speak to me as if no one else could. I never knew of a home like this.

The top of a cliff as the sun rises. The pastels of pink, purple, and blue ignite something in me that is just out of reach.

An old playground overtaken by nature. Deer are grazing here. It is safe once more and you have returned.

Pick a nostalgia:

The feeling of dirt underneath my fingernails and my bare feet against the grass.

The odd feeling of wool yarn on a handmade blanket

The soothing smell of bubble bath and the warm water. I was a mermaid or a submarine or whatever I wanted to be.

Broken mirrors. There’s still a piece I carry in hopes one day I will see the reflection of a future that made it all worth it.

What’s your natural body temperature?

I naturally run hot. Warm like the sun, like fire and flames and cinnamon. Like a phoenix, reborn from the ashes. I survive, and keep on surviving.

I naturally run cold. Chilled like ice, always empty in a way I hope can be d’idoles by the warmth of another. Or maybe there will be a day my own company is enough.

I tend to change randomly. It never made sense, there was no rhyme or reason. I can never be content. The air conditioning is always too cold and the heat will melt the skin right off my bones. Maybe one day it will be enough.

I conform to the room temperature, adapting and learning as I go.

Pick a reverse fanfiction trope

Too many beds

A super chill guy who only hates you

You kidnap the mafia boss

Good grammar. That’s it. Just good grammar.

Pick a vine reference:

OUR BROTHER IS EMOOOOO

Hurricane Katrina? More like hurricane TORTILLA

But Bethany! I MADE BISCUITS!!!!

What the fuck is up Kyle? No what the fuck!

Pick an element:

Water. Cool, moving, changing, and nourishing.

Nature. Growing green and full of life.

Fire. It’s a new start, a destructive energy of sheer desperation

Air: it’s breathable? It’s clearing and telling and real. It carry’s its secrets and becomes you too.

Ask me a question:

Why? Why did you do this? What was the point?

Are you okay? There’s so much here to unpack.

How did you know? There was so much. How did you know?

Asking a question may get me an answer but it won’t be satisfactory.

Pick a theme of one of my nightmares:

Loneliness: you are surrounded by silence. It’s dark and you can’t see. A voice reaches for you and comforts you.

Loss: a beautiful girl with blue hair time travels from World War Two. You grow close but she can’t remain here any longer and she needs to go back to her time. Say goodbye.

Death: a skeletal deer approaches you and asks you where you belong.

Knowledge: the snake of Eden confronts you. “You know too much, but don’t worry. We will make you art.”

VIBE CHECK

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