Clover hearted

My own little lavender world pt. 1

PA miscellaneous and colorful chapter.
TW: injury mentions, psychosis, hallucinations

Iris blue
You wanted to keep your innocence, to push back the hands of the clock and take back the years where you weren't daisy-like.
You wish you could take back the years you spent doing every bad thing you could think of, you wish you hadn't done that list of horribly awful things, you wish you hadn't ruined the baby blue skin you once had.
But you did, you have dark purple scars littering your entire body, many drawn by your own hand.
You dress yourself as if you were not ruined, as if you were still good. You wear rainbow shoelaces, colorful beads, and many shirts reading different ways to reclaim your innocence.
You don't know how to sit with the ugly things that you do without believing it is all you are. You don't know what you are.
But I promise I'm still good, I promise I am not dirty, I promise I'm not ruined.

Irrational, deranged, psychotic
I hear my thoughts playing outside of my head, someone sliced a hole in my mind and the stories are spilling into the sky.
It all appears to be surreal, I haven't been in my kitchen before, your face looks unfamiliar in this home of ours.
I stay up until near sunrise and sleep until two or five pm. I am not a night owl, but nocturnal.
I don't know if I'm happy, I think I am, maybe I will look back at the dark ages and see this bedroom, still, I'm better than I once was.
That face is not mine, I am a visitor in this place and body I've known my entire life. Why does the mirror tell stories of a stranger?
The tunes my ears are playing and the movies my eyes are feeding me are not visible to you although it's hard to state that my perceptions are unreal.
Maybe this is when it all becomes magical beyond belief, maybe this is when it cracks and shatters.
I'm sorry I don't know how to conversate like I should, I'm sorry if I am doing this right but perceive myself are socially inept, I'm sorry if it's obvious I'm hallucinating, I'm sorry if you can hear the soft mumbles of my voice in empty rooms.

Lilac nights
I live in a rapidly beating happy heart, almost always joyful, a little bit excited and a little nervous.
I miss the way things were and experience immense relief that things are not the same.
I daydream about a cabin in the woods, I daydream about finally publishing those books, I daydream about a life that is alone but not lonely.
I dress myself in clothes that don't match, I change my name to October, I ramble, shake, and smile.
I stay up until near sunrise writing poetry and listening to Death Cab for Cutie.
Last time I took a photo where I felt pretty was a year and a half ago, and today I smiled at a picture of myself.
The hallucinations are endless and relentless, maybe it's a punchline, maybe it's endearing, maybe it's the worst kind of weird, and maybe it is only becoming harder to live with.
I viewed his words as gospel, I carved our phone calls into my skin, I realized that he was not what he seemed, and I began to peel away the scars.
I write about characters who are like me, I write about bittersweet moments, happy endings, and bleeding nights.

Handmade heaven / October home
"Welcome October, we've been waiting for you, come, walk with me."
The soft man holds out his hand and I share it with him.
We walk through the perfect green grass and he leads me to a white old looking building with great big windows.
He pulls out a large black key, and unlocks the building. "Isn't it beautiful? It's yours." It feels like home here.
We stroll through the shelves of books, stuffed animals, paintings, and posters. "Remember when you made this?" I smile a big yellowish smile. It's everything I could have ever wanted, really.
Summaries of stories, colorful drawings, Valentine's Day treats, and little toys are all over.
I wish I could take off my shirt and feel the cold tile against my skin, and I can, because this is mine. I wish I could make a fort here and spend the night, I'd stay up until sunrise, and I can, because this is mine.
We walked up a tall set of sage green stairs into my house. The walls have starry night painted on them, and everything is exactly what I wanted it to be, it's childish, colorful, full of writing and words, I am a four leaf clover.
The kitchen is filled with coffee, bananas, and chocolate shakes. It's limited to the few things I'd like to eat. There are blooming flowers and triangle shaped banners.
I walk into the bedroom. I admire the pink bed tucked into the corner of the room with strawberry shaped pillows. Stuffed animals and trinkets are plentiful. References to poems and writing are defining the room. The definitions of my favorite are kindly hung on the wall.
I happily collapse into the bed and think about all I get to do tomorrow. I have to run the bookstore, write, and buy more bananas.