When Thoughts Fly

loveMy thoughts fly.




Sometimes they crawl into the crevices of my heart, those words, feelings, truths and I want to hide from the rush of adrenaline.

If I can’t see you, you can’t see me.

Logic is something that we use when it’s convenient. Emotions have capes that allow them to fly wherever they please.

One day I’ll stand before you and open that door so you can see inside me. That door opens so infrequently. It’s usually under construction.

People knock but I pretend like I’m not home. For you I’ll open the door.

Only you.

Free floating

Free floating, heart racing

Trying to make it through this one minute

Knowing there will be many more minutes, seconds, hours, days and years

or something along those lines and I’m hungry but for the wrong emotions

I can’t be right today or is it today?

I’m not sure if it’s today or tomorrow or Friday or Tuesday.

It’s Monday, and I know it. I’m just fucking with you…whoever you are.

I wrote a lot of words and I’m not sure if they are good because

I’m waiting for unanswered emails

and I have a profound fear of rejection that I

keep pushing through knowing that

not everyone likes me and

in fact the few people that do, I can count on one hand on a given day

because I annoy the shit out of myself so

how can anyone actually like me?

But they do…like me.

Anxiety causes my thoughts to race, my chest to expand, my heart to question what I know to be true and

I’m glad that you’re reading this, because

it means that these emotions are being validated by

your eyes.





I don’t like to weigh myself because numbers are depressing. When I was in high school I ranged from weighing 110 lbs to 120 lbs. I was super skinny. People used to ask me if I ate. And I did eat, I was just anxious all the time and eating was a challenge. I never had an eating disorder but I did vomit bile in the mornings during my senior year at F.H. LaGuardia High School before I went off to school. Well, actually that’s not how the routine went exactly. I’d wake up, feel like my heart was going to explode out of my chest, and I was scared to open my eyes. But I made myself do it. I was immediately nauseated by the influx of (what I didn’t know then was) cortisol and stress hormones. I threw up bile until my stomach settled. Then I ate oatmeal, which my mom made me and I did mindfulness meditation guided by Jon Kabat-Zinn where he told me how to be a mountain. With Jon’s guidance I was able to face the day. In college I gained 15 lbs, except not in Freshman year, it was in Sophmore year, when my Katrina’s mother would send us brownies frosted with chocolate frosting.

This was supposed to be about pants.

Anyway, after college I eventually had children, and the weight never went away. I’ve become attached to elastic pants. I have these fancy yoga/dress pants and I wear them every day, because they are more comfortable on my belly. I’ve never had a belly in my entire life. And now, I can’t get rid of it. I want my pants to be smaller. I have started doing Tae Kwon Do and I walk five miles a day. I hope that I can buy pants that don’t showcase my belly. But I blame anxiety and depression for fucking up my metabolism.





I talk to you in my dreams. You’re here with me. We sit down in two armchairs across from each other. I can hear you. But you have to go. So I’ll write you a note on top of these sausages in this takeout box. But ink doesn’t work on the sausages. You’ve already left and I’ll find you again in another scene. It’s so hard to hear because the trumpets are blaring outside in that large open field. I forgot to feed the cats. I better get home. I’m going to run through this forest until I get there. Only, it’s not a forest, it’s actually a sewer system. I’m underground and there are rats everywhere. My feet are filthy. I see a ladder, if I hold onto it, it’ll turn into a hot air ballon. I’m flying now, and I’ll get home in 20 minutes if this balloon goes where I think it’s going. I’m going to let go of the balloon now, so I can fall to the floor of my bedroom. I’ll close my eyes tight so I don’t feel the drop. My neighbor sits with me on the bed and taps my forehead, doing acupressure on it. He says he just got married and there will be a party soon. His wife is from Ireland, and I’ve never met her before. I’m so tired and I know the kids and I will be going to the beach soon. Just five more minutes of sleep. There are 20 people in my apartment and the bride doesn’t want to talk about getting married. I want to sleep, but they won’t let me and the bride isn’t wearing any pants. I run out of my house and I’m stuck in a map of Queens. I can’t get out of it. I know the beach is close though. If I follow the trail I’ll get there.

Scrambled Eggs



My mind is scrambled eggs. I just ate poutine.

I have too much going on and I can’t keep up with everything.

I’m dehydrated.

I need to focus so badly but it seems impossible.


I see me

I defined my significance by how much you noticed me, when in fact I am here regardless. I scream and I can hear myself even if you’re holding your ears. Nothing will change unless you let go and look me in the eyes. Tell me I meant nothing to you, because from your actions that is what I feel.

I’m not lonely. I’m content in seeing myself for who I am. My invisibility is subjective to you. My existence is not predicated upon your approval.

I want to shout “you’re a bad person!” But that’s not the truth. You are just blind. I’m still beautiful.woods


I have this spark and nobody can take it away from me. I’m a writer, it’s what I do. It doesn’t matter if anyone acknowledges my talent, because I know that I can write. Sometimes I doubt myself; we all do.

Doubt doesn’t make my talent go away. Doubt cloaks my talent. Doubt hides the fact that I can write. The fact remains – I am a writer and my words make magical imprints on a page. They dance and punch people in the face sometimes. My words are real, true, tearful and happy, but not all at once.

Nobody can take my words away from me.

You have a spark. Your spark makes you you. No matter how hard they try, nobody can take that spark away from you. Dance, sing, play video games or take computers apart. You are good at any of those things or all of them.

Love your spark. Realize your talent and keep it close. It’s real. You’re real.



Are you listening?

img_6013Are you listening?

I find that I say things and people don’t listen to me. I don’t know if this is a recent phenomenon or cultural one. I think it’s the latter. It seems that people are talking and others are not listening to them. Think about it; when someone is talking to you are you listening or are you waiting for your chance to interject? I struggle with waiting for my turn because I have ADHD. I work very hard to try to listen to what the person on the other end is saying to me. Sometimes I fail and I interrupt them. It frustrates me and most likely it frustrates them.

I don’t want to tell you what to do. I don’t need to tell you what to do. I’m going to tell myself what to do. Sarah, stop waiting to speak and just listen. What is the person you are with saying to you? What do you hear?

Reflect back to them what they just said to you. Maybe if I become a better listener people listen to me.

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