dontcallmetemi

[dontcallmetemi]

not to be over zealous or anything

more people should have a crush on me

[dontcallmetemi]

Go ahead, take me here <3

sun showers are so pretty!

[dontcallmetemi]

lecrime_

[dontcallmetemi]

“It gets better” bro whennn????

[dontcallmetemi]

Still alone but it's like.... A different strain. 🖤

“My alone feels so good. I’ll only have you if you’re sweeter than my solitude.”

— Warsan Shire

[dontcallmetemi]

Komorebi No. 6 - The Retrospective Glare

The one thing they don't tell you about grief is the amount of resentment you flocculate.

Mourning both the living and the dead is an amassed weight of recounting, recalculating and revisiting every encounter you had with them.

In doing this you rediscover the creases in their hands and stories. You unveil the subtle jokes and meanings to the arrangement of playlists and ways that coffee was prepared, presented and pondered upon. You remember the colour of transcendent hand me downs and cigarette stained smiles. The smell of innocence and a blindness to the incense ever burning.

But in mourning there is a slight tension of the neck in the realisations made. Dry tongue flattened with wrath for understanding that bring an adult means removing the veil of naivety that concealed so neatly that your dead father - a young man who suffered mental illness at a severity I feel guilty for not understanding sooner - was not the hero you thought he was. Just confusion encapsulation in the flesh of a rejected black boy. A young man who died a slave to the grief of disappointment. A failure to push past the weight of having nothing. Of having no one. Ultimately being too selfish to realise that my brother and were standing right there.

Mourning the living is a corroding if not punishing reality that human beings were not designed to place others first. Trying and trying to love the dead that share meals with you is origami in the rain. A mother who shares the same air, earth, water and flamming head with you knows nothing about you and add glitter to these open wounds,she has no desire to. Living with the cross denting my shoulders that the feeling is amplified for my brother. Half baked conversations about chores and what needs to be brought. It's a mortuary documenting the survival of the exhausted. My home.

In all of this, - a fraction of what is actually swirling, looming and even sauntering - resentment has laced my grief and reinforced my opposition to playing out this scene.

As usual, I'm tired and want to sleep.

- Clementine Anne Strachan

#writer #release #sadaf #anxiety #grief #escape #wanderlust

[dontcallmetemi]

Komorebi No. 5 - The Dusty Cupboard

How am I supposed to thrive in the heat of this winter.

Feverish panic about what lies beyond the fuck you that wants erupt from my lips.

An engagement of fatal affairs, I am more inclined to the solace of kicking and punching the air

with heartburn from instant coffee and bud burns than cascade the wrath of my equalization.

Without a beat missed, there is an unyielding burden screaming in the top right cupboard.

Aching to be used. Aching to be innovated.

Stale progression and circumvention of the obvious.

Get a job sweetie. Get a life sweetie. Buy an actual coffee machine sweetie.

Pestering, nagging.

I am well aware that all that beckons is possible.

Ground coffee in my dry hand, it is ideal however I am not one to shy away from the plausibility of the fuck yous that need to erupt before I emerge a I new fresh woman.

It is annoying really. I don't want to flip people off nor do I want to let them stay so I am in a bit of a pickle.

Coarse salt courses over this period of time.

Solid - solid extraction of myself in all of this.

Lentils seeking validation is the zero fat marinade.

Confused conversing with the can of peaches and a sorrow drowned in sardines.

A catastrophe of isolated possibilities.

Ideas waiting for expiration.

I am truly a wasteful writer.

Geez

- Clementine Anne Strachan

#writer #writing #poem #art #explorepage

[dontcallmetemi]

Komorebi No. 4 - If wishes were horses, I'd be less of this.

In an effort to reclaim my authority,

I have thrust myself over the edge.

Cast myself out of the home like a witch with a burning urge.

Here we are five fucking years later and it's a different battle but a battle nonetheless.

I don't want to fight.

I want a peaceful life. Love flowing from my chest. An abundance of wealth in books and trees and cranberry juice.

Hips swaying in the subset of sunsets I photograph.

Diamonds cooling our foreheads.

Gold seeking ends.

Friends that frankly are worthy of the anxiety.

Meals and stories shared.

Secret laughs about boys we like over the sink.

Wine drunk giggling, from within.

A light song in the background.

My sunlight beaming in his own world.

Life against life.

Effort against effort.

But here I am.

Still shaking. Still standing still.

- Clementine Anne Strachan

#writer #writing #poem #art #explorepage

[dontcallmetemi]

If two birds sit on one window, it is considered wholesome.

If three birds sit on a window, it is considered a gathering.

If I sit on a window, I am a raging bull looking for solace in a world that has parameters set for the weak.

When confronted with the mass of air that lifts my pride, I am challenged with displaying who I am.

Am I two halves of a wholesome or Am I one part of a gathering?

Given that this is my third cup of coffee and I can feel the words slipping away from me....

I am one part sparkle and one part gloom

I am one part motivated and one part engrossed with just being done with it all.

The balance is struck through a hypothetical intertwining of my personal desires and what I am expected to fulfill as an individual.

In the one hand, I am an unedited being with the desire to paint tea cups and sell iced tea in the islands and have many dogs that are content with me being their mother.

W H O L E S O M E

In the other hand, I am a fire fueled comparison to water in the darkness of my dimly lit future.

A corroding specimen in the heart of disappointment and quite frankly a loss of hope for everything I believe in. I am functioning at a biological level and not a spiritual. I am conscious of the breaths  I am required to stay alive but not interested in what makes me catch my breath.

G A T H E R I N G

Its crazy because I had said, I would never be this person but here I am.

Governed by survival, I am aware that at any point the lack of luster in my eyes will cause an unyielding force of nature to overcome me.

And in the turmoil of it all, I will find the spine to ask you how my sadness has affected you and how your mind is unable to configure the subtle tones of revelation, unveiling, confession, submission FUCKING desperation in my eyes to make contact.

All they care about is how much more sadder they are than you.

Who the depression looks better on.

A coat woven by insecurity and a grip on validation.

Proof of existence.

Whose father has been dead the longest and whose mother reacted the least.

A L O N E

I am only evidence that I do not require anyone.

For two require, peace and three require placement.

- Clementine Anne Strachan

#poem #art #writer #explore #explorepage

[dontcallmetemi]

Komorebi No.2 - The Cross to Bear

I wear a weight around my neck.

The heaviness of hope like an infinite loop around my mind

I stay inside.

Criss cross ladder, where am I climbing to?

Where am I climbing from and why is it so confusing.

'Rayne, where are you going?'

I am climbing out the poetry mom.

I'm turning myself into a story.

[dontcallmetemi]

Komorebi No. 1 - The Insatiable

There was wind in my rib-cage.

An analytical force of chaos roaming in the empty spaces that held me together.

In all honesty I am to blame.

I've chosen to be stubborn despite the concrete facts.

Same old, same old.

Once, in a wonderful day time fortune, I will balance the dark and the light.

Maybe then the weight of the past won't be do obviously mounted.

I am learning to write from a place of honesty instead of desperation.

The light that filters through. The light that past.

Straight lines confused for direction.

Dust adorning the path.

- Clementine Anne Strachan

[dontcallmetemi]

Ouuuuuuuuuuuu

The Language Of Flowers

Acacia: Hidden love, beauty in withdrawal

Amaryllis: Pride, a hard won success

Anemone: Vanishing hopes

Bells of Ireland: Wish for good luck

Carnation: Fascination, love and distinction

Daffodil (Narcissus): Honesty and truth

Dahlia flower: Warnings and change

Daisy: Innocence, loyal love and purity

Delphinium: Open heart, ardent attachement

Gardenia: Symbol of secret love

Gladiolus: Remembrance, faithfulness and sincerity

Hyacinth: I'm sorry, please forgive me.

Iris: Eloquence

Lily (general) : Purity of the heart and refined beauty

Lily of the valley: Return of happiness

Marigold: Passion and creativity

Orchid: Beauty, refinement and love

Peony: Happy marriage

Lavender: Love at first sight

Red rose: Love, respect, courage and passion

White rose: Purity, secrecy, silence, innocence and charm

Sunflower: Good luck and ambition

Tulip: Irresistible love

Violet: Faithfulness, modesty and delicate love

Zinnia: Lasting affection, daily remembrance and good memories

[dontcallmetemi]

[dontcallmetemi]

Temi and stuff

Hello wonderful beautiful and slightly depressed people :)

I've missed you so.

Between my last depressive episode and the one that is about to begin, I have been somewhat paralyzed.

I haven't written anything, taken a lousy picture or even painted one.

I am still a little hopeless but now I have nothing to lose. I've developed this new outlook on life. ''I have nothing left to lose".

The past few months I've battled with depression, anxiety, a kind of almost accidental suicide ( I just wanted to see how far I could go), a weird gambling phase, a drug situation, a disappointed mother, unemployment, angry brother, fuckboy I let get too close and my academic career that won't draw to a head.

I have done it all. lost it all. and have nothing left to lose.

so what am I going to do with this tragedy?

I am going to turn it into a comedy.

Laughing in the fall from grace my insecurities will feel.

Blah blaaaaaaahhh

Im not going to get emotional about it but I am going to give this life thing another go but THIS TIME.... I am totally going to be aware and not so open to taking the beat downs.

(whatever that means)

I want to write more, make a short film and I want t be skinny.

I want money and enough of it to buy my (not so little) brother clothes.

I want a flat stomach and a full fridge and the idea that I am coping despite the fact that I dont want to be alive.

basically..........

I missed you and I am going to be better.

I promise.

xoxo

Clementine

#getting better #explore

[dontcallmetemi]

currently self harming 

Memories are dangerous things. You turn them over and over, until you know every touch and corner, but still you'll find an edge to cut you.

— Mark Lawrence, Prince of Thorns

[dontcallmetemi]

Vent Session No.1

Misery loves company? 

Not mine. Solitude. Shutting Down, shutting out. 

That’s my thing. 

I’ve never been a fan of the whole...

‘look at me! I’m suffering!’ thing 

I am sad again though.... I thought I was okay for a bit 

Turns out I was just busy to notice the line of demons to face 

Nothing makes me sadder than the fact that it seems like a recurrent theme in my life to suffer. 

School - suffering 

Family - suffering 

Job - suffering because of family 

Mind - suffering. the rain of sadness pelting against the inside of my head 

Spirit - suffering. consumed by guilt. bruised by ambition.

Heart - suffering. I can’t let go of the anger residing in my disappointment. 

And the shit show continues. 

I am currently wearing a pair of converse chuck taylors that are so distraught you can almost see the intention seeping from the rips and violated seams. 

told myself I’d keep wearing them until he came back but he never did and I never stopped wearing them. 

And that is the constant state of affairs in my entirety. 

a little too much hope 

a little too much faith 

a little TOO MUCH FUCKING need for a silver lining 

a ray of hope 

an allegiance to consistency granted by God Himself

The bitterness in the back of my throat scorches the flesh fickled 

from the constant cat and mouse game I’ve been called to play with

the idea of my composure and the thrashing consequence of waking up every morning

Cat and mouse game I lose every time.

Cat and mouse game I live everyday.

Arena brimmed with supporters of the win not the cause.

Surrounded by the selfish presented as the nonchalant.

Loneliness the loudest groupie.

Melancholy the colours splattered in the empty room of my 

existence’s needs addressed. 

But hey.......... who cares right? 

Clementine Anne Strachan 

#love #poem #words #tired #exhausted #loner #lonely

[dontcallmetemi]

be still. breathe. the earth will continue to spin even if you are not pushing it.

shelby leigh (via nothingwithoutwords)