Tag Archives: enjoy


Maybe I’m just temporary
Or seasonal
Even something that needs to be put on hold, you know
Not what I was expected to be
I refuse to say things change
People change
Because I know it’s true
We never are what we once were
Nor will we ever fully know what we will be
And we never really know who we’re talking to
Until it’s 2 years down the line
And you realize they’re not who you thought they were
They gradually changed in your eyes
So roughly smooth that you didn’t even take the time to notice
Yet here we are after 4 years and she’s not the friend I thought she was
And he’s not the boy I thought I liked
And that may not be all bad
But you realize that first impressions can be deceiving
Opening shared ideas are misleading
And maybe I liked you better then
But maybe I fall harder for you now

~ Megan

To be honest, I’m not quite sure what I’m saying.


Simply Complicated

Simplicity scares me. And maybe life scares me, too.
If I find simplicity,  is that all there is?
If what I find there is all simple and everything was as it presented itself, is that it? What a disappointment. 
Or is the simplicity something that I can’t imagine until I’m there. Like a color or a number that doesn’t exist that you know of?
Or will simple be like these thoughts that I can easily put together without any real thinking, just less stress for it to seem so complicated? Is this simple, without the questions and the doubt?

Just some of my usual passing thoughts to express my mental exhaustion.


Passing Thoughts: What’s Terrifying

When you find someone that understands you, it’s actually quite terrifying. It’s even worse when you weren’t looking for them. Now I don’t make much sense, do I?

What I mean to say is: you meet them and you open up to them and they find out everything about you. What you like, what you don’t, what you love, what you fear; everything. They discover your best moments, but all of your darkest secrets. What you think about, how you think, who you are not only as a human being, but in your soul.

You invest all of yourself into them, and they have the power to hold everything over your head. And you feel connected, and if they break that connection, you feel as if you’re more broken than before. That’s what makes it so terrifying.

I’ve only met two people in my life who I’ve connected with on that level, and I wasn’t looking for either of them, and they’ve both made an impact I would never be able to forget. That’s terrifying.  Especially because I’ve always been hard to understand, getting to really know me requires a great deal of patience few people are willing to give. I have a complicated mind, sometimes I don’t even understand. That’s what makes the connections that much more significant.

Only one of those people not only understand me, but understand my mind and relate to it more than I ever could imagine possible. That’s terrifying. What if I were to never find someone like that again? Terrifying.

I think a lot, as you can tell by the few posts I’ve made on here, and this is just one of my passing thoughts, I don’t let it consume me. And that also raises an interesting yet easy to answer question:

If you had to say everything you thought, could you keep up?


Something Euphoric About…

It’s sort of enchanting when they try to subtly get to know your body
They run their fingers or their lips over everything
Sometimes they come back to a spot to check if it’s really as you mentioned before, if that’s really how it feels
They get to know your bumps and curves and scars
How rough or soft your skin is in which places
Which parts protrude or cave in
Something euphoric in the sound of heavy breathing, and when the world disappears around you both
Anything you say is spoken in body language
Hands inching toward as some type of way to ask for permission
And no acknowledgment as a form of acceptance
Eye contanct that’s never uncomfortable
Somehow in the silence those gazes say everything you can’t at the moment
Feeling completely and undoubtedly safe and comfortable in their arms
And however you’re feeling, whatever you’re thinking, is shown on your face, in your eyes
There is no other thing on your mind, that is it
You’re in that moment and only that moment.

This Is Not Poetry

When life gets too overwhelming, I find the best release is to write. I recently came across something I wrote after recovering from an alcohol addiction that I want to discuss, this is not poetry:

“Sometimes I wish the bottles weren’t empty. Sitting there. Taunting me. But then I remember how I used to try to find myself at the bottom of one and then another and then another. And then I remember how I found nothing but impairment and clumsiness. And I just started to sink. Drowning. It didn’t help. It just became another problem. It wasn’t used as a mechanism to ‘forget,’ but it was a nice distraction…”

Along with:

“I’ve hit rock bottom many times, and let me tell you, the edges only get sharper.”

I wrote these months ago, and I will never forget how awful I felt, intoxicated AND sober.  Strange how I put “a nice distraction, ” but it was just a distraction,  nothing about it is nice. The idea of getting drunk or even drinking a little makes me sick. I spent my whole summer feeling like I was trapped in the bottle, drowning in the alcohol. I finally got the strength to swim back up, gasping for air, disheveled, checking my surroundings. That whole summer is a blur. I couldn’t sleep, too afraid of what I might dream, especially in the night. Terrified of my own thoughts. When I did sleep, it was 6am, sometimes 8am. As long as the sun was up. It was my only comfort. I slept all day, and when I’d wake up I’d feel disgusting, hungover, exhausted. I stayed at my father’s that summer, I woke up wishing I was somewhere else, but not my house either. It doesn’t feel like “home” to me, I don’t have a “home.” But it would get me away from alcohol access, which was more important.

I got back from my father’s in August, and I finished off a bottle of brandy I had stolen from my his liquor canbinet the day before school. Then I was sober for over 4 months. It felt like a year. Then New Year’s came and we all know where that led, and I’m not proud of it, it was hard to swallow but I wanted to play it off as normal. So I drank, and I felt terrible for it.

And then I truly realized I don’t care how “lame” sobriety is or what someone is going through, I refuse to drink with them, or anyone. It just brings on painful nostalgia.

It also goes to show that no matter someone’s age, they can be struggling with addiction(s). So if you are struggling, don’t give up on yourself, but do give up on the addiction. And if you feel like you must have a distraction, take up something healthy, in moderation of course. Don’t sit around feeling sorry for yourself and wasting your life, please. The world is full of beautiful things. You will have your ups and downs, but you get stronger with every time you push yourself back up.

You’re not alone.


I Guess It’s My Turn

Hey, it’s Megan. I don’t know where to go with this or who will even read it, but I guess I’ll start by taking a little time to share some personal things.

I was born 6 hours away from where I live now, my parents divorced when I was 7. Same old story, my father was a drunk piece of shit and my mother was the wife too afraid to leave. I don’t really remember my childhood, and I think that’s best. Not too fond of what I do remember. But what stays wrapped around my mind is the fact that I feel like I 

really began to open my eyes the day we left my father. I remember being woken up to, “wake up, we’re leaving,” and I didn’t question, I just went with it. One of the few times in my life I didn’t even use that millisecond to question 20 different things all at once. Since then, I’ve been more aware of everything, have more memories, not necessarily good either, but I remember. And after that my parents became textbook divorcees. Mother bashing father, father saying never trust mother. Textbook.

I’ve gone through some shit, so have most of us, and I’ve learned from it, so have most of us, but it doesn’t define me as a person, you know? I’m not that girl who moved a few times and put up with a lot of shit. I’m Megan.

Out of all my siblings I’ve taken the most shit, but I’ve also learned a lot more. I find it painful to judge people and I can see their stories written on their face. They wear it on their skin and carry it with them in their eyes, in the way they walk, the way they talk. Maybe it’s empathy, I don’t know. Guess it depends on if you believe those kinds of things.

I’m a beleiver in doing what makes you happy, if that means flipping burgers, flip those fucking burgers. Whatever you love to do, just do it with passion. This could be saved for another post, so I guessss I’ll hold back, I just really like writing. So I’ll stick with this for now, but I’ll sure be blogging much more.