Sink or Swim

“My feelings are too loud for words and too shy for the world.” – Dejan Stojanovic

I can articulate my feelings in fragments—heavy like bricks that hurt to share but
terse enough to be temporary.
—it is difficult to articulate why I feel the need to explain myself to people.
In any given day, I feel that at least half of the interactions I had were misinterpreted.
I both love and despise being “different.”
I have always had a strong sense of who I am and what I believe in, and
I am genuinely shocked that this is never correctly conveyed to other people.
I’ve learned I have to be somewhat of a showman when I’m around others, or
they’ll think I’m disinterested, boring, rude, passive, or slow.

Being quiet means that you’re never truly recognized as anything great.

Not speaking up in a discussion, having the straightest posture, or laughing obnoxiously at jokes
doesn’t mean someone is unconfident or dull.
I have a meltdown in my mind a minimum of three times a day.
Sometimes I feel like an alien.
Even as a showman, I can’t pretend to enjoy the same things or think the same things as other people.
An inability to pretend leads to misunderstanding and being ostracized.
Being ostracized makes you question who you are and why you were born that way.
Being misunderstood gives you the Walking Diary complex.
Being unique, ostracized, misunderstood, and having a complex leads to severe emotional stress.
Severe emotional stress continues to destroy the potential relationships you could have built—
Those if’s lurk like storm clouds and penetrate like lightning.
Sometimes it’s easier to avoid the storm by just moving to another place,
Pretending to be someone else,
Knowing that you’ll always be the one to love yourself for who you are.


My Favorite “Vegetable”

Generated poem/story #1: my mom has requested I write something on tomatoes, so here is my 20-minute poem:


Rows and rows of
raging red rubies
hanging from thin photosynthetic supporters.
The skinny green stems struggle to
hold their fruits up proudly
under their weight.
Squeezing between each wall of plants,
I grab each and every one of them,
thinking of all of my fond memories:

McDonald’s ketchup
pizza sauce
spaghetti sauce

I smiled to myself as I lugged
my first bag of home-grown tomatoes into the house.
I scrub the smooth skin of each under the sink,
and I chop up the first in the time of a blink.
A shiny middle slice catches my eye–
From between its sliced buddies, I pry the little guy…
after all of this hard work, this first tomato is mine.
I popped Shiny Slice quickly into my mouth,
and from there, the experience quickly turned south.
The juices exploded in every direction
each taste bud mad, yelling their rejection
I spit the intruder into the trash can–
maybe these would taste better in a frying pan.