The Return of Yourself

Remember that time

when a part of you disappeared?

The seasons kept changing though,

and in between all the hours

that you were trying to be somebody you were not,

In between all the days you were off wandering,

that part of you crept back

without you even noticing.

Your fundamental rawness came out,

as the second hand stroke midnight.

Your neck cradled into the pillow

bringing you back home to yourself.




This Little Elf Of Mine

With all of this chaos happening in the world right now,  I sit here in my dark room like the vampire that I am, with my little, leafy plant catching sun from the corner of the window. That special tea in my hand. Just me and Dew.

I’m thinking that the only thing I can handle today is love. I’m reflecting on this idea of soulmates, about the way we find our “lifetime people,” the ones who are certain to be there no matter what this chaotic world throws at us.

And boy, does it throw a lot at us. Things come up that we don’t expect, that we never, ever planned on.

These lifetime kind of people, they’re always changing, as we all are. It is nothing but a blessing to watch them grow and transform; to be there for them(and them for you), when it feels that life is too heavy to carry alone.

These kinds of relationships require devoted love and attention, though it is happily given and graciously received. These are the kind of people you meet and from the very beginning, you do not see an end.

And if you’re lucky enough, they are the people that touch your soul in a way that most people don’t. They are the disks in your spine when you feel like you cannot sit up. They are the ones you call without hesitation. They are the ones whose pain you take on as your own, and if you could take it away from them, you would do it without question.

The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve realized how important it is to have soulmates. To work through life with someone that you only want the best for is both challenging and beautiful. But it is worth every goddamn second.

My soulmate is not my lover, and in a way, it makes our connection deeper. Because no matter what and no matter who else comes along, she will always stay my person.




Trying to Convince Myself of It

“I just want to be normal,” I used to tell myself over and over again.

I still do sometimes.

Want to be normal.

Whatever that means.

Not be depressed, not be anxious.

Have a normal family.

Whatever that means.

Sit down for family dinners and actually want to talk.

Find happiness with another human that’s my age,

that says “I understand you.”

Graduate school on time.

Get a normal job.

Sometimes, I feel like a raw egg,

like you could just touch me and I might crack.

Sometimes, I don’t think I’d be OK if I didn’t have all the medicine,

or if I couldn’t make myself a drink at night.

Bouncing from one hobby to another,

as if I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to pick my college major.

Spending my life trying to feel normal.



Life Crisis #476,325: The Time I Skipped A Date To Buy A Puppy

Life is so weird.

And in that weirdness comes a certain number of existential crises that happen, usually per year. My number feels a bit higher than the average.

A couple of days ago, while sick with a virus and plans for a dinner date the same evening, I sat in my living room looking at dogs online (one of my favorite pastimes). I found a Welsh Corgi, and my bored, tired of sitting around and being sick, fed up, corgi-loving butt decided that it would be a good idea to get off the couch and feverishly, dizzily drive an hour away to a town called Castle Rock to look at the biggest ears I have ever seen on a dog.

I listened to the Halsey album “Badlands” the entire way there and felt badass AF.

When I got to the rescue center, I was brought into a room to meet little Banjo, the Corgi with ears the size of my face. He was so cute and nice to me, a good reminder that I don’t currently need to resent all living creatures.

I also may have looked at a puppy or two when I was there. Little Nala and her stub tail had me lost in love. She got along with my current canine love, Louis, and I convinced myself that “Yes, I need to adopt her. Louis could really use a friend.”

And of course, my motherly instinct kicked in, and through my nurturing blinders, all logic went out the window. All I could see was this helpless little creature who needed love and care.

So I did adopt her. (Obviously, I cancelled my date, because puppies > boys. Duh).

She slept all cute, curled up in a tiny-dog bed in my passenger seat. Things were going well.

And then when we got home, sh*t hit the fan. I would say quite literally, but I don’t have a fan in my room. If I did, I’m sure there would have been sh*t on it.

I should have known really. Making these sorts of big, life decisions while in a tornado of an existential crisis is far from a good idea; even when they are well-intentioned.

Little Nala, too young to understand the concept of going to the bathroom on a floor even, thought that peeing in my bed was the best option. Twice.

The shy, quiet Nala at the shelter turned into a demon when she got home, using howls instead of horns and cuddles instead of fire to lure me in. Laying on me, kissing me, doing her absolute best to not make me feel like a f*ck up in life.

And that damn nubby tail…

It feels wrong to talk about a puppy and a night from hell in the same sentence, but sometimes, we have to accept that we are wrong.

I knew the next morning I had to bring her back. I wasn’t ready for a puppy. Louis was certainly not ready for a puppy to take over his window seat or his current sleeping arrangement.

If there is anything more depressing and traumatizing for a dog-lover than having to call a rescue league and tell them that you have to bring a puppy back because A. Your current dog wants to bite its head off and 2. “It just sunk in that my life is about to become a nightmare if I keep her,” please let me know.

I thought little Nala and I would have a smooth ride back to find her a new, suitable home, until she decided that pooping in the back seat of my car was a better idea; on top of my down jacket and all over the dog leash. That delayed our trip a bit when Lauren(that’s me) had to clean up dog sh*t from various surfaces, including my own body.

When we got to Castle Rock, The words “return” and “refund” were brought up a few times, and honestly, I could barely use them in a sentence when responding to the nice lady at the desk. You want me to “return” a dog? It was as confusing as the time I walked into the registrar’s office and dropped out of college.

This sweet lady saw the tears coming through my depressing eyes, and tried to comfort me with reassuring remarks and an opportunity to volunteer at the rescue league.

I handed little Nala off, walked away with my head down, and drove home contemplating how I would wash away my sins. But first, I had a lot of bedding to clean and a car to de-sanitize.

I learned a really big lesson. And it made me feel really horrible about myself. But the truth is a b*tch. And we all have to face it.

Nala has a new home now, which lessens the sting a little bit.

I’m also really glad to have excellent birth control, to avoid the possibility of a human baby entering my life anytime soon.

I heard you can’t put them in crates.









Hey heart,

I have a favor to ask of you.

Will you please,

with cherries on top,

chill the f*ck out?

Will you please accept that there are so many things not meant for you

and that,


this is most certainly one of those things?


why does this make you cringe?

Why can’t you accept that life happens chaotically yet with good intention?

Why do you care so much?

I have all of these questions for you

that my mind can’t answer either.



The Damage Is Done, Now What Do We Do With It?


You’re so f*cked up,

and sometimes,

all I want to do is scream at your brokenness.

But the truth is that I’m the least together person

that you’ve probably ever met.

So really,

I’m screaming at my own brokenness.

And they say you can’t fix people,

so maybe let’s just be ruptured together,

and hope that our fractured pieces

somehow stick together

like a shattered mirror

that someone tried to glue together once.