Day 3:

It’s been three days since we lost electricity. It took me as long to find a pen. Who needs pens anymore anyway? Me. I need pens. I started keeping track of the days by carving into the wall. I think from this point forward, I will use the tally system rather than carving out “day one, day two... etc.” My hand hurts.

Day 6:

Frank and Cornelius seem to be on the outs. They are on the am shift for work and watching this schedule has helped to estimate what time it is. I saw them walking together only to see Frank storm off in the opposite direction about five minutes later. Cornelius was seen speaking to the queen later that evening. Drama unfolds on empty chip bag island.

Day 7:

Frank is dead. The funeral procession lasted 2 minutes. The hundreds of guests that arrived did not even seem to care as they went about their business. Poor frank. Crushed by a rogue flip flop. They were on my feet but that’s neither here nor there. This isn’t about blame. Its about Frank, the most productive ant I’ve ever met.

Day 10:

This is getting ridiculous. The ants have abandoned me. I’m starting to think they were only using me for food. But now that food has gone sour and I guess even they have standards. Classy ants.

Day 11:

I used most of the pen ink, writing out posts for Facebook and Instagram. Now that I can’t eat the pen, I’m starting to realize how little it matters. I have a new appreciation for life and nature and organic connection. Things are going to change, by golly!

Day 15:

The power is back! I haven’t forgotten the epiphanies I have had. I’m going to make changes. Starting now. Follow my blog on Instagram to track my progress!

It’s been years since I thought of you

Since I reflected on all I’ve put you through

Years since I considerded your needs

By you I mean I, By I, I mean me

I stopped caring about how I made you feel

Harsh words and judgments, wounds are real

I took my value from my own palms

And let the mind of others define my wrongs

Everytime I feel like you’re not enough

It’s rewarded with ever decreasing self-trust

When did I lose the last of my self-compassion?

The voices of others, an overwhelming distraction

To you I mock, judge, abuse and even lie

By you I mean me, by me, I mean I

Its my own fault that I feel this way

My own disregard for the lost soul I slay

This is the problem, the cycle is on repeat

From my own torment, I cannot retreat

My last ally and my enemy are of one kind

both reside in my lovely broken mind