I am a sensitive soul

the romanticised idea of "the tortured artist" hasn't been so good for my mental health

to the friend who took this photo, I miss you

i am a sensitive soul. with that comes great responsibility.
i must see the world in all its colours. 
the green wet grass I'm walking on. 
the red of my summery dress I secretly bought. 
the blueberries on the ramble on the back of my granny's house. 
and never forget, 
black and white are colours too. 
I have to stop picking favourites. 
favourite feeling; favourite thoughts; favourite flavour of me. 
i'm everything. sweet. bitter. salty like the sea. 
i'm the matured plum and the ripe papaya. 
i'm everything. 

i'm in the woods. 
where traffic and running late to work doesn't exist. 
where the things are not said, but sung. 
by hummingbirds jumping between eucalyptus trees. 
like I used to jump on my bed, 
when I was a little kid; 
and I didn't question if I could paint or dance or eat more chocolate cake. 
I just did. 

I try to find joy in nature's delights. 
the sun for breakfast. 
wildflowers for lunch. 
the crickets chatter for dinner. 
the rain falling on the river, 
like my fingers on the strings of a harp, 
my favourite lullaby. 

but sometimes my heart gets tired of feeling too much. 
so i let it rest. 

and when i'm ready to feel the pain,
joy will come back to me;
it will allow me to soak in the autumn air,
the smell of roasted chestnuts when i'm walking down a crowded street.
it will allow me to get excited about the quietness of the world. 
the reflection of the trees in the water. 
the canoes piled up on top of one another. 
a man fishing for the views and not the fish.
the world is so quiet when we let it be. 

i will be happy. 
with the smallest thing. 

i will be happy.

❊

I sit on the stone steps. 
huge blanket.
chai tee.
barefoot.
i look at the moon. 
in my lifetime, I'm going to watch tv more than I watch you.
it scares me. 
and I'm sorry. 

I feel overwhelmed. busy. 
going through to-do lists. 
what did I miss?

I missed this. the sea. the cows blocking the street. 
but most of all i missed rest. 
the rest where I'm not wondering if I'm falling behind. 
the rest where I'm not doing maths every time I'm talking to someone. wondering if two plus two will mean i'm welcomed, loved.
rest where I don't look at my belly popping out; rest where i spread my hips and i'm proud of my big thighs because they take me to beautiful hidden corners of this world. 
rest where I'm not scared my family will tell me, 
don't eat more of that cheese. 
go do pilates. 

it's tiring to stay the course. block other people's interference.
people talk a lot. 
too much. 
it's a distraction,
from their inner world. 

when was the last time you felt deeply?

i understand. 
having thick skin and a hardened heart is what gets people out of bed sometimes. 
but it can't last forever. 

I want to tune into a different station.
turn rejection into an endless source of hope. 
jealousy into inspiration. 
self-doubt into a kind of confidence that is deeply uncomfortable. 
i want to make people uncomfortable. 
believe that i can do whatever i want. not just think it. believe it. 
tune into that. 

if you can see it, it's a gift. 
and it's non-refundable. 
use it. 

right now i am broke. 
it makes my parents uncomfortable. 
i am also broken. 
it makes my parents uncomfortable. 
i am an artist. 
you know how it goes. 

i wish they understood that writing is like drinking water to me. 
that life without a pen or a guitar is like life without mountains and sunsets.
i have tried to be vulnerable with them. like i am in my writing. 
i can't. 
i have tried to show excitement for something i care about. 
i care about it too much. 
i want it to be mine. 
lock those feelings in a room. no one can see them, read them, interpret them. use them as a weapon against me. 
i want to hold them really close. 

but i can't. 

i must let them go. 
let others be replenished by my voice. 
let them take my words and make them their own.  
let them be the inspiration for confronting their parents, even when they are loving. 
let them file the documents for the divorce they've been putting off.
let them go on that vacation. life is too short. 
allow them to be themselves in every way possible because this is what we are here to do. 

when was the last time you felt deeply?

i am a sensitive soul. with that comes great responsibility.
to hold two truths at once.
the world needs me to be strong, it needs me to lead. 
and it does not need me at all. 

there is so much beauty around me. there is a bird that always comes to my garden and i wonder how long he has left to live. 
guess he doesn't think about it much. 
but we have to. 
we waste so much of life. we don't even know how to do the basic things anymore. 
feed ourselves. feed others. 
cook real food. spend actual time cooking without thinking we're missing out on something more productive.
contemplate the clouds merging onto each other. watch the bees collecting nectar from your favourite flower in the garden.
instead, we buy pre-packaged noodles and watch netflix. 
we forget to hold each other, we forget to sing to each other. 
we forget to spread our wings. the nest is nice and comfy and everyone will accept us if we stay.

there is so much beauty around me and sometimes i have to accept that i can't see it. 

a writer can become numb too.

it can all be too much.

❊

my mind has a wild imagination.
i don't have to imagine a hundred worst-case scenarios.
the worst case sceneario is this.
that not even the trees seem to heal me.
not even my sacred place with views to the sea has meaning anymore.
write. please.
but the words aren't coming.

it's okay. 
i'm busy with a thought:
the world doesn't need me.
i want it to need me. 
i want it to want me. 
it's so sad to take all my thoughts to bed. lie there with them. keep them under sheets.

i should leave a little echo, 
bouncing from the rocks to the sky and back.
for people to hear my screams and my cries and my laughter and understand life a little more. 
they can tell their friends. 
we'll never figure it out but i think we can find peace in that. 

sometimes the answers are clear. 
my answer is i'm here,
doing this thing called life, 
and that's more than enough. 

i'm here. 

i thought i was strong. 
then i doubted. 
then i didn't doubt anymore. 
maybe i'm not strong in the way capitalism wants me to be.
maybe not strong in the way my father wants me to be.
but strong in the way mushrooms grow at the bottom of old oak trees.
from the rain.
strong like a sunflower. full of colour. its petals like open arms. its colours full of life.
from the rain and the sun.

i'm always looking for the sunlight. an endless search in my heart.
i want someone to tell me,
yes.
you can do it.
even if your parents did everything backwards.
you can do it.
even if you don't know anyone who is fucking delighted with who they are.

i'm always looking for that warmth in my skin, and the beach sandcastles and the ice creams.

i'm always looking for the sun.

there are no plants that grow only with sunlight.
but
nothing
grows
without
rain.

❊

I have a lot of mouths to feed.

get the soup ready. let it cook for a bit. 
season it. medium heat. 
thyme. basil. rosemary. 
hope it's nourishing. 
hope my feelings are taken care of. 
i'm their mother. 
they can rely on me. 
i'm an adult now. 
i'll wash up later. 
and they can go to bed. 
and dream away.

sit down with each of them.
ask them how their day was in school.
they cry.
i crawl up like a fetus in the womb. i am yet to be.
let them cry out.
i'm alive.

artists are an endangered species. 
we are exploited. 
misunderstood. 
looked down on. 
and each and every day, someone takes off their artist crown and starts doing economics. 
every day, someone gives up on their art because it's not perfect. 
we have forgotten how to be human. 

to feel
to see
to touch
to listen

we've become numb to the urgency this world needs. 
to be healed. 
we've become numb to the peace it inherently has. 

artists are an endangered species. 
there's no respect in it unless you make money. 
and the big guys don't want the money to come our way. 
and keep repeating,
the one secret to make it is to work hard.

fuck you.

i am a sensitive soul. with that comes great responsibility.
take care of myself. 
baths. 
sea. 
stretch. 
journal with the sunlight hitting my pages. 
journal on a fucking leave. 
stare out the window. 
make cookies.
stay in the toilet a little more just because i want more me time. 
walks. 
go somewhere. pay for petrol this once to go somewhere you've never been. 
sleep till eleven am. 
don't run away from feelings forever. they are friends. just trying to teach me. i listen. 
say no to the things i want to say no to. 
say yes to the things i'm scared of doing.
book a day for myself. the mountains are free. go there before they charge us to climb them too. 

i need to take care of myself, because i see beauty in every corner of the world. 
i need to take care of myself, because i feel pain in every bone in my body. 

i turn pain into a song. 
sometimes it drains me. 
i go on long creative blocks. 
i don't know when it will be over. 
maybe it will be a twenty minute walk or a few months to get me out of this. 
it was so draining last time. 

i'm tired of feeling. 

i need to take care of myself.
if i want to keep doing this. 
if i want to create. 

i am a sensitive soul. with that comes great responsibility.
to not believe the narrative that being a tortured artist is romantic, more pure, or cool. 

it is a gift. a very overwhelming gift. but nevertheless a gift if you know how to use it. 
drugs won't help. self-doubt won't help. staying inside won't help. 
find a support system. find someone who is a little less sensitive but also can't see the world like you do. 
teach them to see the world like an artist does. 
show them. 
they'll teach you how to trust in it a little more. 
they'll teach you that there is meaning in what you have to say. 
keep the good things closer. 
the scent of a stew. the beauty of a bluebell. the banana that got ripe before you thought it would so pancake time is early. 

stay with the meaningful a little more. cherish it so you don't give up when the rest is turned up too loud. 

don’t let the tortured side of you prevent you from making art, because it will.

it's okay. 

sometimes the creative cup is empty. and refilling it takes so much energy. sometimes not even sunlight is enough. and sunlight cures almost everything. 
trust. 
rest. 
trust. 
rest. 
but if it goes on for too long, and you'll know when that's the case, remember that your gifts are needed in this world. 
leave perfection out the door,
and keep creating.

move the needle towards meaning and purpose. 
this is the voice worth being heard of. 
not some dumb over-confident guy who went to private school and likes being in power for the sake of being in power. 

i like to be in power with my body. with my life.
but i'm still trying to find this balance. 
feeling 
but not letting it paralyze me. 
feeling
and with it, thriving. 

capture these feelings and let them roam free. 
they are ready. 
you are ready.
even if you think you have to question your talents and purpose in this world every single day.

you are here. unique. beautiful. perfect. 
ready to change the world. you think it won't change.

it will. 

you have my word.

---

a poem for all the sensitive souls out here 🌷

sometimes I get overwhelmed and think my art won’t ever make a difference. it might be true. I don’t know yet.

I am a person who feels a lot. I get very excited. I feel like I also get tired so quickly. I am very scared I’ll give up on my dream just to go back to bed. I feel like that could happen and it’s truly one of my biggest fears.

Sometimes the world seems incredibly meaningful. I even feel like I can taste its beauty like no one else I know. Then it feels like it’s so fucked and I have such a low tolerance for injustice. I think this also drains my energy a lot.

If you feel like this too, tell me your experience with it, and what you think of the idea of being a tortured artist, because I also don’t love how people romanticize it or how it’s portrayed. I think it’s very painful and difficult to handle but I also think it might be some kind of gift if we can manage it.

---

I want to share with you my poem about being scared of happiness, getting in my own way, and feeling like an impostor even before I achieve anything. What if I burnout? or don’t follow through? what if there’s nothing else to dream about? one of the limiting beliefs I explored after I wrote this is ‘I don’t belong in groups of people who are thriving and successful (whatever success means to them’. This is a very honest, vulnerable piece about me not being happy even when things seem to be going well. It’s so sad that sometimes we don’t think we deserve happiness or that happiness should hang around with someone like us. It’s time to let it go