Laurel Kellum
Bio
Another life. Another struggle to persevere through whatever lot in life has been dealt. I find myself back here, hungry for nothing more (nor less) than self-expression.
Stories (4/0)
Finding My Disorder
For me, my illness was an old friend. It was something I knew was there, but that I could handle. Sure, my life would be better without it, and it made maintaining relationships hard, but it wasn't that threatening. I was used to it. And I didn't think anyone would take it seriously. I didn't take it that seriously.
By Laurel Kellum6 years ago in Psyche
Beneath My Fingertips
To forever hide from reality in fantasy achieves nothing. It is easy to make the mythical seem fantastic—as it is in its nature. But what about reality? How do you take reality, and make it a place worth being? Here I daydream, and then I can't sleep. Or I sleep, and then I can't dream—day or night. I live in this shallow pool of nothingness, and it grows stagnant. I grow uneasy—restless. I know I am rotting away in this static place. Sometimes stones fall into my pond, and I watch the water ripple in familiar rings. I know where they begin—and I know where they will end—crashing upon the same rocks and molded shores that have always been here to keep the water still. And I watch from a hidden place, these cycles that never seem to break. The ripples come—and they are new and they are lovely and they are enchanting—and then they fade away. Just as all of the others have. Is it the knowledge of the inevitable that makes them fade so quickly? Or is it the knowledge of the inevitable that makes them linger? I want to run away from these rotting rings of water. Away from these dams and walls and sickly stones. Away from the fallen green trees as they decay to the touch—like death beneath my fingertips.
By Laurel Kellum6 years ago in Poets
