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The 1000 Legged Animal

A horrifying sight, if physical, but in the metaphorical sense, glorious, and perhaps even a bit enviable. To have 1000 legs, to never have to stop walking, running, moving forward. To never get tired. To swap out a single pair of legs for a fresh pair when you need to. To always carry on. I live in the wilds, just outside your reach; a myth of mental health. You think you’ve seen me, you think you can become like me, but I’m always the blur in the photo, an unattainable goal. The creature with 1000 legs, who doesn’t let anything get by them, who doesn’t let anything stop them, who doesn’t let anything keep them from getting to their destination. Inspiring? Perhaps. Frightening ? Well, I do have 1000 legs, so, possibly, sure. But I carry on.

I race through wooded forests and cavernous valleys. I sprint across deserts and ice covered plains. I shamble over swamps and bogs and skip through fields of flowers. I have 1000 legs, and I can keep going forever. I will never be stopped. I am going to get to my destination, no matter what. And sometimes I’ll hurt an ankle, and sometimes I’ll stub a toe, and sometimes I’ll hit my heel, but I always continue. I simply pop a different leg into the socket where the old one once was and I keep going, because that is what I do. It is what I have to do. It is all that I know how to do. I’ve fallen more times than I can count, but with my numerous legs I always managed to get right back up again. I’m never down for long.

I am a thousand legged animal, hurrying through my environments, most of which toxic, some of which beautiful, to reach my end goal; an environment that I actually belong to, an ecosystem that I can actually survive in. Surrounded, perhaps, by others like myself, who kept going when they had no reason to, who never let the fact that their legs kept breaking stop them from pushing ever onward. Envied. Despised. It doesn’t matter to me. What matters is reaching the place I’ve set out to arrive at. I love that I have 1000 legs. It keeps me from ever getting any closer to you, as I am always a thousand steps ahead. You wallow in your despair, but I scurry to a healthier home.

I am a thousand legged animal, always moving, always going forward.

Feet don’t fail me now.

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I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find epubs/books/stickers/prints over at my Payhip , or support my work monthly at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Mountaintops

Like mountaintops, unreachable, but still striving to be reached; to plant your flagpole at the peak, to say you made it despite all the danger and frustration. The ultimate goal, not to die while getting there, not to fall and break yourself more. And here we are, so close, fingertips looking like they could reach it, if only we were a little bit closer. A little bit higher. We want to see that red banner flapping in the breeze, a shout to everyone that ever doubted us, a scream to say we were strong enough.

We came prepared; with lanterns to light our way in the darkest of frozen trenches, with thick coats lined with fur to keep us warm in the deepest of caves, with enough food to sustain us throughout our energy depleting journey of exhaustion. We would not be one upped by our own hubris, we would not be shown up by our own ego. We would conquer, and we would do it because we came prepared, not because we got lucky.

We persevered, we carried on, even when night was at it’s bleakest because the mountaintop shone bright like a star in another galaxy just aching to be reached. Footprints left in the snow and the slush trace our journey, tell our story, describe our efforts and remind those around us that it was not in vain. We made it. We conquered the mountaintop and then we pushed onward, to the hills and the valleys below it, to continue our quest to explore, to learn, to become better.

Like mountaintops, our goals are not unreachable. They are merely challenging. But that’s the thing about mountaintops and challenges…

…they both can be overcome.

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I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find epubs/books/stickers/prints over at my Payhip , or support my work monthly at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Home Sweet Home

Sometimes, when I am deeply sad and awake late at night, I will cry out for a home that does not exist. A home that never existed. What a terrible feeling, wanting to return to a place I never had, to a feeling I never felt, to people I never knew. I cry out, “I want to go home” but there is no home. There never was, and there never will be, because no matter how hard I try, despite all that I put in, I cannot make a home. Nobody will let me. I am homeless while living indoors, and it’s a broken, busted feeling that eats away at me, like perpetually unfulfilled termites gnawing through my wooden bones.

I can see it. The place that never was, that home. If I shut my eyes and concentrate, I can see what should have been. A small warm place, safe and serene, filled with love and support, and all the things you will never allow me to have. Things that, if I could buy from a store, you would force me to return for credit. All I want is something of my own, somewhere that doesn’t make me feel like a foreigner in the place that I hail from, a prisoner in the place that I chose to inhabit, but it’s never a thing that will be. Like rain drying on hot cement, my tears disappear into the cloth of my shirt, and I remain a nomad. Searching. Wanting. Never having.

Sometimes I want to run away, run back home, to a place that doesn’t exist. Pack a bag and hitch a ride, because I would rather trust a stranger, as a stranger is just someone who hasn’t hurt me yet. I want to run back home, to a bedroom I never had, filled with things I never owned; the setting of impossible memories and nonexistent special moments. Why do I want to go home, instead of trying to make one? Because nobody will let me. Because no matter how many bricks I put in the walls, someone knocks it down. A foreman comes and claims it’s unstable and it must be redone. I am not an architect, but I think I know a blueprint when I see one.

I want a home.

But all you offer me is apartments.

I am in a very bad state these days. If anyone is willing to talk to me, feel free to comment. I could certainly use some uplifting, positive vibes from nice people.

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!  Visit My Online Store!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Hazel Finds A Kitchen

technologiesHazel Klepper had been house hunting for what felt like months now.

Every single house she saw, something felt wrong to her, and this annoyed her boyfriend to no end. He just couldn’t fathom what it was she was searching for, or what tiny little detail would derail their next purchase. The bathroom doesn’t get enough natural light? There isn’t a big enough backyard for the dog? It was starting to drive him mad. Yet, Hazel kept her calm, and she kept looking; responding to listings and meeting with realtors, going to open houses and surveying the area. Only, time and time again, to come away with a sense of disappointment. She’d never find what she was looking for. So what did Hazel want? She wanted a kitchen.

As a little girl, she spent a lot of time with her grandmother, who enjoyed cooking. Hazel would sit on the counter while her grandmother baked and told her stories, and sometimes she’d even get to help make dinner or make her grandpa some lunch. These were the happiest memories Hazel had. As she got older, she would sit in the kitchen late into the evening, just to not be at home and listen to her parents scream at one another, and trying to finish her homework. Sometimes her grandpa would stay up with her, help her with history or geography, and together they’d have an absolute blast, eating snacks and talking about schoolwork. When Hazel decided she wanted to go to school to become a chef, she asked her grandmother for her recipes, but her grandmother did her one better…she showed her how to cook. She took Hazel into her kitchen, her small kitchen with the red brick floor and the old bread box, and she showed her how to make every single thing she’d ever made for her to eat, and more.

And then, during Hazels sophomore year at college, her grandparents died, mere weeks apart from one another. Her grandmother went first, as a result of an ongoing cold, and her grandfather died two weeks later, simply from heartbreak. Hazel was there when the house was being set up for sale, and she took photos of the kitchen and vowed that, one day, she would have a kitchen just like this one. But despite all the meetings, all the houses, all the months searching, Hazel still hadn’t found her kitchen.

The house she pulled up to that crisp, fall, Thursday afternoon was small, but she didn’t mind that. She preferred cozy to overly large. The realtor, a nice woman with a bob haircut named Susan, met her at the door and together they went inside. Susan showed her the living room, the bathrooms, the bedrooms, the backyard, but all Hazel could feel was that this was yet another waste of time. When Susan finally showed her the kitchen, Hazel felt her heart skip a beat. This was it. The layout was almost exactly the same, give or take the position of the cabinets, and the color scheme was damn near identical. Hazel wouldn’t believe her eyes. Suddenly she didn’t care about the rest of the house, she was transported back to a feeling she hadn’t felt since childhood, and all that mattered from this point on was this kitchen. This was where she’d make dinners for her family, holiday meals for her relatives, desserts for her children. This was the place she would have a life. Hazel signed a check that afternoon and went to tell her boyfriend the good news. Sure, some of the other parts of the house needed some fixing up, but that was alright.

Because the kitchen…oh, the kitchen was perfect.

And for Hazel, that meant life would be perfect too.

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!  Visit My Online Store!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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You’re A Lot Like Weather, You Know

The rain on my face reminds me of your kisses as a child, empty and cold, refreshing then and upsetting now. At one point, something I would run to, be thrilled to receive, now something I hide from, something I hope to never face again. You’re a lot like weather you know, full of unpredictable patterns and immeasurable damage. Bright and sunny one moment, dark and foreboding the next, all the while I think to myself, watching your storm clouds gather in your once sunny sky, “The weather will get better. It has to!” but it never does.

You’re a lot like weather, you know. A cool wind breezes by, reminding me of your icy breath, the air you’d breath on my ear when you hugged me, trying to comfort me, telling me ‘there’s nothing to be afraid of’, except the thing to be afraid of was you. By promising me you were not bad, you cemented everything else around me as a fear, so that in times of panic and uncertainty, I’d turn to you instead, because I didn’t know there was anywhere else to go. On a hot summer day, instead of enjoying it, I’d seek out the breeze, not knowing the breeze was a lie. Not knowing that the breeze was what was actually making me ill, the cold wind chill, and not the warm summer sky.

You’re a lot like weather, you know. Neither rain, now sleet, nor snow, nor hail; I’m lucky I survived your blizzard to tell the tale. Wrapped in a warm blanket of my insecurities, a fire blazing, born of my fears, they got me through your damaging winter storms. Sure, I didn’t come out the other end any better, but at least I survived the ice and the freeze. I tried to be a storm chaser, but getting close to you, trying to figure you out, trying to be in awe of your majestical faults, was just as dangerous as trying to outrun you. Like a tornado you would chase me down, force me to hide under a mattress to escape, praying and sobbing, hoping there would still be something left standing in your wake. And when all was said and done, the town was leveled, the people stunned, I’d come back out and try to understand…try to comprehend the damage, why it happened, what its reason was. But there wasn’t any. There couldn’t be.

Now I hide from the outdoors, I stay inside and shudder at the slightest hint of a raindrop hitting my shutters. I tense up at the smallest change in temperature, and I watch the sky in fear. Nothing is certain, that much is certain. Crisp fall leaves crack under my feet, like so many broken promises, regret, yet, we’ll meet again I’m sure, one day, when the sun is out and you’ll say, “It wasn’t as bad as you remember. The weather is something we all must face.” What a shame, a disgrace, the storms you can create, the abuse you can say was alright because it was you who made it. You’re a lot like weather, you know.

And now I stay inside, away from any weather whatsoever. No more sunny days or rainy nights. No more storms, no more flashing lights or thunderclaps. Now I stay indoors, free from your onslaught of temperature changes, telling myself that I survived the flood, that I survived the earthquake, that I survived the tsunami.

Now I laugh at weathermen.

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!  Visit My Online Store!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Doll

I got a new doll, took her out of the box; she’s pretty and popular and she can talk! What a novel idea, to give dolls a voice, but it’s not free will, she’s not speaking by choice.

Yet I teach her so much and we go many places; she sees so much, yet she never faced changes. Wish that I were a doll, with a plastered on smile, so I could just mask all my feelings a while.

She has many outfits, so many careers; she doesn’t need a degree or to face any fears! I make her my idol, I wish one day to be, as fearless and happy, successful as she.

We had many adventures and she watched me mature; she watched as I cried, curled up on the floor. She watched in secret as I kissed girls instead, as she and more toys got pushed under the bed.

When I moved out, I cleaned out my room and found her buried within this childhood tomb; plastic jewelry and training bras, the list has no end…and there in the center was my closest friend.

So I cleaned her off, she’s still perfect and pretty, she hasn’t had years of feeling so shitty; dolls can be fixed, that’s their one unique token…it’s people who rarely recover  if broken.

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!  Visit My Online Store!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Paper Vehicles

I sailed a paper boat into the ocean, I flew a paper airplane into the sun

Fake vehicles for fake people, crafted from suicide letters and private notes

I wrote the things I couldn’t say and I rode them away; secrets and dreams, whispers and screams, pleas from within and at the end of the day

I crashed them into mountain ranges and sailed into raging storms, knowing full well they’d destroy me

I sailed a paper boat into the ocean, I flew a paper airplane into the sun

Fake vehicles for fake people, folded from birthday cards and family photos

I took the things I could remember and I used them to escape; photos turned to sails, cards turned to wings, knowing I’d fail at each of these things

I crashed them into corn fields and sailed into coastlines, knowing full well they’d destroy me

I sailed a paper boat into the ocean, I flew a paper airplane into the sun

Fake vehicles for fake people, structured from unwritten nobels and sketchbook drawings

I took the things I once cherished and I captained them to ends; books became jet engines and art became anchors, destroying my things as I destroyed my self

I crashed them into buildings and sailed into whirlpools, knowing full well they’d destroy me

I sailed a paper boat into the ocean and I flew a paper airplane into the sun

Not to escape who I had been, but to escape who I’d become

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!  Visit My Online Store!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!