My heart’s aflutter! I am standing in the bath tub crying. Mother, mother who am I? If he will just come back once and kiss me on the face his coarse hair brush my temple, it’s throbbing! then I can put on my clothes I guess, and walk the streets. Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern. The country is grey and brown and white in trees, snows and skies of laughter always diminishing, less funny not just darker, not just grey. It may be the coldest day of the year, what does he think of that? I mean, what do I? And if I do, perhaps I am myself again.
so lately bridges have been calling me calling to be built calling to be burnt calling to be jumped from I have only build them don't have the heart to burn them can only burn myself afraid of putting myself out at the bottom of the river should be proud of those engeniering skills and selective hearing but birthdays are not parties for me so much to celibrate nothing makes me sing I'm sitting on the bridges feel the bottom of the river calling my flames my feet feel supported by the strong cool steel
The man on TV says, This is the big one, folks. The man says, Call your mother and say goodbye. To save themselves, thousands of people jump to the bottom of a river and turn into fish. Fish survive devastation. Fish don’t worry about whether they’re loved. What does it mean to “end” anyway? To be a person and then a body. To be a city and then a ruin. Maybe someone should give this world the Heimlich. Maybe it’ll cough up all the good people it swallowed and choked on too soon. I think the birds are in mourning. I think the trees feel sorry for us. Too bad about all that skin covering all those little bones. Too bad about that noise emanating from the heart, untranslatable and strange. How does the song go? Something about feeling fine. I put a note in your pocket that said: CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THERE. You never got there.
Some days I am more low shoulers than strong back am more deep sigh than fierce words am sad am world inside me crumbeling instead of florishing or coliding and today might be such a day of slow of blue of getting trough with snow and tea snuggle sweaters steam, blush on cheeks a smile that could mean nothing or everything of getting trough
I was fourteen when I had a vision of my dieing by my own hand not that day, not the next one but soon because in the vision I was still a little girl I wept for my death bought flowers, bought a black dress prayed till my knees were red to absolve my sins before I went and then I didn't not that year, not the next one not before my eighteen and not the years after but the fear did not leave there is still time and n the mirror I still see a little girl
everything happens for a reason but somethings just turn out bad, wrong, rotten you might be excited to enter a new world or way or walk of life now you met me however you call this venture in my head but I am still a scared little girl I'm still tossing and turning in my head questioning my creator and self scared if I will scar myself again this time in my new self destruction but it's new right? and it's fun right?
On some nights I write because eventhough it is quite imbarrasing it's not as imbarrasing as contemplating suicide and the humiliation when someone spots me and sighs not this again so I write because yes this again this feeling of needing to put the pain inside outside taking out the trash wherther it is cutting wrists, writing anything, jumping bridges, blowing bubbles, reading poetry, crying buckets, talking about (it), healing from (it), remembering (anything) as long as it keeps this stinking mess outside only for tonight I need to put the mess outside for tonight because I want to sleep I want to sleep because I can't sleep because my body want to keep hurting itself while it wants to heal itself this is the human condition this is my duality
I am sad I feel that the future is hopeless and that things cannot improve I am bored and dissatisfied with everything I am a complete failure as a person I am guilty, I am being punished I would like to kill myself I used to be able to cry but now I am beyond tears I have lost interest in other people I can't make decisions I can't eat I can't sleep I can't think I cannot overcome my loneliness, my fear, my disgust I am fat I cannot write I cannot love My brother is dying, my lover is dying, I am killing them both I am charging towards my death I am terrified of medication I cannot make love I cannot be alone I cannot be with others
You have a lot of friends. What do you offer your friends to make them so supportive? (A long silence.) What do you offer your friends to make them so supportive? (A long silence.) What do you offer? (Silence.)
To be honest all the love I give is only about me you are just the temporary home I stall all my love, overload and overwhelm you but don't worry it will find a new place soon you can keep some but it's only just enough to make you keep comming back keep wanting that rush, you're not gonna get I do not love you because you're pretty or smart or sencitive or sweet I love you because you are there because you are imperfect because you are something I can leave I was never good with becomming one with a body of any kind so I can leave so I can complain, so I can pretend like I'm anything but a nomad I can't carry all this love so I hand it out but don't give it to yu it's all still mine to take away with me
it hapened when I was young still developing as they call it so it's easy to take it as blame to take my trauma and name it my creator, my genisis because it has made me the strong woman I am today, right? made me survivor. made me miserable to be honest made me crazy. Made me say no to drinks and parties and men made me mad, made me vengeful made me the match to the gasoline the lade in the river, overflowing too much rain mostly it made me scared of dark and men and myself of power, of currency, of expectations broke me, really broke me and made me stand up without feet made me walk and run without feet made fun of me as I fell without feet until I walked, and then grew feet then made me strong. Made me survivor made me example of survivor good survivor I would have walked if I never lost my feet I would have been strong regardless there is no creator but myself I had to learn again to lose the mad and gain compassion to become the flower instead of the dager the smile instead of the punch but I got there regardless
What do you do when your entire healing process feels like the beginning of a murder ballad? I realized that what he had done was not right in the middle of the night in some faraway June. I somehow fell asleep after that. Woke up the next morning, the floor below me trembling, a kitchen knife in my hand for a split second. There isn’t a way for me to be honest and tell you I haven’t ever wanted revenge at the same time. I do remember his full name, but I do not say it out loud. I scrubbed any evidence of him out of me, and now I reek of Good Survivor. I am not supposed to fantasize about dropping a lit match in his jeans. I am not supposed to have imagined my fist lodged in his Adam’s Apple. So what does that make me? On his level? Too angry? A girl in a song only preparing herself to be left in the water? But I don’t think I’m as hungry as I’m making myself out to be. The truth is: if I ever saw him on the street, I would cross to the other side and hide myself in the nearest shop. That doesn’t mean I still haven’t woken up every morning thinking God has left a weapon in my hand in hopes of the river inside of me finally flooding.
it's been six weeks since I last saw you but this week you'll be with me for a very short time only to leave me again and I tried to get over this feeling of needing you while you don't need me I text my ex boyfriend and cancel the date last minute accepting that at least for now my heart is stuck with you so I google "how to be so good in bed so he won't leave" I get tips on how to give head not how to get in his head it will always be like this because my brain is a nomad but my heart settled while you are not that into me so I'll play the part of being available always and smiling for the scraps you give until your or my heart decide to change
When I was 18 a guy of 23 told me that I couldn't know misery yet when I reached his age I'd know why you drink to forget He drunkenly held on to his pina colada and I got mad A friend told me that it's true that you change a lot in those years as I would have hoped because it would be sad to stay stagnant but I didn't count on this When I got 19 I've slept in some unfriendly bedrooms of unfriendly men I ran of abroad and told a boy that I'm the youngest girl alive in my head, cause I was he thought that was weird because he always felt old and he held me trying to sip up my youth I was on a plane with a man who told me my loud voice could indicate that I was uncertain about myself I said no, that's not an option, I just like being heard and don't worry, you didn't put me in a identity crisis because I'm only 20 and it's a state of mind keep on embracing that feeling and now I'm 21, I still lie in bed with boys who I won't marry with but who think that I am beautiful and I think I am beautiful And I'm still not clinging to pina colada's but I have two more years to catch a trauma that makes me so bitter that I stop trying and colour black insides with sweet liquor but until then, I'm drinking for nights to remember instead of forget