opalescent* posted a quote
November 12, 2018 10:08pm EST
All you want is to be real again. To feel flesh against your flesh and to stop lying with “I’m good.” when you mean “I’m burning.” But the wood burns quickly through the versions of you that you used to be till you don’t recognize yourself. —WICKER PEOPLE
“ We all weigh joys and darkness and goodness and sin you see, we are infinite within this skin we are in. So when they ask you what you weigh you don’t need to look down at any scale. Instead, simply tell them the truth, tell them how you weigh whole universes and storms and scars and stories too. —n.g., WHAT I WEIGH.
It feels like the world only considers a woman to be a woman when she has turned herself inside out giving and giving and giving and giving. And even then, even at the end, it does not thank her. It simply chides her for not having more to give.
Humans are bad at most things. Love, relationships, parenting, holding ourselves together, being dependable. But there is one thing we are so good at, that we are in fact, spectacular at it. We are all so damned good at being broken open. It’s how the light gets out. It’s how we know it’s there. Because once in a while, someone comes along who tells us life is so much more than just existing. Someone comes along to remind us, to stop being so small and so human. And do better by being so much more.
Perhaps the actual problem is the inexcusable way I have taught myself to love people. If my heart was a flower it would be an anomaly born without sepal or petals. Whole pieces of my soul-gold invested inside the bank of someone else’s heart. I mean, Aphrodite never shows up at school, book in hand, teaching love as the only real art. There are no classes in the coping with the loss of whole people, no warnings left on memory’s tombs. They say love is what makes the world go round, but no one ever leaves a note for us in the womb. No instruction manual when we are born, nor a how-to guide on the correct way to fall. Nor one on how to barter pieces of yourself without losing an eternity inside someone else’s soul. I’m afraid this is why I have always been so lost. I have been loved, and I have loved but I never learned how to gracefully bear the cost. In Which I Admit I Love Badly
“Yes, of course I’ve hardened, of course I have had to change to survive in this unforgiving world. But somewhere inside me, there still lives a little girl who once tried to invent a time machine, just to go back in time to save Vincent Van Gogh from his sadness when she heard he ate yellow paint to get the happiness inside him.”
Once you were made of the sky do you remember that? Before they told you what you were supposed to be Before they destroyed your elegant wings. Before they tricked you and chained you to an idea to a prison they made for you branded you with a label, with pain Tried to remold you into something easier for them to understand. But your blood didn’t let you forget, did it? The taste of the sky, The memories of flying to the horizon just to kiss the sun before he fell asleep. Once Apollo himself loved you so much, that he softened the sun’s heat so it could not melt your wings. He is still waiting for you to remember who you were before they turned you into something they understood. Come, you have always known what it would take to eat those chains, to fly free again. Nothing about this was ever going to be easy Freedom was built on backs and bones and blood. Take the thing that is owed to you. Forge new wings in the belly of betrayal. Watch them quiver as you rise again, this time breathing fire your spine made of fury. Show them what happens when they try to take the voice from those born of the sky Become your own battlecry.