in true fashion
I wish there was a way to put it plainly. But, it exists in between my ribcage and my eye sockets and it contracts my muscles until they quiver the things I should never say. I have never lived fear like I do these days, and I have never understood loneliness the way I do when I ride my relic bike down the street, trying to crunch the leaves under its wheels like a video game. My thoughts are in chaos and I find that little is a reliable truth. It’s quiet and everything trembles with confusion. Only one hell of a thesaurus could save me now.
there are so many lessons that i just never cared to learn.
what kind of fool am i
It’s your decided apathy and dead silence. I suppose this is one way to do it, or at least one way to make it clear. Nothing is sadder than hatred, with the exception of aloof silence. Vulnerability is a dying flower I won’t tend to for long. But, you are right. We are strangers, after all.
bongwutsi asked: you are SO LOVELY! you have no idea how happy that message made me :3 I can't wait to see that pwetty face of yours, only a little over 2 months from now! yay! <3
Gahh! I can’t wait!!! I’m going to give you the biggest hug in life. The countdown has started!! xx
See the cage, it called. I said, come on in
I will not open myself up this way again
Nor lay my face to the soil, nor my teeth to the sand
I will not lay like this for days now upon end
You will not see me fall, nor see me struggle to stand
To be acknowledged by some touch from his gnarled hands
You see the cage it called. I said, come on in
I will not open myself this way again.
i am a divergent fiber (no seamstress to be found)
I wait for autumn to collapse into summer like weariness falls into a warm bed. You tell me your soft words are enough but I know better, because I know how those songs can hurt too. I know your drunken tears and devastating vocabulary better than I know your fulfilled promises and thoughtful fingertips. I lay in bed just to watch the night creep in through the blinds and I call the person I thought you were on my tin can telephone we tied to each other in a shitty bar once.
Then— I sit outside for longer than I thought I would. I visit with the part of myself that has been asking the same question that my old love would ask frustratedly on static lines. I think about how absurd it all is, when my emotional spectrum doesn’t coincide with the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis like they say it should. He lets out a languid smile that I’m not supposed to like. But I do, I do.
Now I don’t know what it would take to make my heart back down.
campfire and the aftermath
I am damn good at anger. I can clench my teeth and create canyons between my lightning eyebrows, and I can crescendo to a perfect force of fury that only my own tears can wash the fire away. My lips are bows and my words are arrows and you don’t stand a chance, with your crumbling logic and curious malice. Anger is something I can do.
I am damn good at loving. I can wrinkle the corners of my eyes like bedsheets and laugh with my whole heart, and I can hold the flawed stitches of your soul so closely to mine that you can’t even see them anymore. My hands get clumsy and my lips spill warmth, when you envelope me with tender persistence and early morning murmurs. I can love.
But, I can only try and trust. I will swell with fear and try to turn to indifference, but it’s your shapeshifting semantics that guard the way to anything more inviting. It’s the dark crevices of the things unsaid. The fragility in words and the faltering of spaces between them. The way you turn my home into a trembling house of cards. The way I can see it begin to transfigure me into a seasonless tree, unaware and forgetful of what it’s like to laugh and blossom without limitations, and what it’s like to curl into myself and embrace the fall.
there’s always room for more destruction here
It always begins with the most menial things before it eats you whole. It begins with a dirty towel and ends with the sound off gravel crunching under a car down and away from your driveway. Once you’ve begun to think that’s the end of it, you realize there’s more. That’s when it gets tougher. There’s still so much silence to be had. There’s the density in the air and heaviness in your heart. There’s the part of you that knows that the morning can’t be so painful and that maybe you aren’t supposed to know what right and wrong are anymore.