Bless the crazy femme.
For how much they endure silently.
For the survival game they
play against their heads
every day. For the hurt in them
that wants to swallow the softness.
May they know
comfort in their bodies.
May their heads not win
and the world be theirs.
i am
afraid
that if i
open
myself i will not
stop pouring. (why do i fear
becoming a river. what mountain
gave me such shame.)
Tell me about the people you drowned
in the well, how they’re all the memories
you try to lock away daily. Tell me about
your lover holding your head in the water,
saying ‘I l o v e you,’ despite knowing that
those are the only words that will ever
scare you away.The pattern of your life goes like this:
you build a home and it burns away and
so you try to follow but even the flames
don’t want you. You crawl into someone’s
skin and they’re so scared of love they
spit you back out again, and so you
wear their fear like a bridal veil.The memories you drowned (one after
the other, all staring at you with dead
eyes as they sunk under the water)
watch you as if you are an unfinished
story. Your lovers stand in a line by
the wall, their faces a haunting you
can never forget.Tell me about how no one looks at you
like art so you have learnt to treat
yourself like a masterpiece. This is
the pattern of your life: love / lose /
love / lose / love / love / love.
I don’t love you loud or monstrously. I don’t love you like a hurricane loves a city or a bullet loves flesh. I don’t love you like the writer in me wants to love you. I don’t love you in a way that makes good television. I don’t love you as if you were cursed and broken and imploding, as if you were a grenade waiting for my words of regret and grief. I don’t love you like I’m waiting for you to explode and burn every part of me that wanted to believe what little we had was immortal. I don’t love you so my heart can bleed all over my fingertips and I can call the stains art. I don’t love you so I can one day hate you.
I love you and there is no explosion.
I love you and instead, there is quiet.(I love you in the way that creates, not destroys)
I open like a fish. Gut, clean.
October, it still smells like spawning
season. Same frantic blood.
Leaves dance through puddles.
I say, “Pretty once.”
Sometimes,
all you can do
is lie in bed,
and hope
to fall asleep
before
you fall apart.
I believed in too much
too early
and when reality
arrived I couldn’t
stand it.
(via violentwavesofemotion)
Like sad but not sad enough.
Like attention seeking.
Like “I dunno, man. Most days she seems fine.”
Like laziness and irritation.
Like anxiety but not full blown panic.
Like not being able to get out of bed for three days
but hey, what’s three days?
Like never actually writing out the notes,
just memorizing the lines.
Like it’s more of a river and not an ocean
but as far as I’m concerned
you can drown in either one.
The God’s honest truth is this:
I wanted to ruin you. It was selfish and it was delicious.
I wanted you to pick out the bones of me from between your teeth for years after I happened to you.
And I did happen to you. We made sure of that, didn’t we?
Happened like the aftermath of some gruesome accident, it was so bloody and raw that you had to stop to look, didn’t you? And then you couldn’t take your eyes off it.
It was inside of you for as long as you could remember.
Then you had nightmares about all of that ugliness for days.
That was how I wanted you, half thrilled and half terrified that you were never going to forget what it looked like.
That it would be a splinter that never worked itself out of your skin and you’d feel it whenever you brushed against somebody else.
And why should you? When I loved you like that.
How could you forget?
My body so full that if the ocean tried to take me, the only thing that would come back up to shore was you. Or a bag full of bones curled around the shape of your name.
I loved you like how an abscessed tooth beats at the root, incessant and painful and raw.
I would have swallowed the entire Earth whole if you’d asked me to.
I would have taken the sky by the corners and ripped it away from the horizon.
So yes, it was the hungriest I’d ever been.
It was the most glorious I’d ever been, with you like that
stomach like a furnace, stomach like a hungry pride of lions.
Point me in the direction of any God you know and I’ll tell him,
I’ll get on my knees and beg him to never let you go,
‘I want to ruin that man. I don’t want him to ever forget me.’
I’ll let her do that
and I’ll do this,
I no longer want it all,
just some comfort
and some sex
and only a minor
love.
darknesstohislight 