1.
I do a lot of fucked up things. And I admit them. I don't feel sorry and I don't lose sleep over it. I want to be happy, so let me be happy. I have reached a point in my career where little girls thank me for being the closest thing to real. They tell me I am an empowering artist. They want to tell the truth to the world without any consequences. They smile and read me their history and their heartbreaks. Say, one day I want someone to accept that I love poetry more than men.
I have a cursed love life. I feel sad for the ones who have tried to love me. I am just in no condition to surrender my art for them.
There is such a big difference between supporting me and completely understanding me. I refuse to fall in love with someone who will never flip themselves inside out to show an audience their rib cages. Perhaps this is not important to you, but I'm different.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Saturday, April 6, 2013
day 203
manic pixie girl/6
When your heart is on the edge of its seat waiting for the next door to open:
keep yourself in bed.
You unconsciously realize that you still check the window upstairs to see who is knocking. You've learned to love experience and the thrill. Maybe you are just not ready. Maybe this is just fine. It is normal. You are still not used to sleeping alone at night, but you have learned to block out all of those boys who still make a mockery of your first engagement. I am still throwing away every bit of hopeless romantic there is to me, but I wear my hair down to let the wind remember what it's like to have someone's face to touch. I've become a body to wrap the arms of strangers around and a couple of palms to plan a future with. I don't know the difference between a heart line and a head line and I'm not so sure if I believe in the fate line.
My heart lays awake with me all the time. It talks to me through words and ink. Through freshly bound book binds and souvenir Van Gogh postcards. I've watched it come and go and we've argued so many times these past two years, that there is no one else I'd like to grow with. My career reminds me that unconditional love does exist. That happily ever afters are possible. That if something is meant to be, it will be. But I am not ready to give her up for just anybody. Maybe this is just fine. It is normal.
When your heart is on the edge of its seat waiting for the next door to open:
keep yourself in bed.
You unconsciously realize that you still check the window upstairs to see who is knocking. You've learned to love experience and the thrill. Maybe you are just not ready. Maybe this is just fine. It is normal. You are still not used to sleeping alone at night, but you have learned to block out all of those boys who still make a mockery of your first engagement. I am still throwing away every bit of hopeless romantic there is to me, but I wear my hair down to let the wind remember what it's like to have someone's face to touch. I've become a body to wrap the arms of strangers around and a couple of palms to plan a future with. I don't know the difference between a heart line and a head line and I'm not so sure if I believe in the fate line.
My heart lays awake with me all the time. It talks to me through words and ink. Through freshly bound book binds and souvenir Van Gogh postcards. I've watched it come and go and we've argued so many times these past two years, that there is no one else I'd like to grow with. My career reminds me that unconditional love does exist. That happily ever afters are possible. That if something is meant to be, it will be. But I am not ready to give her up for just anybody. Maybe this is just fine. It is normal.
Friday, April 5, 2013
day 202
Two completely different thoughts:
1) If you are happy, who cares.
2) If you are happy, who cares?
1) If you are happy, who cares.
2) If you are happy, who cares?
Thursday, April 4, 2013
day 201
Open letter to Van Gogh
You painted the sky as it sang
All the blues and liveliness
You watched it dance
Said,
"All the whites can be mistake for dim yellows and the blues for pinks"
You painted for your sister
That night,
you told her you loved her though blood and color.
He never said I love you to me
and I just want to know if he has sisters
I think of him every time I see the sky.
Every time I mistake the blues for golds, I remember not to wander. I walk and I wonder if you've ever prayed for your sister and her safety.
I want to know if he still thinks of me when the stars awaken.
For every sky you've painted for your sister,
have you ever wondered what the clouds think when women are kissed when they are lost?
You painted the sky as it sang
All the blues and liveliness
You watched it dance
Said,
"All the whites can be mistake for dim yellows and the blues for pinks"
You painted for your sister
That night,
you told her you loved her though blood and color.
He never said I love you to me
and I just want to know if he has sisters
I think of him every time I see the sky.
Every time I mistake the blues for golds, I remember not to wander. I walk and I wonder if you've ever prayed for your sister and her safety.
I want to know if he still thinks of me when the stars awaken.
For every sky you've painted for your sister,
have you ever wondered what the clouds think when women are kissed when they are lost?
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
day 200
Reasons Why My Best Friend is My Best Friend
1
You decide to walk home from work sometimes half an hour before midnight
This has sprouted half from the failed attempts at being "friends" with guys
and half from being lazy
You call her on the telephone after fifteen minutes of talking to yourself
She picks up on the first ring
Her voice is a safety net waiting to catch you
2
You refer to yourself as Meryl Streep while gossiping
She laughs because she understands the reference
3
She lives a two minute commute from your home.
One time I skipped class and laid in bed thinking of more reasons to kill myself.
She trotted her way to my room.
I made her lunch and gave her almond milk.
We laughed at all the stupid ways you could die.
4
On the days you don't want to continue dating the guy you're currently dating,
she will hold your hands with your secrets
and all the fears you've told her without opening your mouth.
She will encourage you to
"hang out" with your ex boyfriend if he asks.
She will cry as she sees you cry like you are a ghost and you are all the sadness in the world.
5
On the days you are not the center of the universe,
she will make you feel like all the solar systems exist because of your gravity.
There will always be a tug and pull motion between my soul and my body
and my feet and my dreams,
but she will always remain tugging and pulling
and never pushing away.
There is a reason why your bones feel most at home in her presence.
6
On the days I've spent in bed
contemplating ways to kill myself,
she has found a way to distract me. To tug and pull
and never push away.
She is the reason the solar system exists.
The reason why the tides dance smoothly during full moons in July.
7
She will watch you get your heart broken,
break other people's hearts,
and she will always reassure you that these things just "happen."
8
On the days I've kept myself in complete solitude for so long,
I lose count of all the reasons to continue to tug and pull
and watch the solar system exist.
It feels like a million seconds of not being able to breathe.
I call her and she picks up
on the first ring.
We gossip and I call myself Meryl Streep.
I ask, "Is it wrong that I don't feel bad for the things I do?
I feel like I should, but I just can't...
Do you think I'm just evil?"
She will laugh and tell you to calm down.
"No. These things just happen.
You're perfectly fine."
1
You decide to walk home from work sometimes half an hour before midnight
This has sprouted half from the failed attempts at being "friends" with guys
and half from being lazy
You call her on the telephone after fifteen minutes of talking to yourself
She picks up on the first ring
Her voice is a safety net waiting to catch you
2
You refer to yourself as Meryl Streep while gossiping
She laughs because she understands the reference
3
She lives a two minute commute from your home.
One time I skipped class and laid in bed thinking of more reasons to kill myself.
She trotted her way to my room.
I made her lunch and gave her almond milk.
We laughed at all the stupid ways you could die.
4
On the days you don't want to continue dating the guy you're currently dating,
she will hold your hands with your secrets
and all the fears you've told her without opening your mouth.
She will encourage you to
"hang out" with your ex boyfriend if he asks.
She will cry as she sees you cry like you are a ghost and you are all the sadness in the world.
5
On the days you are not the center of the universe,
she will make you feel like all the solar systems exist because of your gravity.
There will always be a tug and pull motion between my soul and my body
and my feet and my dreams,
but she will always remain tugging and pulling
and never pushing away.
There is a reason why your bones feel most at home in her presence.
6
On the days I've spent in bed
contemplating ways to kill myself,
she has found a way to distract me. To tug and pull
and never push away.
She is the reason the solar system exists.
The reason why the tides dance smoothly during full moons in July.
7
She will watch you get your heart broken,
break other people's hearts,
and she will always reassure you that these things just "happen."
8
On the days I've kept myself in complete solitude for so long,
I lose count of all the reasons to continue to tug and pull
and watch the solar system exist.
It feels like a million seconds of not being able to breathe.
I call her and she picks up
on the first ring.
We gossip and I call myself Meryl Streep.
I ask, "Is it wrong that I don't feel bad for the things I do?
I feel like I should, but I just can't...
Do you think I'm just evil?"
She will laugh and tell you to calm down.
"No. These things just happen.
You're perfectly fine."
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
day 199
1
On Valentines day, I told my mother I loved her.
She gave me a hug.
That was the first time I've ever held someone's entire being.
2
I thought I heard the soft sobbing of your soul on my commute to school.
3
It's insane how I used to walk beside you and we would skip over sidewalk cracks together. We used to hate anything broken and shivered at every sight of an abandoned home.
4
My mother is a hoarder.
In the nineteen years I've loved her,
I've learned to find the beauty in this.
I'm not sure how the home I've grown up in has managed to make space for all her random treasures.
5
We all make room for damage.
6
We all make room for a chance to fall in love with concepts we'd never even think of taking in. I look at all the first date, second anniversary, dead bouquets of I Miss Yous I've kept in my room. They are not from the same lovers.
7
I realize I've never given anyone my entire being. I hold all the damage to myself. I kiss my mother in hopes of learning how to dodge the genes,
On Valentines day, I told my mother I loved her.
She gave me a hug.
That was the first time I've ever held someone's entire being.
2
I thought I heard the soft sobbing of your soul on my commute to school.
3
It's insane how I used to walk beside you and we would skip over sidewalk cracks together. We used to hate anything broken and shivered at every sight of an abandoned home.
4
My mother is a hoarder.
In the nineteen years I've loved her,
I've learned to find the beauty in this.
I'm not sure how the home I've grown up in has managed to make space for all her random treasures.
5
We all make room for damage.
6
We all make room for a chance to fall in love with concepts we'd never even think of taking in. I look at all the first date, second anniversary, dead bouquets of I Miss Yous I've kept in my room. They are not from the same lovers.
7
I realize I've never given anyone my entire being. I hold all the damage to myself. I kiss my mother in hopes of learning how to dodge the genes,
Monday, April 1, 2013
day 198
I write depressing ass shit when I'm half awake, still softly snoring like my mother on her days off. I whimper like I haven't been told secrets and I cry like a waiting ghost. I don't mean to come off as so sad, but sometimes I am. Sometimes. Most of the time I am so sure of myself and the road I've taken. I don't know who I am as a person, but I'm getting there. I am selfish by means of finding my love through other bodies. This is how I've learned to love myself. I wish I didn't, but it isn't that easy anymore. I can't just wish for things to change anymore. I've stopped thinking about the past and how much better I'd be without all the damage. But how whole would I be without it? Sometimes I get sick of disguising how I feel with metaphors and ramblings. I am always talking about my rape. About sleeping with a boy who wants absolutely nothing to do with me. About being held back by an ex boyfriend. I am just trying to find a peace of mind, but it's so fucking hard sometimes to forget.
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