sometimes I feel like my brain is melting and likely to ooze out my ears at any second but sometimes I feel like my brain is swelling and the pressure is too much for my fragile skull and my head will explode and it will be hell to clean up.
sometimes I feel like my skin is too tight and one wrong move will cause it to split open and reveal bones and blood and gore but sometimes I feel like my skin isn't really /my skin/ like I'm slapping €10 moisturizer on some strange mask that looks like skin and feels almost like skin but just doesn't feel quite right on my body.
sometimes I feel like drinking ***** like its water or swallowing xanax like they're tic tacs and washing everything down with cookies and maybe a bottle of €4 wine but sometimes I feel like drinking peppermint tea and eating sweet red apples and the only constant is that I never feel like nourishing myself properly whether because I don't deserve it or because I'm too exhausted all the time I'm not sure.
sometimes I feel like I haven't earned the love and trust and intimacy I crave and that's why I don't ******* have it and sometimes I feel like **** for thinking that because I know realistically I have family and friends and blah blah blah but the idea of speaking completely openly to anyone terrifies me to the point of xanax ***** rinse repeat and I think maybe that's what I want
that being someone who definitely will not leave or want to or be disappointed no matter what I do and maybe that's another reason why I can't talk to the people I have because I can't bear the guilt
my shoulders are so knotted and tired they can't carry the disappointed faces too.
sometimes I feel like the biggest hypocrite alive because I tell myself one thing and my brain fights me on it and I can never tell who's winning only that there's a mess now because I didn't listen to the facts and sometimes I feel like this mess is exactly what I need because I don't know who I am without it.
sometimes I feel so much my toes buzz and my eyes black over and I can't breathe or stop sobbing but sometimes I feel nothing at all and I think I know which one I prefer and I think I know it's the wrong one.
what is it like to feel steady.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC
I never thought of fragile as an insult until I saw the way you spat it through clenched teeth
"God you're so ******* fragile"
hissing barbed wire insults like they'd cut your tongue if you held them in any longer
before, I thought of fragile as the ultimate compliment
a sign that my concave stomach was home to fingerprint bruises
that you were afraid to hold me too tight lest I break
but then I heard it dripping slow dark molasses off your tongue
coating every syllable with thick syrupy tar
it didn't make sense to me that your voice,
petal soft and pitched for laughter
accustomed to slurring my name on dizzy nicotine breaths and over crackling long distance calls
could wrap its fingers around my lifeline and
crush it
until long after I chose to stop being your answering machine sounding board yes man lap dog
you never cared about my hollow birdlike bones or the blooming violet footsteps beneath my eyes
you said I was too ******* fragile
that my eyes were leaky taps and you had no plumbing experience
that my heart was a pincushion voodoo doll and you didn't know how to protect its satin softness from daily wear and tear
I got hurt too easily and playing tag with someone else's insecurities isn't fun
I never thought of fragile as an insult until you choked it out from behind your own iron voice box
and I realised it wasn't so much an insult as a burden
now there is leather binding forming around my cotton stuffed heart
and I'm doing my best to tighten the valves in my tear ducts
I'm still fragile
But it's not your job to hold me together anymore
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
Your tears are like champagne;
They cost more than you like to admit in polite company
And they're saved for the most special of occasions.
Every drop is to commemorate a monumentous event
(even if the event isn't immediately obvious to the rest of us).
When we were together I never got closer than hearing the bubbles fizz below the surface.
When we broke up you popped the cork and showered everything in sight with alcoholic nothingness.
My tears are like, well, water;
Not in that you need them to survive
But in that they are inescapable.
My fragility (or childishness) is evident in leaking taps
And dripping branches
And 80% of my biological make up.
When we were together you drank nothing but saltwater sadness.
shame, joy, surprise, every emotion warranted another glass of water.
When we broke up my tear ducts popped like two water balloons and nobody was surprised, they had already opened their umbrellas and taken a precautionary step back.
If they had stood a little closer, opened their mouths a little wider, they might have caught the fleeting taste of bitter wine and the closest I have ever come to crying champagne tears.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
I see birds sitting on chimneys
And telephone wires
And rooftops.
I wonder what it feels like to be up so high
Without an ounce of fear.
To be so close to everything beautiful that gets caught in the air
The stars and the moon and the sun
And have complete freedom
Peace
I want to borrow the raven's wings
The scarlet feathers from the robin
To disguise myself
To escape to the sky for a weekend.
I have always been terrified of birds
But I'm beginning to wonder why exactly that is.
Envy is the only conclusion I can come to.
I will never be that close to the stars until I become one
I will never fly through the clouds without being encased in a metal casket.
I want to fly with the birds.
They will lend me their feathers so I don't get cold
They will sit in their nests
Watching me
Like proud parents.
They will hope I never return.
The loss of their feathers is temporary
They will grow back, and when they do
Maybe the birds will think of me
Maybe they will continue to donate their wings to the landlocked girls with wanderlust.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
It is so easy to love someone drunk and in the dark
The trick is keeping that love around when you feel like the sunlight is slicing your head open, creeping through the crack in the curtains
Can you love them in the daylight?
Can you love them at 11am when you go for brunch, and you realise they drink coffee like it's water?
Can you love them at 4pm when you meet their family?
Can you love them when it's 5pm and they haven't gotten out of bad, or they feel like they can't?
Can you love them when you realise they're a person?
They're a person with a past and a future and a heart
They're not just warmth and company, something you can forget about the next morning
Can you deal with the realisation that they're going to see you in the light as well?
They're going to see your freckles and your scars, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh
They're going to see you cry and snort and spit out your toothpaste
It is so easy to love someone drunk and in the dark
But it is so much easier to be loved drunk and in the dark.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
you carry stories in the knots between your shoulders
woven together like an intricate tapestry of stress and exhaustion and heartache
the threads wind together, wind you up
coiled tight like a spring
stretched taught like a rubber band
about to snap
about to break.
you can try to push them out, smooth them down
but no amount of massages can ease the tension.
you start to recognise the sensation in your temples
your wrists
your tongue.
constricted and heavy and tired.
close your eyes. take a deep breath.
stretch.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
"The problem is; I feel like I'm falling for you"
Don't say it like that
Don't say it like I'm not going to catch you, like I'd leave you to fall flat on your face
Don't say it like I'm not falling right along with you.
Don't think of it as falling
Think of it as floating, flying, spinning through the air on summer breezes and winter chills
Think of it as exploring.
Pretend we're deep-sea diving and searching for foreign treasures in empty caverns
Embrace your inner Ariel and find wonder in the unknown
I'll join you on your quest.
It's scary and it's risky and we might get hurt
It might be worth it
Let's find out.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
Tell me there aren't ghosts.
Tell me our business must remain unfinished, our messages undelivered.
Tell me every breath we've ever taken will amount to nothing once our hearts give out and our bodies decay.
Tell me the air is just the air and the shadows are just shadows, that I've never heard a whisper that meant anything more than the wind rustling the trees outside my window.
Explain sunsets and shooting stars, explain spring daisies and summer foxgloves.
Or stop.
Stop your cynicism and your pessimism, stop your rationality and your scientific explanations.
I know that acid raid is caused by CO2 in the atmosphere, and that rainbows are just an illusion, but what could it possibly hurt to see them as something more, something otherworldly, something magic.
We all need a bit of magic, and maybe you need it most of all.
So I know that my grandfather still wishes me well before tests and scoffs when we put flowers on his grave.
I know that when my dog barks at "nothing" she is barking at the spirits you're too blind too see, too stubborn to accept.
There is a ghost in my room and she takes care of me.
Maybe she doesn't even exist, but maybe I need to believe that she does.
Maybe you should let me.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
There are constellations between your teeth and you have starlight wrapped around your tongue, there is moonlight in your eyes but sunlight in your smile
Every time you breath you inhale glitter and oxygen and powdered sugar, the scent of grass and strawberries and hope
Flowers bloom between your ribs and wind through the joints in your hips, your knees, your wrists
There is a whole menagerie in your stomach, butterflies and pelicans and Bengal tigers
Your skin is crushed velvet, silk and lace, encasing a skeleton of steel and iron, silver filigree
Your hands are soft as cotton, rose petals, strong as the will of all your ancestors.
When you die you will melt back into the earth, disintegrate and fall back to where you came from
You will be absorbed back into the atmosphere and the universe will swallow you up.
It will rearrange your atoms and produce something completely you but completely different.
You are one of a kind, you are the entire universe.
You will never be again, but you will never stop being.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
They say we're the lucky ones and you scoff
But they're right;
We are the lucky ones.
The only hatred we face is from ourselves
Coating our frontal lobes and sticking
Dripping sickly sweet like honey down our throats
Encasing our vocal chords
Rotting us from the inside out.
The only hunger we face is self-inflicted
Fingers itching
Stomachs protesting
Disgust crawling over our skin and burrowing further into our flesh
Taking root
making itself comfortable.
We don't live in war-torn countries
Our scars should be from skinned knees and appendectomies.
Our bodies are littered with something far more sinister;
Shame takes the form of long sleeved shirts in summer.
We are the lucky ones.
We seem unwilling to accept that.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC