If loving you was a mistake,
either way—mine to make,
says she, to shape in my hands,
your body. And this pain?
Mine to deal with.
Deserved,
maybe, found guilty,
for trying to trick you
into loving me. Through
the whispers, the touch, she
laughs, inducing only
ecstasy—
What if the burning at the
stake is not the witch's
fate, but her pleasure?
Her final triumph. No end
more fitting. Nowhere
to escape but
in flames.
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 4:13 AM UTC
tonight, i am not
walking fast enough,
in this hungry darkness —
my legs too short, or too long
for my clothes to hide.
i am not one to
be afraid; oblivious,
secure, leaving my mother
to watch the news
by herself.
but tonight, something
feels different. my heart
stumbles, racing, knowing
there’s no escape —
that out of the
dozens on this street, i am
the one the bullet will
find, or the car
will slam into
from behind.
in the morning,
pull my body from the
river, say a prayer.
i knew. tonight,
there was going to be
bloodshed. tonight, i would be
the one not
saved.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
All I wanted was love, but I swore I’d never ask because it doesn’t count if you force it. So at the start, I brought you cookies and sat beside you in every class, chattering endlessly. I wrote you letters, and made tiny watercolor paintings of your face. I didn’t think it would work, but I guess I was so good at falling in love that you thought you were too.
But then, just because ‘I love you’s are exchanged doesn’t mean the feelings are the same, and when you started taking longer to reply and were barely by my side, I began to wonder. So I went further—bought you only the most expensive presents, gifted you even the parts of myself I’d been saving. Who could blame me if I just longed to make you happy, and thought that meant giving you everything you asked for and wanted?
Towards the end, I realized you wanted more than I could ever give because you looked for it in someone else. But like a fool, I still loved you. Am I not nice and sweet, not right or enough for you? Here I am, still begging. Who else would have forgiven you? Who else would have needed you that much, wanted so badly to be with you? I deserve to be loved back.
But you know what? If even now, you’re still not sure about your feelings, then just admit you don’t love me. Let’s leave it at that. Even if I plead and cry, don’t let me force you. Love isn’t supposed to need convincing. Just because I want you, love you doesn’t mean I don’t deserve better. And it doesn’t mean you can love me. It doesn’t mean you’re supposed to.
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 4:50 PM UTC
I. THE FALLING IN LOVE
i should have known
from how the very first thing you told me
was a lie, and your eyes captivated me,
perhaps because i could never read them;
you were a mystery
that it was wrong
for you to say you liked me, so soon
just because i brought you cookies
just because i did; i must have been so good
at falling in love that you thought
you were too
II. THE FALLING APART
i should have known
when you’d say you love me
but i’d find myself alone,
when i’m blue, when i’m in tears,
and you search for words
and come up empty
that it was wrong
except i’d gotten so used to it,
to making excuses, to finding comfort
in what you offered, to convincing myself
it meant more
III. THE HOLDING ON ANYWAY
i should have known
when i was too afraid to be honest; i knew
the hurt my words would cause; i knew
they could never be taken back, and that
we would both be left hollow
that it was wrong
if i ever hurt you i would have had to be
broken myself, shattered beyond repair; and
the bullet i would use to shoot you were the
pieces of metal i dug from my own heart
with shaking hands
*i should have known
that it was wrong*
and i did,
but i thought that if i kept quiet you would
never notice and i would rather live with you like
this, because you disable the ticking time bomb
of my heart and in its place a dull ache,
throbbing instead of beating, and because
if you left, no one would care if i exploded
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 10:23 AM UTC
*i'm getting ahead of myself and i feel nostalgic about everything already. i swear i was just thirteen yesterday. then i fell in love and i broke my own heart and fell in love again, got caught in the end. all of it just yesterday. some of it just feels like a dream.
and i woke up like this, almost eighteen. with a belly full of worries, a heart tripping on hope, and ribcage heaving with sighs. but still we persist. no matter that i hold my head in my hands or hide behind my hair a lot of the time. no matter that i am becoming afraid to speak. no matter that i think i want to cry all the time. and i don't even try to tell anyone anymore.
but just yesterday i was a kid and i'd never truly known what afraid meant. i never used the words heavy, burden, weight. now they're always on the tip of my tongue when i taste the air and try to gauge how i'm feeling. i open my clenched fists and think, pain.
what did i do? what changed yesterday? i remember at one point i learned to take a blade to my skin. at one point i learned to change my face. i learned to stop eating. i remember making so many promises. that if lord would grant me this, i would be glad. that's it, i would say. i would not ask for more. i would not need anything else. i think maybe i never needed more in the first place.
what have i done? if i could go back, what would it take to save myself? did i ask for the wrong things? had i worded my prayers differently, would i be someone else? what is this story? could i be doomed before i even begin? i don't miss who i was yesterday. yesterday, she wanted to be who i am today. i don't like who i am today. i don't know if that will change when i wake up tomorrow, or in a few years.
maybe everything will be much the same but i won't know my heart again. i'll be wondering what was on my mind then. and it's just this: i am scared, cold, alone, and sorry for the choices i have made which led us to this place. i think i am weaker now than i have ever been, and it makes me ashamed.*
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 7:03 AM UTC
my first love
he kissed the hickeys and the bruises and all the parts of me that only he had ever touched and said, this makes you mine.
my second love
he taught me you can still feel pleasure when your heart is broken. pleasure so intense, i still dream about his hands on me sometimes. he knew me no further than my body, but, oh god, he knew my body.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 11:25 AM UTC
12:34 AM — I scream “I love myself” over and over in my head, whisper “I don’t need you,” even as my eyes are drawn to my slim wrists and I think about how mirrors are glass, and, oh, what I could do with the shards.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC
pisces: what is it about love that always has you in doubt? really, whose feelings are you unsure about? his or yours? and tell me—will it ever be enough?
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
You're turning eighteen.
I know you think it's a big deal, and well, yes, you should celebrate it. But for the most part, things are still the same and change is yet to come. You will wake up still with acne scars. You will wake up still with painful memories carved into your thighs. You will remember that once it wasn't like this and you will have the vague sense that even what you have now will soon no longer be.
Rejoice in the fleeting nature of this moment, with its infinitesimal relevance and infinite beauty. You live here in this ever-changing space; nothing stays the same and you let yourself be carried from day to day. You drift. You watch the landscape of your heart slowly change. Sometimes the sun is creeping over the horizon and the sky is painted in your favorite colors. Sometimes you watch the sky shed tears and apologize for its mistakes. Sometimes you feel filled up with it.
You're turning eighteen. You're scared. And no, you will not wake up entirely different. You will have to keep being alive without knowing what it means. You will still have to be alone. This is your body. This is your soul. This is your brain; these are the demons you've created, monsters you've fed. This is your heart; these are the cracks, these are the bruises which are still tender, still blue.
If you listen closely, it is still in pain, fighting to beat each second. It remembers how you kicked and screamed and threatened to hit it, beat it to a ****** pulp, if it refused to give up on its own, to just stop, to pack its bags and leave behind a sunken, shriveled mess. You remember you were wearing tennis shoes and holding a baseball bat.
Sometimes, inside you, there are thunderstorms no one can tell are brewing. It's just the weather. Tell yourself that. It's something you will have to put up with and make adjustments for every day of your life. So pack an umbrella, buy pink rain boots and a matching polka dot rain coat, if you want. Bandage your heart better, prop it up with stilts, and whisper good things to it sometimes.
Say you've made it this far.
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 10:36 AM UTC
loud music, karaoke,
barbecue on the balcony,
smirnoffs and local beers,
zoom in on me holding
the mic, trying to have
a good time.
watch as everyone
loses themselves or falls
apart, some into laughter,
others into tears. it's time
to leave and i'm wondering
why do boys only call me
pretty when they're drunk?
they wrap their arms around
me and whisper in my ear,
tell me i'm special when
i've never felt less. it's hard
to be believable with alcohol
on your breath. so i just fall
into bed, more alone than
exhausted.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 9:05 AM UTC