fakehorror - Hello Poetry

When you tell your daughter that your life has been a series of near car crashes Forgive her for mistaking the gloss behind your eyes - as nostalgia for a wreck that could have been Forgive her for clawing her skin with the intent of stirring a tornado so violent she could match your presence You taught her to see you as a fatality; too late to be saved, too proud to be held Remember that an animal licking it's wound does so out of self-preservation, not self-pity Remember that saline is salt water and tears need to be shed and that humans are capable of healing Remember to feel Teach her to pummel her fists Teach her to shout down the boys Remember the hollow below your heart that echoes like an abandoned house When ivy grows out from her chest cavity and encapsulates all around you Remember that she is not unruly She merely sees within you a potency to create beauty And consider her ability to grow and grow and grow Encourage her to expand Be mindful that little girls should never need permission to occupy space Be humble - she may even teach you a thing or two

0

May 27, 2014

May 27, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC

lessons in motherhood

When you tell your daughter that your life has been a series of near car crashes Forgive her for mistaking the gloss behind your eyes - as nostalgia for a wreck that could have been Forgive her for clawing her skin with the intent of stirring a tornado so violent she could match your presence You taught her to see you as a fatality; too late to be saved, too proud to be held Remember that an animal licking it's wound does so out of self-preservation, not self-pity Remember that saline is salt water and tears need to be shed and that humans are capable of healing Remember to feel Teach her to pummel her fists Teach her to shout down the boys Remember the hollow below your heart that echoes like an abandoned house When ivy grows out from her chest cavity and encapsulates all around you Remember that she is not unruly She merely sees within you a potency to create beauty And consider her ability to grow and grow and grow Encourage her to expand Be mindful that little girls should never need permission to occupy space Be humble - she may even teach you a thing or two

17

I'm tipping myself over to encourage response from deep in your throat the wind breaks over in ignorance of my spastic limbs illicit - I want to stop and tell you how I used to pull out my own teeth and now I would do anything to squeeze myself in the gaps between yours tell me you love me feel me need me I wake in the dim light of morning mumbling my own name

0

May 22, 2013

May 22, 2013 at 7:43 AM UTC

[milk]

I'm tipping myself over to encourage response from deep in your throat the wind breaks over in ignorance of my spastic limbs illicit - I want to stop and tell you how I used to pull out my own teeth and now I would do anything to squeeze myself in the gaps between yours tell me you love me feel me need me I wake in the dim light of morning mumbling my own name

9

I washed my hair for the first time in three weeks and learned to stop walking on tiptoes I am the bitter taste at the back of your throat. Some nights, I turn on every light in the house and sit awake picking skin from my chapped lips I am full-circle and puncture wounds. I wanted to be the girl to wear her heart on her sleeve but my armband was embroidered with a ******** I was misinformed. Romanticised. There isn't romance in 4am shudders, in skin stuck to the teal sofa or the sweat between my shoulder blades. In yellow stained fingers nicotine or black stained lungs tar. For protection, I tried pouring a ring of salt - and found myself sitting cross-legged on the floor rubbing salt into my wounds No ritual can protect me from myself.

0

Apr 8, 2013

Apr 8, 2013 at 12:07 PM UTC

ritual

I washed my hair for the first time in three weeks and learned to stop walking on tiptoes I am the bitter taste at the back of your throat. Some nights, I turn on every light in the house and sit awake picking skin from my chapped lips I am full-circle and puncture wounds. I wanted to be the girl to wear her heart on her sleeve but my armband was embroidered with a ******** I was misinformed. Romanticised. There isn't romance in 4am shudders, in skin stuck to the teal sofa or the sweat between my shoulder blades. In yellow stained fingers nicotine or black stained lungs tar. For protection, I tried pouring a ring of salt - and found myself sitting cross-legged on the floor rubbing salt into my wounds No ritual can protect me from myself.

15