i.
It’s the late 1990′s and you’re a kid
You’re skipping down the path in the garden called memory lane
Holding your mother’s hand
Suddenly you trip and fall
You see the lacerations across your knee that sting for days when you try to shower
For the path in the garden of memory lane has tripped you over by your nimble child legs
Wounding you temporarily
ii.
It’s the present day and you’re a grown woman
You’re walking down the rocky road called adulthood, wringing your own hands together in frustration
Your husband was found dead in a crashed car with another woman
Drunk driving and infidelity do not mix
You don’t see lacerations anywhere
Nor feel the ache of wounds that sting for days when you try to shower
For the rocky road whose name is adulthood has tripped you over by your last legs
Wounding your heart instead
For life
Jul 13, 2020
Jul 13, 2020 at 4:52 AM UTC
It's been a long time since I've been to church
My horns are starting to grow back again
I'm back, *******
Well, well...
Missed me?
Relax. There's plenty of me to go around
Enough to keep you coming back for seconds
That's all I ever do.
The thing about a Jezebel is that she's been through stuff
So she's more streetwise and seasoned
With fault and reasoning
To make you keep coming back for more
Ruths are plain and bland
Uncooked meat
Raw and salmonella-inducing
Makes you puke on the spot and swear off meat forever
Turning vegan
Swearing off the word
Turning heathen
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 5:41 AM UTC
Sometimes when I miss you, I pick up the blue bottle of cologne you gave me (just because I said I liked it), spray it on my neck, and go to sleep with the memory of you enveloping me with your lips on my neck and your form pressed against mine from behind - my big spoon
And imagine you whispering "intimacy" into my ear as you fell asleep in that pose - like you always did - while I, like a cat would keep awake and just stare at that spot on the ceiling, willing myself not to fall asleep lest I should awake and find you gone.
I've been doing this since the last time your arms were around mine in a hug that neither of us wanted to break free from
Before I got on that train home for the last time
And you got on that plane home for the last time
Never to come back to me again
Despite all the shooting stars I wished on
Dead stars
Just like our future
I scrolled down my call history the other day till I came upon a familiar number
A dead number
Whom during this time, last year could almost pass as my lockscreen - because of the number of times I'd get a call from that number in a day
The number that went from being saved just as "Z***from Tinder"
to "Z***"
to "Z**k with a vibrating heart emoji beside it" (because whenever my phone vibrated with that number on it, so would my heart)
And finally just to a random series of numbers with no name because congrats, you just got deleted out of my contacts and out of my life
Out of sight, out of mind...
The day you called me again, I thought I saw 666 on the screen because the Devil might as well given me a call from hell as the operator with you on the other end waiting to talk to me again
And drag me back down there with you
Not this time, you aren't
For as far as I know, dead men tell no tales
And I can't hear dead people
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 3:50 AM UTC
I still have that picture of you & I during a hike up some hill whose name I can't remember now taken by another one of our friends who came along with us for the trip. There were 5 of us. This was 3 years ago. That part I remember.
You're sitting beside me on a fallen tree and grinning ear-to-ear while I'm sitting on it coffee-shop-style with one leg up, pouting - because i was tired from the hike. I remember that bit too.
I'll never forget that trip.
I'll never forget our friendship.
I remember showing that picture to my ex when I was still dating him - this time, last year - and him telling me how good I looked in it. At that time, we had become nothing more than strangers with memories.
You were busy with who had now become your current fiancée
I was busy with who had now become my current ex.
In retrospect, I knew it wasn't me who looked good.
It was what you did for me that made me look good.
That ex later on left - inevitably - but the feeling of heartbreak when he left wasn't as bad as the feeling of heartbreak when you told me to **** out of your life because you didn't need me in it anymore. That I did for good.
He broke my heart.
You broke my spirit.
I also remember the way your name went further and further down in my inbox, decreasing with importance later on.
You probably don't even remember that our names used to be the highlight of each others' inboxes at one point in time
People wondered if we were together
Once again, it was what you did for me and what I did for you
I also have the polaroid of that photograph, in case you wondering
It hangs by a peg from the fairy lights by my bed - next to the other polaroids featuring me and my other friends
I took a look at that photograph yesterday evening
And I wrote this.
But you will probably never get to see it
The same way you never got to see...
...how much I loved you.
May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 2:41 AM UTC
They say that behind every successful man is a woman
And that behind every **** is a *******
A huntsman
Who lured the poor princess into worlds unknown with false promises
Promises of being crowned queen of his heart
Promises of being able to live in the kingdom in the castle in the air
Conjoured up by his seductive tongue
Dripping with manipulation
Laced with lies
The million-dollar tongue that once gave her so much pleasure
And later so much pain
The tongue that made her own so cheap
Sticking it down some random guy's at 2 am in a bar
And later on around said guy's manhood
In mechanical passion
The same routine every night
Different people, different places
Like a puppet on strings
A puppet on heartstrings
Whose puppetmaster is grief
May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 2:29 AM UTC