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amanda cooper May 2021
they told me that i am deficient of attention,
but how can that be when i have memorized
every freckle dotted on your cheekbones and
every white-tipped scar mapped across your skin?
maybe it's because my mind can't make room for
anything else, because you are all i see when i close
my eyes and the first thing i see when i open them

they told me that my depression is in remission,
like a cancer that has spread throughout my body
only to go dormant, to lay quiet just beneath the
surface, waiting to try to drag us down yet again.
they told me that this was good news, i can be happy,
but all i could hear was the sound of the tide
always waiting for its turn to take me out to sea

they told me that i sit on the borderline of two states
of existence, subject to the shift between love and hate
and passion and wrath and infatuation and heartbreak,
always trying to ask you which person i should be.
like the flower i used to pluck the petals from
in my youth, constantly whispering to myself,
"i love you, i love you not, i love you, i love you not."

they told me that this means that i can get better now,
that putting names to the faces of the skeletons in my
closet will allow me to bury them in their rightful place,
that i can finally learn to ease my grip and let things go.
but it has taken almost two decades to find my way here,
to finally answer the question of what is wrong with me,
and the journey to get here was long, and i am tired.
may is mental health awareness month, for those that don't know.
i had my first therapy session at the age of 11, and i'm now 29.
i was finally diagnosed just a couple of weeks ago.
adhd, major depressive disorder (recurrent),
and possibly also borderline personality disorder.
it feels strange for someone to finally answer a question that
i've been asking for so long.
i'm not really sure where to go from here.
but i do know that i feel a sense of relief, and that it
feels like i can loosen my chokehold on life a little bit.
i don't wanna be the person who tells you that it gets better,
because i'm still working on how to get there myself,
but i do wanna suggest that you always hold onto hope that it can.
wishing you all the best.
may 4, 2021.
amanda cooper May 2021
it takes a village to raise a child
but only takes one person to force
the little girl into a loss of innocence
and you did it with such nonchalance
that it took seventeen years for me to
realize the gravity of what happened

i wonder if it keeps you up at night, knowing what you did
or maybe it was just easier for us both to forget
i bet i could track you down if i wanted to.
i wonder what it'd be like to see your face again, instead of the monster from my nightmares standing over my bed.
may 1, 2021.
amanda cooper Mar 2021
there's this song called "wooden heart" and it's written by this spoken word poetry band that you'd never be caught dead listening to. it's not really your thing; i get it. but the song has always meant a lot to me because it carries a theme of being imperfect but being together, this tepid optimism about how broken hearts are still capable of beating and the wood is just driftwood from shipwrecks brought back to form something new and beautiful.

i've never had the strongest heart. it lets go of things too easily when they get just a little too difficult. it runs and it hides and it speaks real low and quiet. it's never been one to stand up to battle and fight for victory; sometimes it's just easier to bathe yourself in the white flag of surrender to be reborn anew.

maybe that's how you manage to work your way inside. you ran your silver tongue along the weakest points of my walls and eventually they caved in, and maybe i should've known better when you stood in the dust like a conqueror instead of waiting to be invited in.

but in you came, and that wooden heart of mine started letting in too much water until it became the shipwreck it always tried to avoid becoming again. the wood began to rot; your silver tongue, tarnished. and there isn't a carpenter or a jeweler who can right what's wrong.
blah blah blah same **** different day

inspired by "wooden heart" by listener, particularly here:
"My dreams are sails that I point towards my true north, stretched thin over my rib bones, and pray that it gets better. But it won’t, at least I don’t believe it will... So I've built a wooden heart inside this iron ship to sail these blood red seas and find your coasts. Don’t let these waves wash away your hopes. This war-ship is sinking, and I still believe in anchors, pulling fistfuls of rotten wood from my heart. I still believe in saviors. Because we are all made out of shipwrecks, every single board, washed and bound like crooked teeth on these rocky shores.

But my fear is this prison that I keep locked below the main deck; I keep a key under my pillow, it’s quiet and it’s hidden. And my hopes are weapons that I’m still learning how to use right, but they’re heavy and I’m awkward and I'm always running out of fight. So I’ve carved a wooden heart, put it in this sinking ship, hoping it would help me float for just a few more weeks. But I am all made out of shipwrecks, every twisted beam; lost and found like you and me, all scattered out on the seas."
amanda cooper Oct 2020
you play your old song for me when you're with her and
put your cigarette between her smiling lips just like you'd always do
it was foolish to believe that you loved me like that
but sometimes it was just nice to pretend

i know that she loves you how you should be loved and
she loves the way coffee makes you sing and she doesn't mind when
you come home with knuckles caked in blood from
exorcising (i mean, exercising) every night

she's not scared of you or scared to let go when my palms
are blistered from holding on but i guess we'll always have the cold
winter nights when you'd sleep in my car because
you were too drunk to drive yourself home

and i know that she ***** you how you want to be ******
when i could never begin to hold you close or break you like that but
she gets the mornings i can only dream of having:
waking to cigarettes and coffee beside her bed
alternative title: "the story of you and me."

inspired by brand new's "sink."
wrote the bones on 06/25/2020 but finished 10/01/2020.
it's one of the only things left unfinished that i ever went back to.
take that as you will.
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