I keep having this dream where
I'm 14 again and I'm sure you're the love of my life but
I keep doing stupid things
And you keep saying stupid things
And all of our friends , they call us a stupid thing
Because really ,
All we do is fight
And it tears them apart
Seeing us tear eachother apart
And you're just standing there
Bc you know I'm gonna leave again
Bc I've left
A dozen times and once more at a cemetery
But this time it's different bc this time when i try to leave I trip over the reason I fell in love with you in the first place and instead of getting up I just kneel there
And the answer is
In Cabeza 1982 I asked what am I to do with all this yellow paint.
Tonight I found the answer
It's like you've left me with all this yellow paint and I have no idea what to do with it
Your talent is clear to me
I need to learn to say I love you without sounding like I'm asking for permission to breathe. You keep loving me in ways that make me itch , quiver and faint.
Everytime I think we're getting somewhere I know we're exactly in the middle of nowhere.
I'm starting to think God loves me better when I'm in stitches and scars,
It's 3pm on a Saturday afternoon and I've ditched a warm house warm soup and am now in a cathedral whispering " Hi, I'm Allie........ and I erm...I've got an eating disorders"
I'm 50% silk and 50% shards of glass but Somehow I've carried myself past the stairs & now I'm here feeling like the walls are mocking me...
I've spent the past 7 Augusts draped in bulimia and anorexia like a coffin and I'm ready to change clothes because I'm tired of wearing black and I'm tired of how it feels like I've been dressed for my funeral all since I've turned 13 except I'm already there watching myself get lowered into the ground but I never get there.
I never get there
Finally decided to get help so I can overcome my eating disorders
Okay so one day I'm 17 and in love with a Xhosa boy whose love is tin packed sardines wrapped in a dozen hallelujahs and the next an Artist who drinks way too much and cheats a whole lot more and I'm back sitting on my bed saying the clicks altogether wrong and telling you you're dead to me , I'm swearing to myself I'll never love another creative again and craving for the way you touched my waisted like old photographs and enveloped your hands into prayer when my shirt came off. I left 6 countries for yours and crawled underground so the border guards wouldn't see me . I loved you in a way that meant my fingerprints turned into lines of photographs and my identity was you , was you, my identity was you.
I hanged myself on paper clips and signed my name on your walls and danced without a care and tied my hair up and laid down on your word and covered canvases with paper and drew sticks of mistakes because my identity was you , my identity was you.
My heart shatters , the pieces fall through my body , settle where they land and turn into things like a sharper tongue and clearer hindsight. I need to know why you kept using VonGoghs paintings to ruin my life