To the women who dismantled the world
with their bare hands
just to build it up again.
May we know them.
To the Eleanor Roosevelts,
to the Marilyn Monroes.
To our mothers
and our grandmothers
May we be them.
Women who speak with fire
and revel in the flame,
who shatter the glass ceiling
and dance around the broken shards.
May we raise them.
To our sisters
and our daughters.
To the women who came before me
and all of the girls who will come after.
Here’s to strong women.
for all my ladies out there :)
Existing in a house with an alcoholic isn't quite existing. It's tiptoeing around corners and walking on broken glass. It's waiting for the bomb to drop with the closest shelter miles out of reach.
I try to shed my skin but it sticks like glue. It covers me in shame and pain and the irreversible smell of ***** and *****.
I don't exist. I just simply am.
I am the daughter of a drunkard.
I am covered in guilt.
I mold myself to fit into a box that's half my size. I rip my own words out of my own mouth so I don't hurt the feeling of the people who have mutilated mine.
I haven't existed yet, but someday I will.
My life has been a garden
For flowers than seeds
And more weeds that that
And I climb
And I begin to wither when the sunlight fades
You should know all of this
But maybe you don't
Maybe you were so blinded by the sun
That you forgot to water me
I pulled the weeds out myself
Thorns and burs and splinters
But I planted my own seeds
My hands may be filthy with dirt
But yours are covered in demons
And maybe that's okay
Because I will be able to wash mine off
to my father
I forget about it most of the time
But then I hear a door slam
Or a glass break
And I'm thrown back into the tidal wave
To make it back to shore
I'm surrounded by pieces of myself
Shards of glass so sharp it hurts
The memories that you ruined
The childhood you dictated
The love that was lost
I cannot repair what you broke
I cannot mend what is already bent out of shape
I cannot forget the memories etched on my skin
When glass breaks
It cannot be put back together
No matter the amount of glue or tape
Or how many times you've begged for my forgiveness
I take out a broom
I sweep up the pieces
I throw them away
Not for you
But for myself
i don't forgive you, but i'm learning to forgive myself
Eight of us
And the blinding light of stars
For that moment
As we laid together under the sky
Shoulder against shoulder
And watched as the blinding light inched towards us
Waiting for the onrush of wind
The split second of weightlessness
And a sign that this is where we needed to be
a note to my friends
There is nothing beautiful about wanting to die
There is no peace
There is no calm
It is not like in the movies
Where someone comes and sweeps you off your feet
Death is an unstoppable, untameable wave
It floods towards the shore and recedes back again
Ebbing gently at the back of your brain
Death is not beautiful
It is anything but
for those recovering