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linds Nov 14
morning brings me immense joy. i like the silence of it all. yes, let me sit in the heap of unquenched thoughts i’ve been driving by my whole life. i’m in a coping place. it is now that i sit here, somewhere between the tenses, staring at what may or may not be. i’m not tied to any fate. a vagabond of soul and sea. i run where i can become anew. a phoenix of sorts, where i set my world on fire, then reincarnate somewhere far away. at least in that story a certain beauty is retained. i read once that people get comfortable in the monotony and extinguish their only source of heat. the currency of life.
linds Nov 8
when i scream underwater, it sounds like the music of a million words left unwritten, and i’ve come to know this truth as beautiful and pure in a way not much else can be
linds Oct 29
but i am in good hands here, so how could i stray from the feeling? i wrote between a brick wall and metal bars and i will hear it in every eulogy of what if’s. but what if that’s what keeps me safe? happy? warm? what if i stopped imagining a place where im not, stop living in the space between me and what could be. what if the matter between you and i is thicker than the matter between me and outside?

i started doing this crazy thing where i imagine all the animals in little weddings. i see mice marry giraffes, and i laugh the whole ceremony. one time i even thought about a crocodile and bunny rabbit, that love seemed so docile. i can’t tell if it’s a neurological concern or an ailment of bitter soul, but i can’t picture the raven and the donkey making their way to everlasting euphoria together. and maybe that’s the thing i’ve been missing for so long.

i miss you. i see your face in every copy of Walden and episode of the twilight zone. if i sacrificed a million children from the turnstile line, them little buggers, then maybe, just maybe i could imagine you would find a way to make the raven and the donkey work with elegance and docility, just like the croc and bunny. you always could.

it’s purple and blue mostly, when they go.

this is who i am this i what i am. i am a memoir written in marks and tatters and tears, in my skin and my clothes and my heart and my mind. i am a living sculpture of everyone who’s crossed my way. my code is unbreakable because i cannot reverse engineer my mind close enough to bring out these parts of the people who have been here. i am marked. i am kind. i am hateful. i am angry. i am calm. i am never going to be able to forget everything that has been here, but i will never fold back on myself.

this is who i am.
linds Oct 29
my body is deeply interconnected with some obscure and convoluted idea of how close i am to the other side of this existence. at dawn on a thursday with her hair draped across my pillows i am touching this life, caressing a meaning i can’t name. with the sun breaking across the her eyes, oh my, those eyes, i see something i’ve never seen before.
linds Oct 16
i have a recurring dream where im on a swing set and i reach up to the sky and your hand pulls me off of the seat and into some sort of paradise, where you love me again in that little green sundress you used to wear. in this world you kiss me in the morning and tell me the things that you’ll never whisper in my ear. here the grass tickles my knees and we dance in a world of twisted trees that allow only the littlest cues of light to dance across your face. sometimes you turn just right and the light melts your iris into a little pool that i’ve been dreaming of diving into for so long. you sneak your fragile fingers under the lacey straps adorning your shoulders and slip it down, then the other side, hypnotically holding your gaze against mine. you’re intimidatingly gentle in every calculated movement, waiting for my eyes to wander down your chest until the pretty little dress disappears into a pretty little heap, hidden between tall blades of the field. you run to the water unwavering in your belief that i will follow because i always follow you. how could i not? the water remains still when you dive in, unbothered by the presence of such ethereal energy. when you’re not coming up for air suddenly i can’t breathe and the pressure of the water’s embrace closes in around me until i see you, bubbling from the mouth with little laughs. wait, now let me explain that these little underwater chuckles propagate in my mind after i wake up in the morning.
linds Mar 2023
what do you do when you never knew life without it? when i am not what happened, but who would i be without it? when theres a certain pleasure to every drop of pain? i will always be rolling under waves of whiskey and wondering what the world looked like through these same eyes before. i tell my psychiatrist “when i spill red wine, i always see what could have been, what’s that mean doc?” but he only ever nods and scribbles a new prescription for another bottle of the same merlot no matter how many times i tell him that it tastes just like when i was seven and my mother tucked me in. i drink it anyways, of course, because i want to feel seven again until i’m back under the quilt my grandma made me with a hand over my mouth. i live here now, in this space between me and everything i've ever known. its not here that it happened, but its here that i remain.
linds Mar 2023
we speak through lyrics of songs not written yet and fight in poems that have never been spoken. you’ll sit in the corner of the dark vacancies of my memory and i’ll ask you to watch a home film of the hands, the bruises and the beginnings. there’s a smack and a thud and you will almost be able to smell the whiskey. i’ll shiver and offer you a smoke. theres a soundtrack of silent bids for the finale. at the end i’ll tell you the story of something good, something to distract you from the catharsis i’ll feel. i’ll explain how “i don’t know what i am and i think theres something inside of me that will never leave ill explain it all i promise i will but now i need to sleep for a while” but i don’t think we’ll see each other after that. i like to play this game of cat and mouse where i pour my soul into something innocent and stand by to watch it evaporate; i like to know that nothing ever wins the game and i am not the only one who slips into the fallacy of memory.
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