I was conceived on acid and whippets, the drugs a kaleidoscope of umbilical dreams.
I was conceived on bad luck and lust, from darkness and sexually exploitive childhood trauma.
I was conceived on teenage dreams and difficult childhoods, to black sheep children of 17.

I was raised on addiction and narcissism, a love bomb here and authoritarian abuse there.
I was raised on the chess long game, to lose a piece here means to win at the end.
I was raised on 2000s tv, Lorelei Gilmore my wish for a mother, Rory my idol.

I taught myself strength in building up a fantasy on the outside while my castle crumbled within.
I picked myself up by the tendrils of a lost childhood, by the whispers of good memories, by the hiding places I found in pages upon pages of someone else’s imagination.

And I let it all go at 28. To find peace. To start over. To build myself a new castle with no more haunted corners or echoes of pill bottles or smells of ***** and orange juice permeating the breaths of those who walk these sacred halls.
Rib cage cut open, heart destroyed and renewed, ancient umbilical nooses cut with teeth.

I will no longer fall victim to my mother’s circumstances or my father’s mistakes, I will never have the soul I’ve created look at me and ask himself if he is loved or safe.

I am cycle breaker,
I am generational karma’s worst ******* fear,
I am no longer frightened maiden,
I am fearsome mother.
I am new.

I wonder if you remember, sitting on your porch smoking a cigarette while I sat on mine

It took me this long to sit back and think about who you used to be.
It's been hard to pick through all of the ****, rotting away the parts of my brain
that have forgotten who we used to be.

It wasn't always this vat of putrid waste, of tossed away hopes, of the essence of failure, of distrust and hatred.

Once before, a fire burning warm, hands held tight, drowning beers and speaking over the dead.

Now the castaways of a shadow's burden, haunting the spirits of the back of our minds.

I'd forgotten what you were like before this, but I can remember now.

Time is the thing that ruins us all, I think.

We hold too much faith on a timeline. "You can't text a boy until after 3 days," "don't have *** with someone you just met," "you barely know each other, don't get too close."

But time has never stopped to look around and cease what its doing so I could collect my ****, why should I wait for time to collect his?

We all live until we die, but with a false timeline narrative in place, keeping up with Mr. Jones and his wife, watching my friends have more babies around me, are we really living if we're in a constant battle that resets every 24 hours?

525,600 minutes and I want to spend them all crushing and rushing and running towards my goals, towards my dreams, towards my love.

"You don't love him, you barely know him, you haven't spent enough time together."

Time is just an illusion of your making, a figment of our shared consciousness. And I have always been a little off beat, a little out of sync.

Move in. Share the bed. The smell of coffee in the morning to wake. The sound of footsteps to the shower.

I'm not giving away any of my minutes with you.

The way my name wraps around his mouth
is the same way I've wrapped my mouth
around him, 100 times, probably more, I stopped keeping track.

What do I have to change?
                             everything
          nothing

And we have been down this road, with its curves and twists, at least 100 times, maybe less, I stopped keeping track.

And I fail to squash it every ******* day, but I will never not miss him. Never not hear his laugh in my dreams.

What do I need to work on?
                             everything
            nothing

Happily ever after seems far away.