when i was younger I would crawl into bed and try to stave off the gut-crush of guilt. i was guilty about everything. everything was small and somehow the biggest thing in the world. (please just make me clean. i only want to be clean. i am a good person, i promise.) it guilt came crushing in. usually i would cry. if i couldn't fight it off by myself, i'd roll in on myself like a dying bug. limbs a tangle. twitching slightly. sometimes i could catch myself. count myself into oblivion until i forgot whatever it was. (please just make me clean. i only want to be clean. i am a good person, i promise.) usually i'd holler for my mother, my god. quiet, at first. finally loud enough for her to hear me form down the hall. (god wanted to watch tv. god probably pretended not to hear me until i was screaming.)
"what's wrong?" she'd ask me.
"can you come in here, please?" my voice. small.
there she was, every time. a gray silhouette in a slice of golden light. and i would confess to her, like she was god. I was not raised religious. (i needed something to cling to.) she absolved me every night. scornful, reassuring. (i think i am lucky i was not raised catholic. because i had a god who loved me.) she taught me guilt and burned me free of it every night.
i don't confess anymore.
i have not seen god since i was twelve and my other became human. sometimes i think of writing letters and burning them, to purge the crushing feeling form my chest. sometimes i think of making myself throw up. most of the time i switch it off like she taught me, think about something else and fall asleep. (i sleep with the light off, now.) the dark does not stroke my hair. the dark does not tell me to apologise. the dark does not tell me i am good, that it isn't my fault. (i still need someone to tell me it isn't my fault.)

I did it
I finally did it
And I don't regret it!
I killed him
with my own hands
Let him bleed out on the floor
Gutted by the blade of the knife I held in my hands.
I can still hear his screams
His terror
His agony
as the sharp metal pierced his flesh.
I laughed at her agony
Enjoyed his screams,
Rejoiced in the fear I caused him,
the same one he caused me for years
Trapped me in his world of terror
giving me no respite.
A smug smile took shape on my face
as I thought back and observed my masterpiece.
The helpless body of a man
who didn't deserve forgiveness
who didn't deserve to live.
So yes, I did, gentlemen
And as I said
I do not regret it.

I have nothing more to add, your honor.


"Confession of ****** --------- ------- -----------. The case is considered closed."

i confess you like a sin
my friends are getting sick of it
and i'm quoting you like Byron
and i’m just getting sick
like a song in my head
if god existed
like a bruise on my neck
we would have discussed it
so I just quote you again
and it's still obsolete
cause Byron's got nothing
and I'm doomed to repeat it

For once again,
I let my love fade away,
By hiding it forever

I surrender without a fight,
I wave a white flag without a war,
I choose to keep my feelings in silence

I have no rights for loving you,
You're hers for a countless days
And I'm just a new character of the story,
Watching you like mona lisa,
I will never have your love to keep

This untold feelings I held,
Were heavier and heavier each day
I love you dearly my lady,
I really do, sincerely.

N'

5 weeks left until we walk our separate paths.
5 weeks left, and a bunch of stories I wanted to tell, just to entertain the butterflies in my stomach.
5 weeks left, and still, I have no guts to confess these feelings.
5 weeks left. I wonder, what if I had done this, or done that—would there be any difference between us?
5 weeks left, and I am missing you so much.

A poem about gravity
I know he’s going to break my heart
I tell everybody that I know that it’ll come
I tell them, to tell myself
Maybe I’ll remember
Maybe he’ll run
Maybe I’ll run
Maybe just maybe, there’s a future but I’m afraid to feel that way.
Because
maybe I feel too hard,
maybe I feel too much, maybe I haven’t felt this way in a long time,
maybe that’s why I’m terrified.
I know it’s going to hurt, he’s already hurt me.

My walls are down, I know his are not.
I wish I could keep mine up,
but oh boy, it’s too late.
No relationship is ever certain
No love is ever promised
No life isn’t confusing as hell.
Always “love on me”
Never “I love you”
Hail, rain, warm nights, street lights, sunrise bedroom kisses, warmth, cold
- sometimes so cold, and Pleasure, and so vague,
social, no PDA, but then he grabs my hand and we walk together.

W T F is this, why do I want it so badly when I know it’s only gonna hurt me.
Why did I allow my heart to be open enough to be broken?
I’m still trying to put my own pieces back together, I didn’t and don’t need this.
But it’s truly everything I want.

Him, his black hole of a bed, those windows, those eyes that are **** galaxies.
They show so much, I can read them but not all of them,
sometimes they shift to a far off world that I have not been invited to.
But I want to know what’s going on behind those gorgeous galactic windows to a planet and soul that I will probably never get to visit.

Why, when I know, this is going to crush me.
Tear me apart in ways I know are coming,
Why do I come back and leave my heart on the floor, begging for more.
Why can’t I stop falling in love with a dark matter in the Universe?
Why does it already hurt but hasn’t even happened yet?
I am the light, orbiting the black hole,
Knowing full well I’m being ****** in,
And to my own detriment,

I circle it and am bracing for the inevitable-
But I’m also already ****** into his gravity.

Do you mind me sending a heartfelt paragraph?  if i talk to you like this, it'll feel a little like talking to each other in 2019 again. in all honesty, a part of me misses you, in an unknown way yet. i can't tell whether this longing is amico-related, full-on nostalgic or romantic. it's extremely inappropriate to talk like this, but it's a real feeling I'm currently going through. i don't know; maybe we should've gotten together if you did like me even just a bit. perhaps that would erase the curiosity that lies within me. or maybe not curiosity, maybe just the foolish, romantic, nostalgic part of my heart that finds it difficult to let go of feelings that never materialized into something real. christ, i pray you never ever read this because this is extremely embarrassing and devastating should anyone else but me read it. consider this a letter that should've been posted to  you many years ago, that arrived only today. this letter, which back then would've been considered a rubicon-crossing type thing, is only relevant if seen through the lens of a nostalgic person, one who's trying to piece his life back together. this is, after all, the remnants of my past self talking to you, with the honesty he wasn't able to give you when it would've mattered the most.

now, i have to live with the regret of never knowing how you truly felt and you never knowing how much, just how much, i needed you back then, just how much i loved you, just how much i liked you. you would've been my everything and my every day would've been devoted to you; hell, i would've written you books of poetry just to show you a small piece of my devoted heart which I'd have given to you in whole - really, there would've been no space for anyone else. but look at us now...****, we're both alone but we can't even say anything to each other now, the ship is now beyond repair. i cannot sail to your island anymore, my love (for i do still wholeheartedly love you). so, what now? should i press send? i am downing my final shot of the night. i am sober enough to tell this is the type of **** only a drunk person would send. but i am not sober enough to stop myself from sending it. we both know the bridge has long burned. i just need you to know, i desperately want you to know you are still my muse, the one i write little lines for in my notebook, the one i dedicate whatever lame poem i come up with.

okay, that's all i had to say. good night, Willa.


He looked at his phone for a minute or two, loud chatters surrounded him. For a moment, he hesitated. His thumb was hovering over the delete button. He was imagining her face as he closed his eyes. The music died down. Customers left one by one. Stoically, he sat there, meditating, contemplating. Email sent.

Imagine 💭
  
I had a dream where my mother  mustered the courage to own her truth; unabashedly and unapologetically. In that parallel universe, she owned her own identity, and not being defined as someone's wife or daughter. She never fell for anyone where she was obliged to stay, rather she dared to leave. Pursuing her dreams and travels to places she has never been before, chasing sunsets and dreams. Like the Phoenix from the ashes, she rebuilds her life from the scratch.
In another life, I don't wish to be born so that my mother can reap the benefit to live, laugh and love.
~RitzWrites 🥀