Every breath, a weight on my chest, reluctantly comes, being chased only by my quickening pulse. A knife slips between my ribs and with every word that passes over my lips, it twists. A silent scream is trapped behind my teeth. Butterflies with knives are cutting up my insides.
Found poem from Automatic Loveletter's song "Butterflies"
Check out the other poems in the "Butterflies" series. This is a found poem. The lyrics at the bottom are not my concept. This poem was written in 2016.
i don't know why im writing this. but i used to write every so often when i was younger. i am turning 18. it almost feels like a fever dream. i never felt this frightened my whole life. is my life really starting? is this the beginning of a decade? where am i gonna be after this? how am i gonna feel?
you see, growing up, it's that just simple. nothing changes, and you still gotta wait for something to. it doesn't magically happens.
and i hate waiting. i wanna be older and free. but, most of the time i wish life was simpler like when i was younger.
i was listening to ribs by lorde and my birthday is coming up.
what does it say about me that i think hunger is what angels sound like? lineless and with great aching. and what does it say about me that i feel like i could just pull my pelvis bone from my hip and watch it crumble in my hands? i couldn't sleep so i traced my bones, i couldn't sleep so i felt my gums, (my skins got a great story that no onell ever read fitting, i guess - i've yet to be anything but wasted potential.) but, despite everything, there is something comforting about the lie of a body. something human in me yet. what do i want the answer to be when i feel my chest and wonder where my ribs came from? it was an early lesson that one must give up ribs to be worthy of love.
It is like having a twin, whose existence makes other people uncomfortable. Like before I was born, only I was in the ultrasound. And no one was prepared for her when she followed me into the world. It is like having a shadow that does not just stretch out behind me, But instead, she has attached herself to my back. It is like she has hooked her fingers over the edges of my ribcage, Her head is resting on the start of my spine. Her heels are digging into my thighs. People ask why I let her hang around, As if I have a choice. It is like everyone is waiting for me to admit that I want her. It is like they are all expecting me to secretly bend so she can climb on, I do not. They think I like it when I want to laugh but hers is what they hear, I do not. They think I choose the days when she is with me, telling me the words to say I do not. They think that when I wake up, she is something I put on. Like a favourite t-shirt or a sad song. She is not. She is with me when I wake up. She is with me when I sleep. She is with me when I take my clothes off. She is like a second skin that I can’t shed.
Do not ask me to leave her behind Because it is not my decision I cannot control her hold on me It is her who is pulling the strings
It is like having a side of me that no one wants to know. - As if they don’t already know her. She is me when I can not help being down. She is me when I can hardly whisper a sound. She is me when I laugh the hardest. She is me when I am missed. She is me no matter your belief. And maybe one day she will walk away. But until then, She is me.
A second without her feels like an eternity in Heaven