tbh

poetry blog of a not poet

[4vesta]

i always rationalize people hurting me make excuses for them like if i could forgive it i'd be a good person thought myself through all the "but they wouldn't have if i didn't deserve it"s but every time i remember i do not deserve to be hurt

[4vesta]

here's the thing after all these years, i can confirm you don't wake up

[4vesta]

they say not to let trauma shape who you are but damn if the memories of your hands on my skin don't feel like a sculptor i've stoped drinking

[4vesta]

I talk to God a lot for someone who is uncomfortable in holy spaces I talk about God a lot for someone who doesn't believe I didn't know Christmas was a religious holiday until I was 7 My Christian cousins looked at me like a heathen when I didn't know who Jesus was They still look at me like a heathen because I don't believe I can't make myself believe When I was 8 I took piano lessons in a church I quit after a month because of the weight in my chest when I approached the altar The Holy Ghosts of all the congregation pushing me out from the inside saying "Heathen, you are not welcome in our holy space" "Heathen you do not belong" It was very easy for 12 year old me to believe that the cross used to be a method of torture I went to a bat mitzvah when I was 13 Knew the prayers my mitzvahed friends had taught me Knew they were not meant for my lips but said them anyway because believers asked me to The rabbi touched me shoulder to pass me in the opposite direction and her hand burnt on my skin I had to turn away when I got too close too the Torah Felt the dying breath of thousands of Jews pushing me away "Goy this is our sacred" "Goy you have no right to this" "Goy you said our words with the blood of antisemites running through your veins" Holy books have memories Their pages speak I am sure a this Torah knew about my German great grandfather The one who immigrated to America for a reason no one will say out loud I think about God a lot for someone who is certain they've been abandoned I learned prayers through Google when I was in middle school because I wanted to know why my friends were busy Sunday mornings They were praying for forgiveness, for love, for safety I say the prayers of the forgotten middle child "Our father who art in heaven You missed the play last week And I really don't expect you there anymore But this time I gave you two weeks notice and you said you were looking forward to it" A priest touched my shoulder a few months ago So kindly I didn't feel like a sinner in his presence I still think about that touch Think about how he must hold God into his body How God must spread into his appendages when he doesn't exhale the holy from his lungs often enough I have never felt God in my body I have never felt belonging in a church I have only felt threatened by a savior everyone else seems so close with My parents grew up singing in the church choir They never sang me those songs Something feels wrong about recieving Christmas presents I am a heathen And I am not welcome in other peoples holy

[4vesta]

EVEN MONSTERS ARE WELCOME WHEN YOUR HOME FEELS EMPTY

[4vesta]

We grow towards the light bend to where there is love for us

[4vesta]

I come in pieces Assembly required Instructions written in ikea hieroglyphics

[4vesta]

I notice a lot of things about a space Call it awareness, call it vigilance, call it paranoia I wish I could turn it off I wish I could escape the constant anxiety of entering a new room I always sit with my back to a wall and view of all the doors Can't deal with having someone behind me I am hyper aware of when bathrooms have genders Am still a little short of the bravery to use the bathroom I identify with Always a little scared someone will realize I don't belong in my bathroom assigned at birth There's no where I can pee without someone thinking I don't belong I have recently started to notice accessibility The irony of brave space in a basement with two flights of stairs I am scared that someday I won't be able to go there The only solace is it I fall on the stairs the narrow walls will catch me Claustrophobic halls leaning in to hold me up The difference between a scare and a hospital visit If today is the day my hearts rebellion becomes violent If today is the day I black out when I seize If this is the day my muscle spasms move down from my chest If this is the day the other shoe drops I'm lucky though - Most days I can stand Most days I can walk I grew up never worrying if the other kids birthday parties would be upstairs I've learned a lot of empathy for the kids who couldn't make it up the mountain Because I have become a kid who can't walk the next day if I make it up the mountain I have been taught lessons in picking battles Lessons in snapchats of places I couldn't go People I couldn't see Because my body doesn't care that seeing friends is good for depression It doesn't do shit for chronic pain It doesn't do shit for a heart that goes twice as fast when I stand up I didn't understand the meaning of comorbidity until I started living it I wish I could be the kind of sick that people call brave I wish I could be inspiring Broken in a way that makes other people feel more whole But I can't fight everyday I can't climb mountains on days I can't get out of bed

[4vesta]

we will forget our history to prolong our present

I have never had a voice that sounded like forgiveness I have always been what I am I have changed skins a hundred times To fit myself in to cracks It is easy not to fall to peices when there is no space for anything but the whole I am not cold I am just new And old Seventeen years wrapped inside centuries There is something different about this body Something about warmth Something about feeling small at all the moments I am my biggest I am not cold I am just learning There is being open hearted and there is getting hurt And I am trying to find a way to have one but not the other And get to choose which becomes my life I am just new Tired hands shaking with too many hours awake Something about this is foreign There is alien in my mundane Working a 9-5 is not in my blood The wilderness will not be ignored The ruins will not be ignored The civilizations I have left burning behind me will not be ignored The ritual madness will not be escaped We will hide together in the cracks Centuries of history wrapped around us saying This Will not End well.

[4vesta]

we used to be love poems

You told our friends that you had a dream about me Weeks ago, when the wounds were fresher That I said we could get back together That I wanted to work it out Last night I woke up with my heart racing I had a dream about you too I dreamt that I said no and that you didn't care I dreamt you violent because violent is so much easier to stomach I guess we both dreamt each other bigger My forgiveness more encompassing Your trespasses more concrete I wish I could be your dream again Sit down and say that next time will be different Because right now I'm terrified that next time will be the same I'm scared of the next time someone will want to hold me like you did I'm scared of the next time I'll give up little parts of myself to someone else Someone who because of you, I can't trust to protect those parts I was under the impression that love meant two people would protect my heart

[4vesta]

a short list of things i'd like to say to you because "i love you" would be a lie

i wish i still cared about you, i've tried, god i've spent hours trying but i just have a memory of caring a dead part of myself i do my best to honor because i'm sure that part wouldn't have tolerated treating you badly so now when i care it's in rigid statements "get enough sleep" "elevate your knee" "wear your helmet" i never tried to control you when we were together decided i would rather be your boyfriend than your mom but my frozen-in-ice caring doesn't make that distinction i preserve my dead by wanting the best for you and sometimes i want to make your decisions for you but i will honor the parts of myself that loved you i will keep checking up on you but i will not remind you to eat i will not trace your new scratches with my hands i will not wake you up at a reasonable hour because somewhere, i stopped loving you

[4vesta]

where we are now, in three parts

i. you turned me into something i never wanted me to be took me apart so carefully and set my pieces aside in order so everything would be in place to put me back together with new salt in my wounds ii. the funny thing about loving someone is that you guide their hands right to the places that'll hurt you worst and you trust that they won't press down and if they do, it's not the touch that hurts it's the fact that they did it the funny thing about loving someone is that you hold a flame in your hand but never expect it to burn you and even when it does, you have trouble letting go iii. have you ever watched the distance between a plane and a star at night? it looks like they're both moving as they get farther apart until the plane goes out of sight and you realize that the star wasn't moving at all. sometimes clarity takes distance. sometimes four hundred miles an hour isn't a fast enough getaway.

[4vesta]

we are the survival of forgotten deities we used to feed on belief but there is no belief here there is no magic we were known when we were powerful now we are known to be powerless rivers that bore our names have run dry the bone dust of day old sacrifices kicks up around our heels you will not find us in your books our names will not pass your lips you've lost the language there is no magic here

[4vesta]

a flawed sense of direction

I was taught as a child that home is toward the west If I was lost I should go west and find home by the mountains As a child I was never lost I knew the artery vein capillaries of agricultural ditches and gridded streets I still have the instinct to go west when I'm lost Hit the coast to find home Step into the ocean to remember how small I am Stand under a redwood to remember how blessed

[4vesta]

what am i believing in

Our father who art in heaven You missed my soccer game last week And I really don't expect you there anymore But this time I gave you two weeks notice and you said you were looking forward to it We are bless'ed but not blessed We are the chosen people of a father we know only through child support He says he wants the best for us But never wants to talk He never has time to play catch

[4vesta]

you kiss me like there is air in my lungs that will protect you as you dive into a past that has just barely let you go

[4vesta]

she speaks with that forget-me-not voice like "i am here. i will not be ignored." and she says this with complete conviction but in the morning light she is gone her here is elsewhere and her memory is not mine