Breahanas Blabs

Gonna dump all my art here to die or thrive idk

[academic-vampire]

𝔰𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔱𝔶

[asadgoblin]

[destiny-swope]

Hachis Journal:

i don’t know what’s happening to us.

it used to feel so easy.

you’d laugh, i’d follow,

and the whole world felt like a cheap concert hall where only we knew the lyrics. i used to think that meant something.

maybe that was naive.

i’ve always been a little naive when it comes to those i care about. lately, though… there’s this space between us.

thin as cigarette smoke, but impossible to ignore.

i don’t know if i’m the one choking on it

or if you’re the one trying to breathe away from me.

i keep thinking about the apartment.

our apartment.

the one i made up in my head.

tiny, cluttered, warm in the way things only get

when two women are living too close

and pretending it doesn’t mean anything.

small kitchen. chipped strawberry mugs.

ashtray on the counter, lipstick stains on every filter.

your guitar leaning against the couch.

you humming something soft,

me pretending i’m not listening,

pretending i’m not in love with the sound of your voice more than the song itself. it’s pathetic.

you have your life.

a relationship that fits you, that doesn’t make you restless.

and i have this ache that follows me everywhere,

pressing under my ribs like a bruise i keep poking.

when you talk about him,

your eyes get that shimmering, far-off look

like you’re seeing the future and the future is kind to you.

i should be happy.

god, i want to be happy for you.

but there’s a part of me small, selfish

that feels like i’m standing outside in the rain

watching you through the window of a home that was never mine to enter. it’s not fair to you.

you’re my friend.

the one who stayed when everyone else left,

the one who held parts of me i didn’t know how to name.

i always thought we’d grow old together in some messy,

girl-best-friends-who-never-move-apart kind of way.

i didn’t realize until now that i meant it literally.

maybe i’m being dramatic.

but it hurts.

quietly. constantly.

like missing a train i was never supposed to catch but still waited for anyway.

still… i think about that apartment.

about us.

about how love between women is sometimes soft, sometimes sharp,

always confusing.

how it doesn’t need a confession to exist it blooms in glances, in shared cigarettes, in the way i memorize your footsteps in the hallway. i wish i could tell you.

i wish you’d stay anyway.

[asadgoblin]

Sometimes i dont feel like a person

I feel like a buffet table,

everyone’s stuck their hands in even if they weren’t invited,

they took more than their share, leaving me with the discards.

But how rude of me to invite all these guests, and be surprised when theres nothing left for me.

So i stay quiet,

i sip the glass of wine left for me, even though its empty.

I have to keep up appearances,

i cant let them know im empty too, otherwise theyll find somewhere else

to fill up their own cup.

[asadgoblin]

Boys will be boys

When I was six,
I had my first kiss.
My lips met his cheek
and he pushed me down.

I learned early
my love is met with violence;
how it’s written in scripture,
how it’s supposed to be.

My mother said,
that’s what boys do when they like you.
So I didn’t question it.
I just thought;
Dad must love her a lot.

Because the blood on the walls
looks like devotion.
The broken chairs
prove their passion.
And the cries of their children
don’t interrupt the story;
they echo it.

Their existence
must be love.

Even the pain they leave inside us
is proof
it was ever there.

[asadgoblin]

Been talking with a friend of mine about external locus and drug out this poem i have.

Cursed

Theres something that lives in the corners of my life. Not a thing with a name. No. It’s a cold draft that you can’t find the source of. It’s the way that a room remembers who once cried there. It haunts me on my good days. It deafens me on my bad ones.

Sometimes I catch my own reflection and the mirror feels too deep, like it’s hiding a story in my eyes. The eyes of someone who once was, the eyes of someone who never got to be.

In the kitchen I open a drawer and generations fall out of it. No photographs.
No stories. Just the weight of what never healed, the weight of what was never said, and the weight of what was.

Sometimes I think I’m close to understanding it but the moment that I reach, it moves. The moment that I grasp it, it changes form. Always one step ahead, like it knows my name better than I do.

I carry it in my body. The way I hold my breath in quiet rooms, the way my heart feels things that it has never seen; as if my blood remembers what my mouth never learned how to say.

[asadgoblin]

I hate when people call it strength.
Like this is over. Like I should be grateful for it.

It isn’t gone.
It’s still here; thick, dragging behind me, slung over my shoulder like something that won’t drop.

It sticks.
Gets into everything. Under my skin, in the cracks, in my throat when I try to breathe.

Some days I think I can get it off.
I dig my hands in, tear at it, rip until my skin burns raw and I almost believe I’ve pulled it free.

For a second, I’m lighter.
Clean.

And then I try to breathe

and it’s already inside me.

I choke on it.
Gag on the same thing I thought I left behind,
filling me up faster than I can fight it.

There’s no dropping it.
It doesn’t fall.

It just waits
until I open my mouth again.

[asadgoblin]

Wrote this today. Idk

Today i thought back on all the versions of myself I’ve been

I think of me when i was innocent, when i saw the world in a way of wonder

When i laughed so hard i couldn’t breathe, and when i thought i was magic.

Before the world taught me what i didn’t want to know; even though i sought after the knowledge like i was parched for the fountain of pain that came with knowing.