me

Laments of a broken-down house left alone in the woods

[mouthfulofmercy]

Perhaps in a different time ; I would had named us hope.

Perhaps in a different universe ; we would not meet so battle-worn

And,

I would call us forgiveness

And not remember us as war.

[c0wparsnip]

What Will I Do If I Text FirstName LastName to Tell Him I Love Him and He Tells Me He Doesn't Feel the Same?

I'll know. I'll tell him I can't be his friend because I like him too much, and I'll leave the door open in case he ever wants to reach out again and changes his mind.

I'll work on loving myself. I'll write down a list of things I love about myself before I even text him: right after I finish this write-up. I'll make it a pros and cons list, but for me this time. And even if there are more cons than pros, I'll forgive myself for it because I'm going through a time when I'm mostly feeling bad about myself. I'll assure myself that there are probably more pros than I'm putting down, and probably more cons as well.

Then, I'll make an action plan. All of my cons I'll put in order of priority, and I'll come up with ways to fix them. I'll work with Therapist a lot on that.

The whole time, I'll stay in touch with the people who do love me and care about me. I'll talk to BestFriend every day like I always do, and I'll see if I can call and FaceTime her more. I'll call my parents pretty often. I'll talk to CollegeFriend at least twice a month. I'll try to get more in touch with BestFriend'sSister. Maybe I'll reach out to BestFriend'sFriend; she seems really cool. I'll see if I can become actually friends with WorkFriend from work. BestFriend'sSister is having a confrontation with her friend/ex BestFriend'sSister'sEx right now, and I can be there for her during that. I'll hang out with Cousin more often.

I'll get really into my job. I'll be there for my clients, and it will make me feel good about myself. I'll try to project a little less onto ClientWhoHasTheSameDiagnosesAsMe, but I'll see if I can develop a good relationship with her and with my other clients. I'll try not to project too much onto my client ClientWhoHasTheSameFirstNameAsFirstNameLastName as well. I'll make work friends and see if they can become actual friends. I'll read stuff on social work; I'll renew my City Public Library card and go there all the time, probably to the NeighborhoodCloseToWhereILive branch. I might try to start reading again in general.

On the bad days, I'll put on a nice outfit. I won't stay in my house; I'll go to work, go to the library, go grocery shopping, go to a bar, go to a drag show, go clubbing, go to a friend's house, go somewhere random on the train, go to a cafe, go to a thrift store, go to a random event from EventBrite, go to some kind of class (maybe a music class if I can find one), go on a walk in the woods in NeighborhoodILiveIn or NeighborhoodIDon'tLiveIn, and/or go get a banh mi in NeighborhoodNotCloseToWhereILive. I'll put on a smile no matter what; no more songs about him, no more sitting around feeling sorry for myself.

I'll be a great roommate no matter what. I'll have parties with Roommate1 and Roommate2 and their friends, and I'll expand my social circle in City. I'll do my chores and celebrate their birthdays and buy the house things and put them on Splitwise. I'll get a friendly cat (even if it's not CatIFoundOnPetfinder) and clean their litter box every single day. I'll feed them raw cat food (or at least wet food with no carageenan) off of a plate to avoid whisker stress. I'll lavish them with cuddles and they might sleep on my bed and night, but if that's not how they decide to show me love, I'll be OK with that. I'll hang up my poisonous plants so my cat can't eat them.

Maybe someday I'll find someone else. I won't rush myself to feel better or get over him. I'll work with Therapist to figure out what that really feels like, and I might not know it until a little bit after I feel it, and that's OK because I've always struggled with that.

I'll do random other things to make myself feel better. When I move into my new apartment, I'll start using mouthwash every night. I'll but grapes quite often, and I'll get a designated grape container to bring them in my lunch at least four days a week. I'll pay off my credit card bill. I'll get a gym membership when I move (and cancel my subscription at the CityIUsedToLiveIn YMCA), and I'll do yoga whenever they have a beginner class and cardio on Mondays at 7pm, and I'll get better at it. I'll get more into spirituality. I'll meditate on weekends for at least 15 minutes. I'll check out the St. Anthony Shrine downtown on September 14th, and if I like it, maybe I'll go light a candle or something whenever I feel like it. I'll buy new bras that actually look good and wear cute underwear most of the time. I'll develop a more intense skincare routine. I'll keep my hair pink, at least until I get sick of it. I'll bake cookies sometimes and give them out to my coworkers and my neighbors.

I'll forgive, and maybe someday, I'll forget. I won't make my happiness contingent on forgetting, though, because I have all these other things to do that will make me happy. I'll know, and I'll figure it out, and I'll move past it. I'll love myself more than any man, even FirstName LastName.

[fairycosmos]

clocking in for my shift at the sadness factory

[c0wparsnip]

Me at around 8pm every night:

[c0wparsnip]

Anniversary

At first, they said, "Let it hurt." "You have to feel your feelings." "I'm here for you." But after a month, no one was there anymore. They said, "This is getting old." "You have to stop punishing yourself." "How many times can you reopen the same scar?"

When it first happened, I knew it hurt, but I figured I'd still feel as lively as I once did in a couple weeks. I thought, "Time heals all wounds." As it turns out, time is a bandage and I got shot. It's been a year now and I still feel exactly the same as I did back then. I get ripped in half every day, I hurt every night, and I wake up every morning feeling like I died the night before. I'm a ghost with business that will have to remain unfinished forever. But how can I keep living when I'm already dead?

They tell you it gets better with time, but nobody knows what to do with you when you're still nothing a year later. They tell you to get over it because it's been too long and you have to, but they never tell you how. No doctor can heal you when you have no blood left to bleed. Someone ripped my insides out of me long ago and I can still see them in a pile on the floor in front of me and just because I know they're rotting away doesn't mean I no longer ache from the great big void in my stomach where something should be.

[tristamateer]

“I still wake up with things to tell you. One day, I won’t. I will learn placid acceptance. I will stop panicking when I can’t perfectly remember the pitch of your voice or the curve of your jawline. The smell of cinnamon won’t make me sad anymore. At this point it’s not about finding someone to replace you. I have spread my love all over the place. It’s about trying to sleep knowing I live in a world that has your hands in it.”

—

“I Still Forget We’re Not Even Friends” Trista Mateer

this is from my book Honeybee!

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

{Words by José Olivarez from Citizen Illegal /@fatimaamerbilal , from even flesh eaters don't want me.}

[c0wparsnip]

Parasocial

I have an investment in your concept,

Where we've gotten to know each other over the course of half the year,

And we started off just hooking up

But got more and more involved,

Slowly burning into the endless, blissful love I know we both must want.

The others may not see it,

But I promise you we're really together,

And I love you more than anything else,

And I know you must love me too.

I think of you and I close my eyes,

And you wrap me up in your arms

And kiss me like you mean it,

Like you really, really want it,

Like you always have really, really wanted it.

We curl up together,

And you tell me about your day. your insecurities, your biggest secrets and your most mundane details of life

Until this inevitably gets me to fall asleep.

When I wake up you're there to greet me,

Smiling, happy, telling me I look so good,

That you can't wait to spend another day with me and tell me all about it when you get home.

Throughout the day you're there for me,

Whenever I need you, want you, miss you,

Whenever I'm alone I call you up

And you're there immediately, without question or hesitation

And we sit and chat and kiss and fuck and do whatever else we need to do to get me through the day.

Was I ever good at this?

No.

But you don't get a say.

You're stuck with me until I can let you go.

Unfortunately,

I treat you like air;

I need you to survive,

So much so that I stop thinking about when you're here and when you're not,

But if I had to guess, I'd say you're here most of the time.

If anyone but you ever asked,

I could confidently say I love you,

That you love me,

And that we're perfect together.

When I'm alone in my room, when I'm alone in the dining hall, when I'm alone in the library or alone in class,

I have your voice in my head

Telling me I'm perfect, I'm loved, and I'm doing a good job

That I don't need to be so anxious all the time

Because you have my back,

You're always behind me.

I stay up late just looking at you,

But you'll never know how deeply it goes

Because you'll never know how much time I spend here,

Online, just looking at the pictures I've seen so many times before.

When you post a new one,

I become addicted,

Fascinated,

On every little detail

To give me content for my fantasies to come.

Your pictures don't speak.

They don't move,

And they don't hold me like I want them to,

But they're all that I have,

And I need to build a man.

You're all that I want,

At least that's what I think,

When these pictures of you treat me so well

And this man that I've made up loves me so much.

When I see you out in the world, I cower in fear.

I'm forced to face the realization

That you're never really here,

And that I've invented a version of you

Who works so well for me,

Who holds me every time I need it

And says exactly what I want to hear

When I can't face the fact that I live lonely most of the time.

When you're really there, it's like I'm meeting Jesus Christ.

You're supposed to be a myth,

Someone I can never reach or talk to,

But I can feel all the time in my heart

And who comes to my aid when I need it.

Talking to you is like talking to God;

You're never really doing it, but it always makes you feel better.

Do you ever really hold me?

Sure, like God does for everyone in the palm of His hand.

Do you ever really kiss me?

Sure, like the Blessed Mother does in someone else's prophetic dream.

Do you ever really love me?

Sure, like Jesus loves each and every one of us,

With his whold heart,

All the time,

As he watches over us from up above.

It's all a big story, but it becomes real when you believe it enough.

If Jesus can love me without having met me once,

Surely then so can you,

But when you become real, I lose my religion.

It hurts to be wrong inside your head.

Everything I say and do is borderline concerning.

Here, the most mundane and mediocre

Become celebrated and pined for beyond that of deities,

And the most fantastical and extraordinary

Become part of everyday life.

But you don't care;

You just love me,

Because you're not real and I don't give you a choice.

So tonight, when I lay down alone to go to sleep,

I'll hold onto my little pictures of you,

And I'll make up my little daydreams

Until they fade into night dreams that cease to make sense.

I'll hold you all the way,

And you'll almost hold me back.

But you truly sleep on the other side of campus,

Again, alone, but never with me.

You're fantastic

In the most delusional sense of the world,

But I'll never have the courage to let you go.

You are mortal, flesh and blood and real somewhere in the world,

But right now, you are my God, and there was no Jesus.

[ruhlare]

[c0wparsnip]

Ode to the Aries Who Ghosted Me

I met you for the first time on Monday after work. We had been chatting for awhile on Tinder before I gave you my number. Every other word you said was "baby girl" or "princess" or "sweetheart," but I can't get a text from you anymore. But that doesn't matter, because now I know you.

I know your name. I know your birthday because you told me. I know what you study and where you go to school for your master's, and I know it's 951 miles from where I live. I know that you weren't looking for anything serious back in New England, and I know I wasn't, either.

I know you're a frat bro, and I know you like Twisted Tea. I'm glad I had some in the fridge, waiting for someone to share them with me. I know you were nervous when you first met up with me because you lit up as soon as you got out of your car, and I know that went away as soon as I kissed you. I know you like cigarettes after sex, and I know you only started smoking because all your frat brothers did.

I know what you like. I know what makes you cum and what makes you feel good. I know what it's like to hold you and be held by you, a privilege that most people on Earth will never receive. I know what it feels like when you kiss my forehead, and I know what it feels like when you kiss my lips before you get in your car and drive away.

I know your mom's name. I know her birthday because you have it tattooed in Roman numerals on the left side of your chest. You have a picture with her on your Tinder profile. She looks so kind, and you love her so much. I wish I got to meet her.

I know I never will, and I'm OK with that. Maybe in a few days I won't even be thinking about you anymore. But maybe, if the stars had aligned a little differently, you might've been staying on the East Coast for college, or I might've been going to the Midwest, and we both might've been looking for something a little more intense, and we both might've found it.

[c0wparsnip]

Psychopomp by Japanese Breakfast is my hookup album.

It's dreamy and comforting, with melodies that make you feel like you're being held. I've played it for every man I've had casual sex with over the course of the past two weeks.

I do this because nothing about the sex I have (or the person I am) is casual. Not even if you're the 26-year-old electrician whose dick I sucked for 45 minutes and you couldn't get it up. I hold you in my mind forever as someone I've been with; you're someone who not only noticed me, but furthermore allowed me to know that you enjoyed it. I love people like they're dying tomorrow, and even if I never see you again after our time in my car, you still mean so much in the course of my life. You've imprinted on me, and now, I want to leave my mark on you.

I told the frat bro who was singing when he told me my playlist was "fire." He gave me two giant hickies and a beautiful memory, and I hope I at least gave him Japanese Breakfast.

[c0wparsnip]

I don't think I have a "real me."

People talk about vulnerability as being honest and letting others see you for who you really are---giving away the secret of your real self. But what if I don't have anything to give?

There is nothing behind the curtain. I take on the personality of whomever I'm interacting with at the time, and when I sit alone, I pretend they're still there so that I can continue to be something. But on my own? I don't think I even exist anymore. I've never tried it.

[words-that-bind-us]