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@cara-kiya
Just Venting
Sometimes i just wanna cry cause i get my heart into situations where it is not permitted.
These past couple of months have been crazy. 2017 had been crazy. My heart is just broken. Seems like everyone i want doesnt want me like i want them or want me to a certain extent. Which is unacceptable.
I don’t have a stellar memory Because often times Id rather forget Id rather close my eyes and see nothing Than see something Id eventually regret But life has a funny way of telling that the things you believe are not true Because life proved to me that remembering was not that bad when I met you. I remember my heart jumping when you looked into my eyes I remember that it hurt, the day I saw you cry I remember all your words, they have haunted me since then I remember the way I fell for you: how now all our memories are the sharp knives I cannot help but touch now all the love that’s in my heart has turned into a grudge now all the things that I remember are the things that hurt too much I guess life is trying to tell me that this is what I get "Life" showed me how to remember and now I must learn to forget
people are allowed to leave you. people are allowed to break up with you. people are allowed to love you but not want to be with you. people are allowed to not want to talk to you. people are allowed to put their happiness before yours and do what makes them happy even if it does not include you. people are allowed to move on from you. people are allowed to fall in love with someone else. people are allowed to not want you in their life. people are allowed to do whatever they want to better themselves and become the version of themselves they are trying so hard to love. don’t be bitter towards someone who is only trying to be happy.
I trust everything people communicate, except their words.
(via kushandwizdom)
Someone you haven't even met yet is wondering what it would be like to know someone like you.
- Unknown
Love
Sometimes love isn't enough to hold relationships together.
Good enough is a word that does not exist in my vocabulary Thin enough is a dream that stretches across the ocean like the horizon No matter how hard I try to be enough The currents push me backwards And I stumble, gasping for air Trying to find worth in this self. As I run my fingers across my stomach pinching blankets of flesh rolling underneath my skin like low beach waves turning into shores I convince myself I would rather die a skeleton than live with fat. I feel dinner sinking in my stomach pressing against my ribs like thieves banging against bars always feeling too full but never whole. The tide rises in my belly a storm stirring as I drown in shame watching the gap between my thighs close. I’m told that my body is a temple that my body is precious But in my eyes this is the farthest thing from sacred this is some kind of shack that must be struck down and rebuilt. Maybe that’s why I can choke myself until I puke Until breakfast, lunch, dinner erupt into the toilet bowl As my throat burns from the flames of self-hatred. Maybe that’s why I keep taking laxatives to strike down this body and reshape it the way I like, hoping the calories will rush out as my intestines writhe wringing out every last drop of food Because empty is the medication to my depression. Every purge is an apology It is the “nevermind” muttered at the start of every clumsy sentence It is a resignation from the duty of nurturing this temple Because I don’t deserve the nutrients. My body has become a victim of neglect battered from the wrath of pills swallowed in ignorance teeth not yet eroded by acidic waves summoned in desperation. I cannot bear to live in this house anymore. My body is inhospitable, bitter and unwelcoming, because it does not accommodate you and your standards. I am not your pretty, thin white girl. My eyes are not blue. my hair not blonde, my ribs not sharp enough to trigger your concern. I am scrambling to escape this hell called my mind Resisting the temptation to let my illness engulf me Because I am not an eating disorder I am more than bulimia I am more than depression I am more than anxiety. Yes, right now, good enough is a word that does not exist in my vocabulary but slowly and surely I will learn to write it into my dictionary. -ZD
Lately I am a whole lot like broken poetry. I do not flow rationally. I hurt others. Most often myself. I am loud and crazy. Quiet and empty. I am not what the package promises. But I do love you. -ZD
Maybe things don’t happen for a reason. Maybe we’re just grasping for ways to make sense of the chaos around us. Maybe we’re giving meaning to things that have no meaning. Maybe we’re clinging to hope so hard that we forget about reality. What if we’re wrong and nothing is meant to be? We’re just lost souls wandering endlessly, desperately seeking comfort from the notion that things will work out in the end no matter what. What if we’ve tricked ourselves into believing that everything will be okay in the end just so we don’t have to face the reality that maybe it won’t?
-ZD
We live in a world that is filled with fear and hate; Or so we’re told. Where black men kill black men and white men kill black men. Where white men kill white men as well. Fear and hate dominate the media. Anger seems to prevail. No one can keep up. Not with the conspiracy theories that sound a whole lot like truth. Not with the truth that sounds a whole lot like conspiracy theories. We are all fighting for control. We are all fighting for freedom. Freedom to walk down the street without being stopped. Freedom to say “black people suck” without truly saying it out loud because that would make one a racist. And Black Lives Matter, and White Lives Matter and All Lives Matter dominate our tv screens, our computer screens, our phones. The divide gets wider. So wide that even people who were sensitive to the cause of their “opposite” race have started to fall in. Trying not to take the “white people suck” mentality personally, because surely they aren’t talking about me. Police Departments continue to acquit their own murderers because all police are innocent and one is a cop hater if they believe differently.
Wait.
Hold on.
Stop. Or this narrative, this suffocating paragraph will never end.
For those of us who have no control over what the media says or doesn’t say. For those of us who are poor, middle class, invisible to main stream society.
WE are the Masses. And right now the whole world is listening. Waiting. For some one to stand up and tell us what to do. What if it isn’t some ONE, what if it is EVERY one. It has been proven time and time again: LOVE changes lives. HOPE changes lives. Without them, societies and communities crash and then they burn under the weight of fear and hate. We cannot continue to hate our fellow man and expect things to get better. We cannot lose ourselves in the violence, in the hopelessness that is pushed in to our face every day.
We have become complacent and divided. At the very moment when our society needs to cross the divide and reach out, we are fighting over who is wrong and who is right. There are only two rational courses of action. Either we Fight and we all die. Or we take a leap of faith, cross the divide, seek out Love, and overcome.
Tears falling down my face A personal affair Induced by lack of love and care With strings and needle I weave together pieces torn apart All I wanted was you Someone like you that gave A love filled thought ZD
Maybe snow is just angels flicking ashes from their cigarettes down to earth and the days we spend home from school playing in powdered crystals will leave us coughing up smoke
when we turn 16 and the light pink dress your mother used to make you wear will turn red where it hits your hips and kisses the tips of your wrists and your mother will ask you why there’s blood on all your clothing and you’ll pretend like you haven’t been doing drugs in the bathroom at school and crying so much
and one of these days I’ll scream at you to kiss me and you’ll do it and we’ll both burn into the ground and watch our bones melt into nothing because we are nothing even though we’ve got ourselves convinced that we’re the world but at least your lips are against mine
and you don’t always feel it at first but when you feel it oh god you feel it
and liquor seems like a good idea until it’s not
and you’ll get better at feeling sorry for yourself and bandaging cuts
and you’ll get better at finding the stars under your skin and learning to breathe again
and you’ll lose your fucking mind but you’ll find it again and again and again
and I’m terrified of growing up and leaving behind chapped lips and peach tasting kisses and fireworks and headaches and eyes filled with oceans pouring down your face and flooding your mouth but I would go anywhere with you
ZD
Honest poetry is I want to tell you that I never knew intimacy until you made me a burnt grilled cheese on whole wheat bread but instead I just send you text messages about sex while you are pretending to be productive at your summer internship. Lately I am trying to write romantic poems but they end up shaped something more like apologies more like I am sorry I forgot to clear my internet history after I looked up your last ex-girlfriend on Facebook and like I am sorry I compared my hair to hers. More like I am sorry for all the dreams where the lights are on when you tell me that you love me like I am sorry I wake up and for twelve seconds I forget we are Geminis and that means we are horrible with commitments like I am sorry for all the times I asked if we were monogamous. It’s just you call me when you can’t find a sleeping pill at three in the morning and you call me when your parents are fighting again and you always hang up first and it makes my organs fold inside out. Other people call me sometimes and I swallow their phone numbers. I still can’t stop thinking about your ex-girlfriend’s hair I am sorry. There is a fantasy where we are in a kitchen somewhere we are chopping vegetables for a salad and listening to Sunday Love and you kiss me you call me baby. It’s just carrots remind me of you and Fefe Dobson reminds me of you and it is getting so boring the way I keep choking out these poems it is making me the most predictable type of person. I am sorry. I leave you voicemails when I am having panic attacks I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry. I miss you as soon as I leave
ZD
I remember my dad telling me to go get my uncle from his room because dinner was ready. I walked up the stairs and seen that his door was cracked. My idea was to sneak up and scare him. But When I peeked in I saw my mom on his bed. He was touching her in a way that my dad told us to cover our eyes during “grown up” movies. With my heart beating fast and eyes tearing up I quietly crept down the hall towards the stairs and said, “Uncle Matt..dad wants you.”
I never told my dad.
ZD
Keep. Going.
My heart hurts for you. My soul cries for you. The time for fighting is long past, And yet. Do not assume that I would not find the monsters who stole from you. Rip the very pieces that make them human from inside of them, Crush them on the pavement. And yet. Today. I can only hope to walk beside you, And when the darkness comes, Because it will, I can remind you of who you are. Those who have come before me have not recognized who you are. But I do. You are the girl that slays dragons. You are the girl that fights the monsters and lives. You are the woman who cares for her son in a manner than most only write about. You are the woman who digs down deep to break the chains of her past in the hope of her son’s future. You change lives. You do that. I cannot take your pain. But I know, Pain is never wasted. You will rise above. It’s not even a choice. You were born in to it, Made for it. So take the next step, whatever that is. And the next. And the next. Eventually you will leave this flat, barren place, And over the horizon you will see the trees You will see the mountains. You will find peace. And I will meet you in there. You will look at me and I will smile at you Because I know, that you know, that I know: That it is finished.
