Little Stone @cataclysmet - Tumblr Blog

This life contains numerous cycles. Some which I find myself repeating over and over. No, I do not die and rise again like the phoenix or some ancient deity. No, I do not turn from water to vaporous clouds only to loose myself once again upon dry earth.

My cycles are internal. I roam from frail hope, to boisterous confidence which after its turn shatters into some pathetic self-loathing worthless creature: my true self.

I am cruel and selfish. I wasn’t born to heal but to hurt. Cut over festering cut. Hammer blow by hammer blow. Cracking bones and twisted ligaments. I was made to slice, to bruise. My friends, my family, my loves, the stranger across the street. But most of all myself.

There is a truth lurking sometimes at the very bottom of the well. Something rooted so deep that to pull it out of myself would be to pull my own self. It is my dna. I was made to be alone. To save countless others from the slaughter that is me.

#little stone

The dilemma…

The violent urge of still wanting

Even knowing your destruction lies at the end

#little stone

kiss-me-over-the-garden-gate

FOR WOMEN WHO ARE 'DIFFICULT' TO LOVE by Warsan Shire

you are a horse running alone and he tries to tame you compares you to an impossible highway to a burning house says you are blinding him that he could never leave you forget you want anything but you you dizzy him, you are unbearable every woman before or after you is doused in your name you fill his mouth his teeth ache with memory of taste his body just a long shadow seeking yours but you are always too intense frightening in the way you want him unashamed and sacrificial he tells you that no man can live up to the one who lives in your head and you tried to change didn't you? closed your mouth more tried to be softer prettier less volatile, less awake but even when sleeping you could feel him travelling away from you in his dreams so what did you want to do, love split his head open? you can't make homes out of human beings someone should have already told you that and if he wants to leave then let him leave you are terrifying and strange and beautiful something not everyone knows how to love.

#by others #little stone #“there’s rosemary that’s for remembrances.”

The hardest part of imposter syndrome is admitting to another human that you are indeed a spy inside your own life.

Still sleep heavy

Sleep weighed

No singular pressure somewhere on my chest

But a million tiny lead weights attached to every bone

Every inch of flesh pulled under

Endless pounding waves against the helpless sand of my brain

Crusting my eyes over

Holding me down like a primal lover

And still I fight against the merciless pull

There is no winning here.

#first songs

How often have I given myself as a sacrifice, a martyr on the alter of obligation?

How I’ve bled out…my own heart-blood pouring rich and dark over weeping limbs.

It’s flow has chased her congregants out of the deep sanctuaries.

All worshiping hands falling idle: no one wants to venerate a weeping deity.

I think sometimes life happens the most in the small things. Our atoms were never meant to be icebergs. The quietest gasps are the most meaningful.

Falling into someone isn’t some electric lighting strike, but a union of brief touches, a scrape of the pad of a finger, the tiny whorls and ridges standing out against skin.

A soulmate isn’t a destiny. How pompous to believe in such a thing! We morph and grow and shrink, an evolving roadmap of every brush against another’s shoulders, every word spoken, every glance across a crowded train.

I was your soulmate once. Your muse, your obsession. Just as you were mine. You were all, all of you, mine…if only for a breath, sometimes only in the space between heartbeats. I took a piece of you, stole it while you slept and tucked it into the folds of my own soul.

I am a crow’s nest stuffed full of feathers and trinkets: the best of every stranger. She wore a dress of these flowers, his beard was the shade of this yarn, their eyes shone like this mirror in the sunlight.

Come into my house and I will show you myself: a mosaic of strangers and lovers and friends.

#little stone #letters to myself #first songs

museify

How much exists only to provide contrast?

Safety is a secret recipe

The careful measuring out the necessary bits of yourself. Just enough, but never too much to leave a bitter taste in their mouths. Giving enough taste to endear, but hiding your true elements. Always remain hidden.

Safety is a checklist

Doors locked, curtains drawn, stove off, keys between your fingers. Remembering what you told who, smile (not too much and keep it from your eyes), fast and confident stride, look angry…pretend pretend pretend.

Safety is an island

A house, an apartment, a room, a closet. A place for one. Impenetrable, unreachable defenses…moats and mazes and battlements. Where your heart can remain solid in your chest and not migrate to the throat or stomach.

Safety is a false hearth

Keep your fire hidden. A small flame will go unnoticed. Give them heat enough to keep warm, but never show them where you keep it. It’s a vulnerability —a liability— and some people are spring breezes while others are gales.

#little stone

Maybe one day I will be able to speak without the filter of fear