Words of Questionable Wisdom

Androgynous bisexual writer. Like our universe, we grow, we change, and we die. Take everything said here with a fistful of salt. They're only my humble opinions.

[crimson-chains]

Some flower skull thing! : D

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“I chose the hard way to learn who the real people are and who they aren’t.”

— Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Gordon Lameyer written c. August 1953

[chameleon-writer]

everything about me is jagged and raw

it hurts to breathe, to look upon the sun and know i deserve it

I'm a mess, a hurling hurricane on the beaches of life

i don't know what i want but all i know is i want you

i don't know what you want and that's the first time someone's had me confused

how can i be me when i am only what my mind tells me to be

based on appearing, options, swaying

based on everyone else

you make time melt, to sit with you is to watch the universe flit by

i could spend a million years and still not know you, wouldn't dare guess

and yet what i am to you? another mess to clean?

[chameleon-writer]

i want to believe, darling, the sweetest flame of my heart, i want to believe that i can make it last. make it work. i’d do anything for you. travel the world for you. kill a man for you. fight to my last breath for you. there are exceptions to rules, always. i hope to all the powers that be that you’ll be that exception. darling, lover of mine. i’d simply do anything for you. be the hand that you hold in the dark, the mischievous smile shared between two people who know. just know.

i hope you know, that in the end, i’d do anything for you. 

[chameleon-writer]

ant crawling feeling

under my skin

an infection

twisting my guts into knots

stealing the breath from my lungs

paralysed by pain

still the ants crawl

no heed to my broken mind

crying and desperate

a shell, a husk

empty bodies with shrieking minds

the pain over

welcome the numbing the sighing the pulsing

im not me, who am i?

who's body is this?

who stares at me from the mirror?

why do i exist?

[chameleon-writer]

when i ask you, when you reply, when it takes my mind a moment to catch up. it takes the space of a breath to understand, to look out across the plains of the world, to know what you want.

i am a reflection of every person who's ever crossed my path. i am not myself. i am whatever you want me to be.

i am a whirlwind of emotions amongst a turning tide of emptiness. i am a seductress to a chosen few, i am a nerd to most, i am a dyke to some, i am a mess for all.

i am a reflection, pure and simple. what looks back at you in the shine of my eyes, does it scare you?

[chameleon-writer]

My life is a story. A collection of memories, amidst the fog of creation. Stories do not have to have bad endings, middles, or starts. My start was fairly bad, but this middle? This story? The peaceful end? It will be my strength, my saviour.

I once swore to the stones, whispered in the depths of my heart to my parents, that when I join them, I want to have good stories to tell them. And I will. I’m not giving up. I deserve happiness.

[chameleon-writer]

God, but isn't it funny?

In a sad, terrifying way.

That all can change on the turn of a coin. That feelings are fleeting but so powerful in the moment. That the need in my chest to scream and carve myself to shreds still exists even after all this time.

[chameleon-writer]

something in me desperately wants to love. love. love.

to be loved. loved. loved.

something in me desperately doesn’t want to get hurt. again, and again, again.

it’s like a drug, bright and vivid, intoxicating. the softness of my soul within me when i think of love only matches the blind panic my brain throws across my inner eyes when rejection rears it’s head.

i want to love. i want to be loved. but i will never let myself get hurt again.

[chameleon-writer]

being with you is a song of summer paradise. it’s ease and flow and ever shifting topics of conversation.

it’s brilliant depth and shallow judgement. it’s kinky and lanky and dorky. it’s the love i know you still hold within you. it’s admitting that we’re both fucked in the head. it’s knowing that we both deserve better.

being with you is like the blood in my veins and breath in my lungs. it’s simple, natural, and i’m going to fuck it all up.

[chameleon-writer]

and here we are again. a revolving door of “i’m in too deep” and pinches of anger, of hurt, of fear.

the full bloom of emotions run rampant under my skin and it’s with a panicked cry that i hold myself back. take things the wrong way. say good night when all i want to do is feel his skin on mine endlessly. trapped in a void of emotion. so raw, so powerful, so overpowering.

it aches under my ribs like a bleeding heart. this knowledge that i must not let myself go this way again. but when I love? i love hard and fast and like a brillant flash of light it will not last. it can not be controlled, it can not be coerced.

and here we are again. consumed.

[quotesofallkinds]

[chameleon-writer]

The only change is the realisation of self. Diversity is the usurper of deviance. Any person that claims to be ‘normal’ claims diversity is deviance. That the two are one and the same. This close mindedness and abhorrence of any reality other than their own coddled mentalities shows that ‘normal’ is perceived as anyone who is; straight, white, cissexual, or male.

[chameleon-writer]

honestly the idea that if I were psychotic and really unstable and if police were called to the scene, the idea that I'd be shot and killed without hesitation instead of disarmed and actually helped really makes me feel sick. if i were worse than i am now, if i were more sick than just anxiety and depression and bpd... if i outwardly displayed signs of those disorders??? that I could die because of a condition I couldn't help at all??? it makes me feel so ill, so wrong. i wondered why, before, they were so hesitant to give me a proper diagnosis but maybe it's just because i don't act 'crazy enough' and that's sickening too. that there has to be an 'enough' at all is nauseating.

[chameleon-writer]

day by day i am growing more used to myself and my skin

[chameleon-writer]

something in me wants desperately to be as violently stupid as some men can be, as reckless, as dangerous. something in me wants to go out late at night by myself, something in me wants to climb a mountain and strip down to the bare bones (something most tourists are fond of doing), something in me wants to seduce girls and then leave them high and dry and wanting more, something in me is intrinsically male and i often find myself doing the opposite. i’ll seduce men and drag them through hell for six months till they leave, i’ll use men to rip drugs from them in exchange for sex, because all they can see and drool after is a pair of tits and a pussy. i’ll let men choke me and beat me and claim it’s for enjoyment but really i just like being used. and what a society we live in where the intrinsic belief of a lot of women is that we are designed to be used and objectified.

maybe it’s too late for me. maybe it’s not too late for other generations.

[chameleon-writer]

love will be the death of me my dear. it’s a simple fact of life. it’s always been that way and always will. i will always destroy myself for love, even if it’s not returned. you think that the ones in my life who’ve rejected my love deserve it? god knows they dont but hell if i know how to stop. hell if i know how to stop giving parts of myself to people who only chew me up with charred teeth and bloody smiles, who only carve scars into my minds like deep chasms, ever lasting and forever wanting.