enmictlan

Semi confusing but oddly inspirational shit. I guess. I don't really know

[tiktoksijustthinkareneat]

[enmictlan]

Monster

I sank my teeth into him and told him this is how I loved. Raw Violent Unmerciful He cleaned the blood off my face,  looked into my eyes and said:  For love, I can take it.  So I kept on loving him. I left claw marks on his skin and burning blisters down his spine.  I chewed and spat his flesh at his feet until there was nothing of the man,  but a mere echo of who he used to be.  He accepted it as a sign of devotion. He thought he was the one not strong enough, not worthy enough.  My love for him too great, it was breaking him.  But he was determined to prove to me he was not weak,  that he could earn my love by enduring it.  Not once complaining.  For what was a monster to do but take and take and never give back? He was too blind to see this was not,  and never would be  love.  Just another form of possession.  He should’ve known that no brand of love would ever willingly bleed you to death.  Even a monster knows that.  He refused to see that this monster did know love, and it didn't look like this.  Like dependency.  Like abuse.  Like violence. This monster knew love isn’t supposed to break and destroy.  Love is not supposed to be a punishment.  Love is supposed to make you grow.  And as much as you liked to think you were helping me,  it cannot be love when you’re tearing yourself apart trying to be “just enough” Boy, I am sorry you were taught to think sacrifice is the way to go,  but you needn't rip yourself apart for people that clearly don't love you.

Monster, by enmictlan

[enmictlan]

He moves as if he contained waves crashing against the rocks of his body. All that pent up energy searching for escape; Through his hands, punching walls, Through his legs, running from home, Through his voice, begging for everything to stop. Finally finding a way out through his eyes, calming the ocean. Until his waters grow disturbed again. - That boy is the ocean; In his calm In his rage In his sadness

Ocean boy by @enmictlan

(https://www.instagram.com/p/B7SMCm9h9SY/)

[enmictlan]

They say Van Gogh ate yellow paint so he could turn his insides a happy colour, but I know better. I know my insides will remain dark along with my heart. It doesn’t matter the amount of paint if there’s no light inside.

@enmictlan via https://www.instagram.com/p/B7H431yhoPQ/

[enmictlan]

AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! Stop it! Too much noise! Stop it stop it stop it. But what if...? What if not. But... ENOUGH! Don't talk, just stop it. I told you to shut up. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I CAN'T TAKE IT! I HAVE TO GET OUT! This is too much. Noise noise noise noise. I have to go. And how do you plan to get out? I... What do you plan to do? Maybe... You just bicker and complain, but never actually do something about it. Just shut up! You're absurd. STOP IT! I CAN'T! I… "Claudia? Are you all right? You haven't said a word all the way. Do you want some music?” Silence.

Calm by @enmictlan 

(https://www.instagram.com/p/B7GtVMbheTH/)

[enmictlan]

It's not that I don't love you, it's just that I like you more in a silk dress, with no panties on and your legs spread wide. It's not that I don't like you, it's just that when you talk I entertain myself imagining those lips wrapped around things that don't let you speak. It's not that I can't imagine you, it's just that when I try to picture you, the image gets blurry and all I can see are your breast peaking through your cleavage and the too-short skirt you wore to my brother's birthday. It's not that I don't want you, it's just that they told me that your nudes are common knowledge among your exes and their friends, and I'm not sure I want to be with someone whose image is used to jack-off.

Words of reason by @enmictlan (https://www.instagram.com/p/B7C2Jqrh2Jb/)

[enmictlan]

“You look pretty in pink”. Boy, I look pretty in war ash bathed in blood. In a gown lace of lies and a crown made of smoke. I look stunning in heels sharp enough to kill. With a look set to slay and blades worn as gems. I look breathtaking with my claws around your heart and my fangs around your throat, ripping everything you thought I should be to shreds.

Pretty in pink by @enmictlan (https://www.instagram.com/p/B7Kdp5zB9UJ/)

[enmictlan]

She was a deadly force. Not like a bomb or a gun or an axe, But like a dagger bathed in poison, And a carefully crafted whisper Breathed in the right ear, At the right time. She was not brute force, but a calculating one. And that is way more terrifying.

@enmictlan (https://www.instagram.com/p/B6cONmPBasp/)

[enmictlan]

I used to claim that I was too stubborn to let the currents of fate dictate my life. And I used to say it as if it was a burden I had to carry, a hero’s feat. I had no choice in the matter because doing otherwise would be going against what I was. Unstoppable. Unbreakable. Untamable. But the past 2 years all I’ve done is float through life without taking any action. I just laid there and let the waves wash over me, pull me, drag me down, try to drown me, without making any efforts to stop it. Thinking back, it feels like my entire existence has been dictated by someone else. I had no hand in the trajectory my life was taking. I’ve felt so lost, not knowing which way is up, and too tired try to sort it out. I can hear the voices laughing at the irony. “Weren’t you the little hero that claimed she’d crush the stars if they tried to command her?” “Oh, pretty girl, take off that lion’s mane. You’re not fooling anyone. All you have done is dance to someone else’s tunes. Admit it, you’ve always been afraid to find your own.” And it's true, taking control is scary because it means that is up to you. Whether you take the leap or not, it's your choice. And it could be the greatest decision of your life, or it could ruin you completely. There's not blaming it on the stars. There's not jumping blindly and believing that whatever happens, it's on fate because it isn't. It's up to you. Now I’m faced with a choice. Whether to step up and get out of the stream or to remain where I am, letting the current pull me. But whatever my decision, it's on me.

@enmictlan (https://www.instagram.com/p/B61-Ml9BGfm/)

[enmictlan]

“You don’t understand. You’ve never been in love,” they tell me, trying to convince themselves that my words cannot possibly apply to them, for what do I know about heartbreak but what I’ve seen in movies. “Its too easy for you to talk, yet you’ve never had to do it.” To just leave, they mean. To pick myself piece by piece and rebuild me into something strong enough to walk away. “When you find that special someone, you’ll get it.” They talk about uncertainty and devotion. About staying at the edge of my toes waiting for a call that won’t come. About trying to convince myself that’s just the way they love. At a distance. When convenient. Repeating those three words, like a mantra: They love me. They love me. They love me? They do not see that my words come from experience. From the necessity of having to put me first. Of having to love me more than what I loved the ones that hurt me. Of realizing that it didn’t matter if they loved me or not, I could no longer stay in a place where I was kept in storage waiting to be needed again. So when I tell you, you can live without them, trust me, for I have walked away from unrequited love, and I’m stronger for it. You know, friends can break your heart too.

@enmictlan (https://www.instagram.com/p/B6135mBg5yi/)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Odysseus Elytis, tr. by Athan Anagnostopoulos, from “Maria Nephele: A Poem In Two,”

[salemwitchtrials-deactivated202]

“my sadness is sharpening itself against my teeth.”

— salt., Nayyirah Waheed

[insomniac-dot-ink]

A Difficult Task

“I am hard to love,” you say. “I have many hard edges and dark caverns. I am made of pools of secrets and things that Prick and burn and sear the heart. I am hard to love.”

The bird sometimes looks at the sky And watches it storm. It gasps with sharp grey and bottomless black, With winds so fierce that they Topple trees and hurdle trash cans. “The sky is sometimes hard to love,” says the bird. The sky can be dark and unforgiving. But, the bird continues, “it’s many Faces do not change my song each Morning to it’s fame.”

Because the bird will dip and dive Within the velvet blue above, And love and love and love.

“I am hard to love,” you say. “I am filled with bruises and breaks. I am healed wrong time and time again After stings and a world rough With harsh words and unhappy touches.” “I am hard to love.”

The bear returns to the stream  Each year to feast and grow round. But some years the stream is low and waters disagreeable-  they break and bend in the wrong places, The flow either races and rages, or simpers And wallows in the bears wake. But the bear does not blame The many faces of the waters waves, It does not resent it for it’s changes, But returns each year For the fact of it’s existence.

The bear will wade in and out And say to itself “How lucky am I,” each time.

“I am hard to love,” you say. But the function of love is not to be easy.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Alexander Blok, from Selected Poems; “The Dream Began Singing,” c. 1903

[enmictlan]

I used Perfect as a blanket to comfort me when the night was cold, and the yelling echoed through the house. It was my way of dealing with loneliness; as long as it stayed with me, it didn't matter if my loved ones left. It was my shield, my anchor, my lifeboat. But now the blanket has grown heavy. What used to comfort me is suffocating. The anchor is no more than an extension of the same water that's trying to drown me, and while it pulls me under, all I can hear is the same question reverberate in my skull over and over. Why can't I be enough? Why can't I be enough? Why can't I be enough? Why can't I be?
 I am the boat, and I'm cracking with the pressure. The water slips through the holes and by the end, all I can think is: It seems Perfect is leaving me, too.

@enmictlan (https://www.instagram.com/p/B5lBQ-mhPIj/)

[ninasdrafts]

This world and this life have tried to shatter you so many times that you’ve lost count. You’ve been tearing at your skin, trying to break out of your body, trying to make it listen to you. Sometimes you stare into the mirror and don’t recognise the empty eyes that stare back. You fight until your nails are bloody and your knees are skinned and pray that it’s enough. After being put through this ordeal day after day, week after week, you are still gentle. You are still gentle, even though your edges have been sharpened like a blade on a whetstone, you are still soft, even though this world and this life have tried to harden you. And this is the greatest strength of all. To still believe, even though you know what it’s like to lose your faith. To still get up, even though the cold floor feels familiar against your skin. You are so brave. And it’s no shame to tell yourself if no one else does.

you are so brave / n.j. (via ninasdrafts)

[enmictlan]

I like to feel the world collapsing around me as I dance barefoot to the sound of thunder. Maybe the destruction in my veins marks me as a god, or perhaps I'm just a human trying to catch lightning as Death watches, mesmerized, my attempts at feeling immortal.

@enmictlan (via https://www.instagram.com/p/B4RR_M6gypL/)