Seeing The World Through The Eyes Of The Blind @iaintfromaroundtheseparts - Tumblr Blog

how can you so easily dismiss me?

like yesterday I wasn’t wifey…

like the late night talks weren’t future feats.

like…if I were the birthing type, i’d let you fertilize my seed.

Like you don’t make me— and need to change the sheets.

You switched up overnight so there were oversights and I know sometimes that you go quiet…but the language changed and you stopped texting me. The lack is clear and the message received.

The fucking harbinger 😑 🥺

Black Friday.

They were two wandering souls that collided by happenstance. Perpetual children wading through some very adult waters. Riding the waves while simultaneously trying to avoid all the icky and ominous things lurking at their feet.

She was a strong swimmer but not strong enough to keep them both afloat when his legs would,from time to time,give out.

Not only a strong swimmer, she was also strong willed and had a low to no tolerance for people not pushing themselves to the absolute brink in the face of adversity–especially when She knew how strong they were.

She knew the boy always had a few reserve kicks left in him, so naturally She’d cheer him on until he’d regain momentum and start treading again.

Until one day there was a big storm. The waters became thick and black like swimming in a pool of tar . Something rose up from the depths and grabbed the boy by the ankles pulling him under with such force and speed The girl could barely take a breath before she dove in after him. She plunged herself straight down into the water like an anchor but it was too late,he was gone.

She swam for days, searching for the boy but to no avail. With no more air in her lungs or strength in her legs She gave in to her exhaustion, flipped onto her back,closed her eyes and laid her head onto the water. She drifted like that for a few days eventually washing up on the shore of some ,eerie yet familiar island.

It had been about two weeks since She lost her friend to the unforgiving tide–or so She thought! There,from a thick patch of weeds across the island,a tall, shadowy figure emerged and began to walk towards her. Her heart sank And she leapt to her feet and ran chest first into the arms of the boy She swore was swallowed up by the sea.

Or so she thought...

It looked like him, a little Paler than usual, something she did not think possible. It smelled like him, like home. But his body was cold As were His eyes and his demeanor.

There was some sort of struggle between them. mostly verbal. “GO!” “stay!” “Leave!!” “Come back” “shut up!” “Please just talk to me”. Some of it was unspoken. pleading eyes, reaching hands. Words wanting to be said but for fear of hurting one another they instead sat there in weighted silence—hurting one another.

The boy didn’t like that the girl saw a change in him. A darkness. A hollow spot that she poured herself into but could not fill.

Eventually the boy grew restless and tired of the island and of the girl, so He fashioned a boat out of sharp objects and heavy stone and set out to sea.

The girl was saddened by his departure but there was a peace that had come over her and the island once he left and she soon began to smile and be happy again.

She thought of him often. The him before the blackness gulped him up. She cared for him still and would often cast glass bottles filled with love notes and inside jokes out to sea for him to find.

At first the notes came back as quickly as they went out. Notes filled with apologies or lackluster “I’m doing alright”s. Some notes were erratic, grandiose and frightening but it was better than no notes at all.

The weeks went by and the bottles returned less and less until there were none.

One night the girl dreamt of the boy. In her dream she could see him from her own boat in the distance. He was paddling out on his cumbersome raft to that murky spot in the ocean that took his light that day She lost him. He stood up on his vessel and cackled down into the blackness. What he did next was unthinkable! He took the biggest breath his chest cavity could hold and dove head first into the dark,deep.

The girl leapt from

Her boat and swam furiously out to the boys raft hoping she could save him. When she arrived there was no sign of him, just a glass bottle and note with two words. “I’m sorry.”

Final Girl.

I am most heroic in my presumed weakest moments. A light shining through a dusty window pane. A flesh bound pillar of strength. A modicum of hope at the bottom of a tank. A heartbeat. A deep breath. A warming smile in the cold face of death.

#poem #poetry #wordporn

Drinks on ME.

A dash of entitlement, my tears, sweat and blood. Only the finest for my love.

His cup overflows with the fruits of my labor. “Babe, do you think you could do me a favor?”

A kiss on the cheek to disprove he’s tweaked as the chalice slips from his hand.

I refill his glass. “that’s all I have left.” He nods off and spills it again.

#poetry #poem #wordporn

Good Morning America

"Hanna Fisk, she drive a white car?"

"I don't know. Why? Did She get pulled over for huffing glue behind the wheel, AGAIN?!

"No! No! Nothing like that. Just, there was this girl at the gas station, looked like a sloppy, older version of her. She kept staring at me with a smile, waiting for me to say something."

"Hah! Well, Hannah Fisk IS a sloppy older version of her, depending on the last time you've seen'er. She was such a pretty girl too, what a shame ."

"I dont know." He shrugged. "This girl looked familiar."

The next morning the town was abuzz with helicopters and news crews. A body had been found in the bathroom of the Mobile gas station, it was Hannah Fisk!

A driver, passing through town on a delivery route, had stopped there around 2am to take a leak when he found her on the toilet. According to the news, she had been dead for a while by the time the trucker stumbled upon her.

Jimmy, who owns the Mobile station, where I work the register on Thursdays, said the delivery man described her as a white lady, in her early 40s, probably a real looker in her heyday but the life must have gotten to her at an age early age. He said she looked "worn in". The trucker thought Hannah was a hooker, Which was understandable if you'd never met her before, but Jimmy knew right away that the dead girl in his gas station bathroom was indeed Hannah Fisk, 25 years young.

Hannah wore too much blue eyeshadow and clothes that were too tight, too short or both. She had a penchant for fruity malt liquor drinks, unconventional drugs, like craft glue and "whipits" and was infamous for smoking everyone's weed at parties .

Hannah came from money, but her family went broke our freshman year of high school and not long after that her parents marriage went to shit. Her dad took off in the middle of the night when we were Seniors and no one has heard from him since. Her mom got really bad with pills: Vicodin, Percocets, any pain killer really but when the money ran out she turned to hookingg and heroin and now spends most of her time bouncing back and forth between local whore houses. I think that's why Hannah chose to purchase, or pocket her drugs from the local craft store rather than the local drug dealer. She wouldn't be caught dead owing some small time, country bumpkin, dealer a fucking thing! Not a nickel, especially for a fix! So, why was she–caught dead?

I phoned my friend.

"Hannah Fisk..."

He had finished my sentence before the words formed in my mouth.

"She's dead."

Earrings in your bed

your hat is perched in a corner of my room and has taken on the shape of you. Some nights I get so lost in stare imagining you're really there, eyes smoldering from beneath its brim and on your mouth, a crooked grin.

You Are Here.

Some days I wish I were weak enough to hand my life over to addiction...

Or strong enough to kill myself

-welcome to purgatory, you pussy.

#suicdal #depression #bipolor #poem #poetry

Good vibes only

I want to think positive thoughts and put out positive vibes. I want to rid myself of mindless, festering negativity, yet, I still find myself wishing the worst for you, hoping that you’ll fail at every endeavor,that you never find love or happiness in anyone or anything. That when I cross your mind, your heart shatters into tiny shards that pierce your lungs and choke you on the thought of me

#goodvibes #mow #positive

So fucked

So many years spent confusing intimacy with rape, abuse with love. This misinterpretation bled into the relationships id form with men well after they were gone. I would beg them to hit me, choke me... verbally degrade me and they'd cower. A look of fear and confusion would wash over their face and their manhood would succumb to the grotesqueness of my pleas in the form of a flaccid penis. I attributed this to their weakness, "what a pussy." I would think to myself, never stoping to see the damage he'd done, the monster I had become .

Highway to Hell

As I pass every motel spanning from 109, to some far east exit off of Sunrise Highway; I cringe a little, I cry a little,remembering the life we had. Running away, hiding away, so we could be together,so we could destroy each other. Our only form of intimacy was physical. Sex, and the quiet moments after, before we’d fall asleep. I believe we truly loved each other in our sleep, it was the only time we got along, connected. Lying entangled in each other’s bodies safe with the promise of a better love tomorrow. As the years went by that’s all we really had, motel rooms and slumber. Motel rooms and death. I pass the motels we used to stay, spanning from 109 to some far east exit off of Sunrise Highway. I cringe a little, I die a little.

Squatter

I’m the place you run to every time your earth quakes;when the ceiling is caving in I am the shelter you take.

When the well has run dry I quench your thirst; when you’re famished and weak — from me you nurse.

When you are broken and frightened, embarrassed,ashamed and scanning your phone and the back of your brain for a friend,for a savior or something to blame.

I’m all of these things when you are in need. You’re all but around when the indignant one is me.

Monthly Fee

My heart aches for my babies that you've made me throw away. Every time I bleed I am made to feel this way. You never said you're sorry You didn't hold my hand... As I watched the life leak from my womb, you boarded your van.

Sympathy is useless

I don't want you to see me like this, But I don't want you to go. I want you to understand, but I don't want you to know.

How to be Inferior

When other women stare I pull him tight and near; as if the thought of losing him were my deepest fear. He likes to make me jealous so I let him think he can. He likes his ego stroked— best when by my hand. He wants to have control. He is simple. He's a man.

He was glaring at me with disgust. His Hands were folded across his chest, left leg protruding outward shifting his body weight onto his right leg .He scanned me up and down, never lifting his head, glasses perched on the edge of his nose adding to his pompous air. “Stand up” he said, in a clear but low voice. I was sitting, slouching on the love seat in our bedroom. The bed was unmaid and so was I. There were several things not tolerated in His house… Disheveled sheets after noon and disheveled ladies after nine being just two of them. I held my position. I slumped over a bit further and chuckled softly but loud enough for him to hear. “What the fuck is so funny , other than your pitiful state. Slob.” I uncrossed my legs and began to run my hands up my thighs and underneath my dress. He cocked his head to the side and his eyes widen with realization. He sprinted across the bedroom to His nightstand and ripped the top drawer open. “Give it to me” he growled still looking into the drawer….

#gore #horror #poetry

"I don't know, it just happened"

I wonder as he drifts into a slumber deep, whom else he speaks so fondly of under the spell of sleep.

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