𝓐

"is my agony lovable?" 18 she

[iiconspo]

The fate of girlhood is to suffer, but suffering can be poetic if you don't show your sharp teeth or your open wounds. We, girls, are conditioned to fight and to ache for a gentle reminder that we are enough, that we don't have to destroy ourselves in order to save others, that we don't have to be the heroes that nobody writes stories about. We don't need to repent just for our mere existence. We don't have to carry the world's entire weight on our shoulders when in need of a shoulder to cry on.

[iiconspo]

The tragedy of being a woman: nurture and care for everyone, hold their hand while they cry and always conceal your wounds. The tragedy of being a daughter: witnessing the sacrifices of your mother, who gave up on her youth for your wellbeing. The tragedy of being the eldest daughter: exhaust yourself by taking care of everyone around you and seek perfection even when you know it's impossible because you were raised to be a realist but also an idealist. You were raised to bestow, pursue, nurture and aspire but never to take or receive.

[iiconspo]

If I ever push you away, please consider it an act of kindness and proof of how much I love you. Trust me, you don’t want to get too close to my open wounds or my broken heart. You may feel hurt if I push you away, but really, I’m just setting you free. A monster like me doesn’t deserve love; it can’t save me or give me hope. Hearing people say they love me leaves my throat dry and my eyes watering. Don’t, please, just don’t.

[iiconspo]

The rage I show isn’t directed at you; I’m sorry. It’s a portrait of how I see myself. I’m mean when I’m vulnerable, and lately, I feel like I’ve been stripped of everything I am and everything I own.

[iiconspo]

Our ending was abrupt. A part of me wishes we’d ended it all by screaming, yelling, throwing insults we didn’t mean. The hurt of your harsh words would have been sweetly bearable, but the hurt of your silent footsteps leaving my life is excruciating and hard to bear.

I’m not angry anymore; come back to me, your former home. Come and put me down, only to pick me back up. Reach out, and I’ll give you my all; call me, and I’ll listen to you. I’m afraid to reach for you—it’s like reaching into the darkness. Yet I will always be your light.

[iiconspo]

I’m a warehouse sending signals for you to find me, or perhaps I’m the one who needs to find you. All I know is that you ignore them, making the storm I bear more lonely and cold. A reminder of the good old times: I’d give you myself, and you’d eat until you were full, leaving me devoid.

[iiconspo]

There is a sharp pain in my chest that takes the shape of my father every once in a while. My father loves me, but he loves his money too. He loves me in a way I can’t understand, and I’m unable to translate it. My father comes from a place of hurt and pain, and his cold, burning love leaves marks on me. In this way, he becomes my place of hurt and pain.

[iiconspo]

Death wasn’t when we hadn’t spoken to each other for months, and it wasn’t when you broke my heart. Instead, death was when I woke up from a dream and realized I would never see your smile again. What a nightmare i am living.

[iiconspo]

I bite my tongue and clench my fists because how do i tell someone that i destroy myself on purpose. It's hard to explain the cage you are in to someone outside looking in. I’m the one holding the key, yet i’m the one locked in.

[iiconspo]

I ask forgiveness from everyone. Perhaps I didn’t treat you badly, but I’m sorry, I could have been better. I carry this pain, and no one offers to help. You, too, could have been better.

[iiconspo]

Maybe I would’ve been able to talk more about the sadness I feel if I hadn’t found ways to make it beautiful. Over time, it managed to shape itself into the things I love most. Once, it took the form of my friend when I felt misunderstood. When I was angry, it took the shape of my father. When I felt pressured to be perfect, it took the shape of my mother. The things and people you love the most absorb all your love, leaving none for yourself. I swallow the lump in my throat and condition myself to believe I love sadness—that it’s beautiful. I love my people too, they are beautiful.

[iiconspo]

how terrible is to feel lonely when you're surrounded by people. are you being mean to them or to yourself?

[iiconspo]

i can't wrap my arms around you anymore so i hold tightly to your memory

[iiconspo]

you lost a soldier, but i lost my land.

[iiconspo]

i am tired of missing you and i can’t rest, you haunt my dreams.

[kiisuuumii]

Dorothea Lasky, from "Misunderstood," in Thunderbird

[iiconspo]

we were never in love but i will never hold anyone in greater regards than you. i hope you remember my birthday, i will never forget yours.