Weight of my Words

Taylor Page | 24 | poet

[inkstainedmouth]

[inkstainedmouth]

Sext: Your musician fingers know how to lure songs out of my body. Siren lungs in the bedroom but with you we need a stadium. Play me there and there, tuning me up for a climax. God, with that mouth and those hands, have me on my knees with just a touch.

[inkstainedmouth]

I used to marvel at catcti and succulents, how they could survive on nothing for weeks how all they really needed was a place to be rooted and something to grow towards I was convinced I could train my body to do the same, to be this succulent girl, to always suck it in girl repeating “Nothing Tastes as Good as Skinny Feels” And I was praised for my eating disorder because when you’re not skinny, you’re just the fat girl getting healthy so it’s really hard to feel like I have an illness But it’s been four years of my fluctuating weight with the same old mindset and I just want this calculator in my head to finally be broken enough for my buttons to stop being pushed, no more adding and subtraction of my worth through this obsession of calorie counting And cake tastes a lot better than feeling skinny and feeling unconcerned about whether my hair was falling out or if I would get my period this month, about not feeling guilty about whether or not I checked the nutrition facts about not feeling hungry or tired or anxious is so so much better than whether or not I can fit into size extra small coffin at the end of the day because realistically eating disorders are a bigger killer than cancer And being thin is not worth that bat shit crazed look when I tell people I have a fear of drinking calories It’s not worth that skipped heartbeat trigger feeling my body feels when a friend tells me they haven’t eaten yet, or are starting a new diet And the most famous ‘get fit’ quote is ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day’ but I just want you to know that the fall of Rome didn’t happen in a day either so it was so easy to let losing weight,of being healthier become an obsession, to mistake progress for propaganda this society of dieting forces down my throat to keep me so full I won’t be able to swallow anything else and it’s really hard to feel like I’m sick when all of these billboards and commercials are telling me that starving is okay as long as no one’s noticing There was a time when I looked like the skeleton I was trying to hide in my closet and I used to only fall asleep when I counted my ribs like sheep I was a thousand word picture of all the visible 206 bones I wanted to pick with myself And I don’t look like this picture today mostly because I got to the thousand and first word: recovery And no one should feel like their worth should be measured in all their negative space, through thigh gaps and empty rib cages so This is for the day when my mind and stomach stop playing the Hunger Games at each meal I’ll gather all my courage to shake out my roots and continue my journey of recovery no matter how many times my feet are convinced they need to plant themselves in starvation mode because I don’t want to just survive, I want to live.

(via inkstainedmouth)

[inkstainedmouth]

Like a hallmark card made by Tim Burton I Prepared myself to step into this play house of characters Setting of eggshell floors and steel bar walls, holding your breathe in this haunted  lifetime movie doll house My grandmother the grief counselor, the control panel My mother the mourner, the catalyst hatchet My father the face of the gun, the trigger Begging to flesh this out Myself the casket, the dead weight who came weaponless to a spur of the moment fight Going home for the holidays wasn’t really my decision But before I took this guilt trip I had to stop at the gaslighting station Now driving back to a burial site since this house has been made into a funeral home My eulogy full of trigger warnings and insults Because when you live with depression you tend to talk in them When you live with my parents you are one This depression is only a side effect though// this depression only a death sentence// my body only the battle ground My Ptsd sounds like yelling instead of guns going off, my existence like a smoke alarm My Ptsd doesn’t like to be talked about My Ptsd manipulated into a gas lantern My mother the slick oil // my father the burning match // telling me to be thankful for the warmth they created And I am always lit I should really stop drinking to douse the flames Becuase fighting fire with fire just turns me into a house fire And I am a burn victim// my scars are not mine but my abusers to name And my parents tell me these are just birth marks //my fault, my fault// what was I doing living that close to light anyways My name an apology My body either a love letter or a suicide note depending on the parent I am writing to, But its always signed “I’m sorry” Unless I’m writing to myself, My parents holding my hand, guiding my pen to say that I deserved this I brought this on myself How disappointed they are in me for not being a firebender How dare I let myself be burned down Why have I not learned the talent of rising from the ashes I should be ashamed for being born human With this body, with these feelings Even though they are pulling the puppet strings Like sewing a key to a kite and flying me into a storm And when I came back scorched they are livid when I did not praise them for creating electricity I’m not sure why I still get shocked over How my spine holds a story no one wants to seem to read, The hero doesn’t get to win when the auto biography gets written by the abuser They own me // my copywriten story How ironic it is to be published by your worst critic Their privilege of being able to create me is also the ability to end me But what else can I do When they tell me to come home Because my helicopter parents know how to conduct a search party It doesn’t count if they’re seen wanting me plastered as this poster child if I read dead or alive My covers already been blown The judgement sentenced by the title Spoiler alert: she dies

Gaslit House Fire // t.p.g (via inkstainedmouth)

[inkstainedmouth]

Like the way animals go crazy before an earthquake, I’ve grounded myself to my fault lines. I need to know where my breaking points are at all times like escape routes to my past. My trauma has made me this person after all I just happen to want to be reminded of my humanity by feeling them all at once. I go without sleep and food for as long as possible so I can hallucinate my fears into real life, into tangible things I can fight sometimes turning the people I love into red flags, like tying a shipwreck to port oh captain, my captain I tried so hard to steal my last breathe and this makes me selfish for trying to go down without the ship I’m such a fucking poet I try so hard not to feel the things I can’t turn into poems I try so hard not to vent because I’ve been conditioned to filter it into pretty metaphors so everyone forgets I’m still hurting I let my ticks freeze me in time, my disorders come back for seconds and I let them devour me into this rabbit hole I come back starving and alone because anyone who follows me down gets lost anyways and I can’t afford anymore casualties My vanishing act is only real if I come back up at a lower weight I’m so tired but I keep having these nightmares of drowning and car crashes and flashbacks Maybe I grounded myself so close to this earth I let myself become a natural disaster or maybe those are just my intrusive thoughts, category: death wish Why am I always on this mission of self sabotage I just want to be enough My breaking point has become a glacier in global warming I don’t know how to unlatch my baggage to keep me from pulling me under and I finally understand the Titanic These waves of emotions are like a screaming tea kettle never being taken off the heat and this is why I’ve stopped sleeping My triggers are always on repeat My abusers like a vinyl on skip I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so tired of feeling What does safe even mean to someone who’s never even seen the outside of the vault? This is all i know Love like I’m breaking and entering, came in like a home wrecker My key to success belongs to the next person I get lost with Like a hacker trying to find the bugs in the relationship, not to kill them but manipulate myself into your perfect model girlfriend I looked into the windows of your soul and took a crash course into trying to update myself and when I can’t I just shut down So this is why I lock myself away, not for me but everyone else

The Crash and the Fall // t.p.g (via inkstainedmouth)

[inkstainedmouth]

Your fingers teeter over my tightrope body as if to say "is it safe?" "Will I fall?" I tense up when you finally touch me, I know I can be quite a balancing act.  I want to answer both questions with the same reply. (Yes/no) I'm not sure which is better. I'm not sure which is worse. My mouth trembles and I forget who's walking on the line, my tongue stutters against my teeth like feet fumbling I'm scared you won't like the answer "No, but its okay because ill fall with you"

A Lesson on Falling // t.p.g

[inkstainedmouth]

the photograph and the mirror don’t see eye to eye

warning: bodies in mirror may seem more distorted than appeared

vampires are lucky, i think, how wonderful it must be to not worry about your appearance

their reflection based off of reactions, the horror is genuine even though they too are called beautiful

i can’t help but correlate that horror with a compliment anytime I catch a glimpse of myself

to be a woman and in self love is still to be flawed

any reflection I see, I try to refract my bones and concave my skin

i relate to the vampire who hides in a coffin, for I have made my body a casket

a flip book of memories since birth and I’m not sure which size I’ve died in

my body: a stone

the photograph and the mirror: two birds

and I try to kill the imperfections

I flaw these images into a bunch of shards, into a monster and I can’t tell you what feels worse: the murder of myself or the fact that I witness it 

[inkstainedmouth]

i fall asleep, my body wrapping around you like the ocean does to a lighthouse

every nightmare drowns me awake, screams ‘do not abandon (relation)ship’

and i open my eyes

my light is still there, just a little further away

i talked to Poseidon, he will let me anchor the ocean for you

as long as you promise to stay bright for me

Atlas tells me how he knows when we are apart, our hearts weigh him down and his knees beg him not to buckle

the ocean sinks into his hands

Atlas is to Titanic as Missing You is to Iceberg

thank god for the safety net in my stomach that catches my heart when it drops

my love, your light is so far away from me

but my course will always be with you, I will be there soon

Just keep shining 

[inkstainedmouth]

Like the way animals go crazy before an earthquake, I've grounded myself to my fault lines. I need to know where my breaking points are at all times like escape routes to my past. My trauma has made me this person after all I just happen to want to be reminded of my humanity by feeling them all at once. I go without sleep and food for as long as possible so I can hallucinate my fears into real life, into tangible things I can fight sometimes turning the people I love into red flags, like tying a shipwreck to port oh captain, my captain I tried so hard to steal my last breathe and this makes me selfish for trying to go down without the ship I'm such a fucking poet I try so hard not to feel the things I can't turn into poems I try so hard not to vent because I've been conditioned to filter it into pretty metaphors so everyone forgets I'm still hurting I let my ticks freeze me in time, my disorders come back for seconds and I let them devour me into this rabbit hole I come back starving and alone because anyone who follows me down gets lost anyways and I can't afford anymore casualties My vanishing act is only real if I come back up at a lower weight I'm so tired but I keep having these nightmares of drowning and car crashes and flashbacks Maybe I grounded myself so close to this earth I let myself become a natural disaster or maybe those are just my intrusive thoughts, category: death wish Why am I always on this mission of self sabotage I just want to be enough My breaking point has become a glacier in global warming I don't know how to unlatch my baggage to keep me from pulling me under and I finally understand the Titanic These waves of emotions are like a screaming tea kettle never being taken off the heat and this is why I've stopped sleeping My triggers are always on repeat My abusers like a vinyl on skip I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so tired of feeling What does safe even mean to someone who's never even seen the outside of the vault? This is all i know Love like I'm breaking and entering, came in like a home wrecker My key to success belongs to the next person I get lost with Like a hacker trying to find the bugs in the relationship, not to kill them but manipulate myself into your perfect model girlfriend I looked into the windows of your soul and took a crash course into trying to update myself and when I can't I just shut down So this is why I lock myself away, not for me but everyone else

The Crash and the Fall // t.p.g

[inkstainedmouth]

Sext: I know I’m suicidal but I actually get scared when you make me catch my breath because I’ve never felt more alive around you. Your fingers are like static electricity always ready to resuscitate me (goosebumps from mouth to mouth, hands on my chest) sitting on you is like an electric chair and I’m not afraid to bolt on to you, your kiss an energizer that’s better than coffee because I like it all natural. I can’t stop shaking or tingling after the storm has left, but I’ve got a new found appreciation for lightning hands.

t.p.g

[inkstainedmouth]

Sext: I only know sign language and french so sometimes you are hard to read, but you taste like a poem and I love this ink stained mouth and how your spine becomes an open book to my touch and I don’t care how long it takes, I will finish you from cover to cover.

t.p.g

[inkstainedmouth]

Sext: I’ve always been one to stare up at the constellations in the dark, but even if it’s light out your kisses make me see stars. You hold me better than Atlas ever could with the world, but that won’t stop me from trying to make you comet first in the bedroom. Like Saturn’s rings, I’ll have you wrapped around my finger. Like the planets against the universe we move in sync and I’ve memorized your orbit. The fall from our climax hits harder than Icarus against the sunset, it feels so good it can’t be real. And when you’re gone, I myth you so much. But my bedsheets remind me that stars can still touch without the sky present.

t.p.g

[inkstainedmouth]

Sext: In bed, your body becomes an alocholic metaphor, I don’t know how to stop drinking you in at this bar, tender to your touch. You’ve got me tipsy over you. I’ll take another shot. Fuck drunk in love, you’ve got black out fingers. I’ll take another shot. Until the last call, until the finish.

t.p.g

[inkstainedmouth]

Sext: My body a honey pot and I’ve been long awaiting you to come out from hibernation, I’m sticky in anticipation. I hope you’re hungry because I’m ready to be eaten. I’m best in mouth fulls or to be licked off your fingers and this wait has been unbearable.

t.p.g

[inkstainedmouth]

Sooo I did a thing, inspired by one of your poems. I hope you like?

[inkstainedmouth]

Sext: Your mouth is a treasure that knows several languages, and you’ve mastered my body like your german and I only know how to say mein schatzi when your mouth is against me because your tongue is gold that molds against this heat. You are captain of this shipwreck on my bed; like a pirate you came for this treasure chest and the booty; please tell me you can ease the sea pouring from me. Please tell me you won’t shy away from the storm you’ve built up in me because neither of us are calm and I’m ready to shatter the skies with our love.

t.p.g

[inkstainedmouth]

i. My mother once told me that for every curse word I said, an angel sent to protect me would die. I was seven and stupid when she heard me saying the Lord’s name in vain and I didn’t believe her until now and it’s no wonder why nothing seems to go right in my life anymore. I killed all of my guardian angels the first week I learned I loved to say ‘fuck’ and 'damn’. And I think the curse words chipped at my soul like old paint creating a place for the devil’s evil to stay. Or as my psychology book calls it: depression.  ii. My mother used to tell me stories of when she and my father were first married; how she’d wake up in the middle of the night to see him snacking on cookies. This is what my depression does every night and I wake up to it feeding on my brain like a poison infecting me slowly, controlling me, killing me and angels can’t help zombies. So I crumble and break like the remnants of my father’s abandoned cookie when my mother dragged him back to bed. iii. My mother never warned me about depression. She never warned me about any of the symptoms. Like loss of appetite so at one point my body slowly diminished until I was the walking skeleton in my closet and I looked as empty as I felt and I still wonder how my weak bones had the strength to hold up my heavy thoughts. Or like loss of sleep and I always said I’d sleep when I’m dead but I already feel that way and I’m sure even in my grave I’ll be tossing and turning. Or like loss of motivation and I slowly lost my interests in everything I loved, subconsciously forgetting the meaning of my aesthetic.  So I didn’t realize for a long time the things I were feeling weren’t normal. I was never warned the thought of death would be more familiar than the back of my hand. iv. My mother had wished I would see her as strong and although she is for herself, deep down I know she’s not compared to me. It’s difficult to see her as strong when she can barely climb into bed at the end of the day while my morning routine is trekking up Mount Everest just to crash at the end of the night with Angel Falls and despite the name there were no angels waiting down at the bottom to catch me after the devilish depression pushed me off.  But I’m still alive so there has to be something looking out for me and I wonder if that’s just a poor analogy for me being the last angel after being able to break my falls. v. My mother says my writing skills were blessed to me from my deceased grandfather, that my power through words could have only come from a pastor with an amateur experience in writing. But why can’t it be an ability I’m capable of by myself without an explanation. And I say not even my mother can tell me how I’m able to do things when I know my hell can turn words into a heaven and that I was blessed with a man who makes me feel like it’s not too late to be saved from myself when I see angels being created each time he smiles.

Things My Mother Has Told Me t.p.g (via inkstainedmouth)