madison mariet @madisonmariet - Tumblr Blog

generational wealth creating equity in hell because i work four jobs and i can’t afford to feed myself- while my parents put themselves through school with the money under their pillow from a fucking tooth. unions, wages, and legislation all in favor of the working class’ labor, ‘til the working becomes the earning and suddenly everybody’s learning higher prices, lower payments, let’s forget the rules we created. “if it’s not benefiting me, then why do we need it” they say across the table, looking in the eyes of the poverty they enabled. “if you work hard enough then you could be bezos too,” like asking a fish to climb a tree as if there aren’t a billion barriers between you and me

m.t

remember when i was just a tiny tree? unintelligible, idealized, romanticized…? you were always dreaming about who i was supposed to be- an inch taller, perfect model, for a neighbor’s favorite gardening magazine. but what can you do when the white picket fence stops at the front lawn? when the camera man asks to come inside and you slam the door? do you cut the tree down, move towns, and disappear? do you plant a new seed, wait a few years, and sharpen your blade? well, this is what happens when your tree is not a tree, and your axe is not an axe, and you wake up after 22 years have passed-

was this part of the plan?

m.t

listening to the record we used to play on repeat laid up in bed, at my parents, when we were 17 do you ever wonder what we could be if you meet me at our hometown bar next wednesday eve? we could be the next cliché, hooking up during winter break, then parting ways with a fresh heart break. but instead in my mind, with fingers intertwined, we’re nervous high school lovers listening to front porch step on repeat- record skipping, put down a dime, oh, what i would pay to make you mine. record-skipping type frame of mind, oh, what i would play to make you mine

m.t

#s.v

if i were a missing person, would they know who they are looking for? have the parts of myself i’ve accidentally allowed to creep out served as enough identification in all forms? or simply a missing persons poster?

a bright-brown-eyed girl w/ brown hair shoulder length 5’6” just like every other woman in middle America

but what happens now as my body is torn limb from limb? will they see the roots of my soul inked into my ribs as cherries from the north of France and say,

“No, that’s not her…”

or will it be when they find my left leg torn and tucked away with a gentle heart that writes « liberté » and then they will say,

“No, that’s not my daughter.”

Your daughter with the passion of a thousand suns for language, literature, love… You’d be right. That’s not your daughter. Your daughter is a pessimist. A follower. A coward. Obeys to your whims and the laws of God which were written by man.

I am not your daughter. I haven’t ever been nor ever will I.

I am subjugated to dissipate in the icy, frozen lake as another unidentified victim of one’s hollow, earthly shell.

My body floats in pieces.

I am cold.

Know that my blood is unrecognizable to those who share it; therefore I am happy to be drained and let.

Into dust and dirt I go, fueling earths revenge.

m.t

women are not one-dimensional.

i am allowed to be angry and i’m allowed to cry and i am allowed to yell and

i am allowed to be loud!

i am allowed to be attentive and quiet, too,

i’m allowed to contradict the things i used to believe and

i am allowed to breathe.

i am allowed to take up space.

i am allowed to make others uncomfortable if the sheer power and importance of a woman makes them uncomfortable.

i am allowed to be educated and i am allowed to make mistakes.

i am allowed to wear what i want, when i want, and do with my body exactly what i want.

i am allowed to not attract you and i am allowed to be confident in doing so.

i am allowed to be.

finally,

i am allowing myself to be.

m.t

2:41am

i finally pry out of your grasp and stare up at the paint chips on the ceiling. i recognize your breathing well enough to know the stranger beside me fell asleep two hours ago. i make faces come alive in your four walls until they get much too dark to see and then they disappear. i’m floating on a mattress out at sea as the rain stretches past the windows and reaches my eyes. i can feel the storm coming because the weather pours louder on your rooftop and the waves are crashing as the washer tumbles your yellow sweatshirt. your laundry buzzes and i nudge you, simply searching for excuses to no longer lay here alone, homesick in a bed that isn’t mine. but you groan, and you don’t hear me. you never do hear me.

m.t

#poetry #poem #l.y

i dream of you kissing me once again

and laugh when i awaken;

my lips would taste so spoiled

from all the liberties they’ve taken,

since you’ve seen me last.

i wonder where you’ve been

and if you’ll ever call, but

i remember i’ve grown into a flower,

face to the sun, and six feet tall,

since you’ve seen me last.

m.t

#poetry #poem #s.v

The most broken I have ever felt in my entire life

Sitting at my steering wheel, pulling from your drive

Knowing I’d be leaving home, returning more alive

Just so you forget you love me

And decide we’re cutting ties

The darkest I have ever felt in my entire life

Sitting on the floor staring up at bathroom lights

Warmed in a pool of blood pouring from my sleeve

Where I slashed at every word you’d ever lied to me

m.t

#s.v #poetry #poem #tw

#music #musique #banks #III #if we were made of water

driving me home on a sunday morning

I’ve had too much and I can’t stop talking

about the road we’re on and the sights we’re

passing

I close my eyes and picture us dancing

to the love song you play on your radio.

your hand fits my thigh

and our fingers intertwine

you look ahead at all the signs and I stop

speaking.

I feel the rumble ‘neath my feet and

realize that you’re still speeding.

one fast crash and we leave this car bleeding.

but I decide to trust you;

I’ve just got this feeling.

m.t

#m.t #poetry #poem #j.k

chicago, fall 2018

#c.w #m.t #photography #chicago #nf #nightly

i had a nightmare last night but i call it a dream

where you said you wanted to love me like when we were seventeen

but it’s one year and eight months of lonely nights later

and i just woke up next to a stranger

but in my head, we’re somewhere in D.C,

sharing a twin bed

i’m locked on your green eyes, ignoring the sun rise

and i love the way you laugh

oh, God, just take me back

‘cause i had a nightmare but i called it a dream

where you hadn’t left yet,

your breath hot on my neck,

and you meant what you said

but you’ve been fucking with my head

please just be with me instead

m.t

#s.v #poetry #poem #m.t

#s.v #music

#music

I dreamt about you again last night but this time it wasn’t what could have been, what never will; it wasn’t what we had– what I had hoped for. But it wasn’t reality, either. It wasn’t quite static or listless questions floating in the spaces between consciousness. It wasn’t the scent of your hair or the yearning for your touch. It was no longer the soft, subtle, sadness hanging over me in a cloud as I slept. It was loud. It was loud and it was violent and it was hateful. I don’t know which is worse: you telling me my every flaw, or not telling me anything at all. But those feel like pretty much the same thing.

m.t

#s.v #poetry #narrative #poem

m.t

#m.t #photo #photography

I.

I don’t want to be pushed away as a “what if” in the back of your mind just so I can sit and stare at you as both our hearts bleed onto each other’s like a cry for attention. If our love will burn, it will light us up until the smoke is too much for our fragile lungs and we crumble beneath our twisted sense of self.

I want to burn until we can burn no longer and we will not stop just because we are thirsty.

II.

I said I wanted us to burn, but I should have known, fire never lasts

when the only oxygen I breathed was captured between my heart and its cast.

When is my tomorrow? The day will never come.

You said, “it only gets better from here”

But all I hear is

“We’re done,”

“We’re done.”

m.t

#s.v #poetry #poem

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madison mariet