kc

🕸️🪲⚜️

[girl-trying-to-escape-reality]

ⓘ This user just wanna sit in front of the ocean and listen to the waves.

[marxistbayou]

Panic attacks in the shower

Fit to the sound of the laughter in my head

Pent up thoughts and emotions

All the while void of the devotion of your stare

In your stare

When the rain pours down the windows the laughing turns to a hollow cry instead

I wish I could have a minute void of dread

Void of dead

[marxistbayou]

How amazing it would be to be able to believe in a world that’s not forgotten

A world that shines with the absence of time and a noise that’s dull and lulling

For what is light without darkness?

Joy void of pain?

Devotion without the lingering glance of passion?

How beautiful it would be to believe in a world where the light didn’t fuel the darkness.

[marxistbayou]

Religion tells me to honor those who have done me wrong

And respect the ones who gave me life.

This is no small feat when they are the same person.

They hold a covenant with each other, but have awarded no contract to me.

They hold the lives of one another in their fingertips, and mine in the pocket of their jeans.

The further from their hearts, the closer to God.

They bestow upon each other the peace of companionship and the wealth of limerence.

They fail to realize my own resolve is lacking.

For my quest for intimacy is demonized, my attempt at individuality squashed.

Religion tells me judgement is saved for the afterlife not the dinner table.

do the tags ruin this lol

[marxistbayou]

Mom said I can swear as long as I mean it.

So believe me when I say “fuck you,” from the depths of my soul.

When it rises from my diaphragm and pierces the barrier of sound, I hope it releases the emotion you evoked.

Tough love only works if you’re weak. If you’re willing to surrender.

The reason for my existence may be a mystifying conundrum, but I am unconcerned with the means of my maker.

The intent of His hands may be lost on me, but bar me from the title of a fool.

Prayer is stronger than abhorrence, and I won’t allow you to shake my faith.

[marxistbayou]

You and I both know maturation is only a phase away

As long as we look ourselves in the mirror when we cry we’ll survive

Honest and open to the emotion grounded in the motions of your swing

The toughness of your ring

Crying could be mistaken for joy

The flinch of disdain could not be from pain but an expression of mirth

Maybe living this life is less than I’m worth

[marxistbayou]

You know I pray every night for this feeling to be gone.

It never is.

Maybe God put it there for a reason.

[marxistbayou]

I keep the little moments for myself.

Just the small ones though.

I’ll crumble them up small enough to fit into my pocket and tuck them away.

I keep them for me. As a reminder of all that’s passed, and maybe all that could be.

These moments will tell me who I am.

One day I’ll find I’ve got a sack full of memories both beautiful and redundant. Mundane yet whole.

I’ll decide to lay them out on the table. I’ll unfurl them slowly, with reverence.

Life is in these tiny moments, these details.

They hold weight.

When the time comes, I’ve decided I’ll fold these moments into tiny stars instead.

No more crumpling.

No more shoving aimlessly into pockets.

That way, when they’re unfurled, we’ll relish in the way they twinkle.

[marxistbayou]

And when that ball in your chest fails to explode

I’ll attack you with pins and needles and force you to implode.

Because no matter how hard you purge your body of my poison,

I’ll find my way through the smallest crack and leech that freedom from your grasp.

I’ll wrench all feeling from those fingertips and seep into the lines on your wrists.

Time cannot hold a victim of passion. Rot only exists in death.

[marxistbayou]

I don’t remember my childhood.

I blocked a lot of it out.

The sighs, the noise, the lies, the toys

They all exist in a box.

On the box reads a label: do not disturb

It rests in the head of the other.

Her mind is numb, her body asleep

Safe from the breath of the past.

She’ll be alright, she’s protecting the light.

While I’m alone in the darkness.

[marxistbayou]

Today, there were whispers.

They started as hellos then turned into snickers.

They greeted their hands nudging their fingers.

Then there were whispers.

I walked past stiff, my back shrouded in wit. As they hurled their tongues and all of their sticks.

I let their sighs roll off in waves, I wouldn’t give my resolve away.

But, there were whispers.

Nose to the sky and head held up high, my disposition was a gift I would not cry.

The sounds were just noise reminiscent of toys we need not worry of their voice.

If only they weren’t whispers.

Say what you mean and mean what you say

People don’t always keep their resolve hidden away.

Some give in to the whispers.

[marxistbayou]

Your eyes are a smile.

Your hands are apart.

Our ankles are pointed at opposite walls.

My fingers are itching to smooth out your brow.

But they’re glued to my sides increasing your frown.

You say hello and I say goodbye.

An excuse on my lips as I flee to survive.

Tears fill my eyes. I forget my resolve.

I watch your face fall as I race down the hall.

[marxistbayou]

I’m jealous of the light from the moon.

It caresses those shoulders and forces you to bloom.

The pauses in your steps grow longer your eyes don’t wander.

When you’re around me, those steps never falter.

The moon is a welcome gift. It highlights your frame and casts shadows across that face.

While your eyes remain guarded, My face is bombarded with feelings splitting open my cheeks.

My eyes are too wide, my smile too bright. The world it won’t stop spinning.

It blinds the eyes that welcome the moon and drives you to relish in its solitude.

Needless to say, the light from my face could never compare to the moon.

My light will never be welcomed by shoulders.

Nor calmed by eyes.

It’s blinding.

And entirely too bright.

I’ll never touch those shoulders.

I’ll never calm those eyes.

But I can dream. God you’re killing me.

[marxistbayou]

I used to like the weight of people’s words in my stomach.

I felt full.

In the end, I felt like a fool.

When they find my basin full, they tip me till my own transgression spill.

They replace the space with their own obsessions and pound their pity like a drum.

When they find their words are dripping from the edges, they curse my pail for leaking.

The holes are damned, the handle slammed, the pail it slips from my fingers.

I try to catch their words, their bets, their hurt, their debts, but they all slosh from my bucket.

I’ve lost their nerve and all my worth, their vault it no longer exists.

The money is gone, the water is deep in the ground.

Losing it hurts more than the birth of the moment that started it all.

I’ll try to repent and reopen the vent, but emptiness is all I can feel.

[marxistbayou]

And just like that

Outta the blue

You took that moment and split it in two

The truth was happy

The other half crap

Maybe in your mind it was worth the snap.

Because the halves both perfectly whole

Were missing the words from the others throats

Maybe now you’ll realize that while moments are precious,

They don’t exist in a vacuum.

[marxistbayou]

I don’t think my parents even like each other.

They hurl their words like swords

And stick daggers of truth deep into the backs of the other

Their resentment is more evident on their lips than their love swaying from their hips.

I think they hate each other.

And stay out of the obligation of the contract written.

And the covenant created in the womb.

Us children suffer from their hatred.

All their laundry lives in my head and I hate the way they make each other feel.

[marxistbayou]

on dancing

Have you ever seen a meteor dance across the sky? I have and it is as glorious as the night that almost didn’t happen. One awful terrible day filled with loud suffering. With fear and hate. Then two glorious midnight hours with stars racing across the sky and silence. Silence so loud it was almost a sound of its own. A still hot sticky night cooled by the sand of an unlit empty beach. Where the stars of the universe decided to dance. Millions of years and miles away. And for two whole hours, I could bear witness to a time that didn’t exist. Maybe we live on after death like those stars. Maybe in our second life, we can dance.