Dirty Looks and Ambiguous Feelings @modernizedoldsoul - Tumblr Blog

On Getting My Pocket Picked by DoorDash

Hello, friends. I’d appreciate a signal boost on this, if you don’t mind.

Do you do business with DoorDash? Have you ever? I’d like to recommend that you go take a quick look at your statements for the last six months or so from your financial institution for any cards you’ve ever used with them and make sure that they haven’t been billing you for anything you haven’t explicitly authorized. I’ll wait here while you do.

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You shove your heart into my hands without seeing the look on my face, and I plead with you, telling you, "stop, no, I don't want it," but before I can get the words I'm choking on out you wrap my hands around it and expectations are wrapping around my throat, choking me, a dainty python invisible to anyone but me, and as I'm handed this thing I cannot handle, you do not notice the shackles that appear on my wrists.

I handed you my heart, once upon a time, you could not hold it with both hands, one was always preoccupied in delicately putting together a pungent smelling plant into tobacco wrappings, that ended in heady smelling smoke. I disappeared in that smoke and you never noticed. A magic trick, one day I was there, and then I was not. Poof.

You gaze at me longingly and I cannot tell you what you seek no longer exists, a girl seeking validation in nothing but a boy.

But you weren't nothing but a boy. You were- you were a god. That was then, but this is now. I worshipped you with reverence that you rejected. Too much, too much. The flowers I left in your wake littered the floor. I wanted a piece of me always with you.

A piece of me always was with you. Once upon a time. That was then, but this is now. A piece of my heart was carried with you, a sliver shaped like the crescent moon, clipped off like a discarded fingernail, cared for naught by me, but a hope that it would be cared for by you, I was nothing, you were everything, my everything, the night sky my darkness, you the stars that chased everything away, your arms enveloping me familiar constellations that would guide the way home.

And then you were put up with the sun, a blazing pedestal, so bright, so bright, outshining everything in view, until I realized you were only human, and by then the blistering heat had evaporated the little bit of me left in the little bit of you. Too little, too late, you never noticed.

Invisible girl, always, for better or for worse, your invisible girl, now you see me, now you don't, now I hide in your chest, burying my face in the familiar dark, now I sit in the corner, while you silently puff, a statue, silence is very becoming, no words pass between us but a joint does.

Bodies writhing, everything nonlinear, I think of the way I prettied myself up for you, splattering red across my lips, wanting to negate a picture of innocence, and climbed onto the bed with you. Sleeping, I wanted to impress You, hastily climbing onto you, leaving red lipstick marks everywhere. You woke up in a daze, and I sunk myself onto you. I wasn't ready, the slickness of myself barely enough. It hurt, a bit. But it hurt, for you, and I sunk onto you and endured it, wanted to please You, to be a picture perfect girl.

I think of the first time I sunk onto you, and how wondrous that felt, and then I think of how rushed everything was, later, faster, quicker. You want to do that position I hate, I endure it at first, it isn't a good churning and feels like everything is spinning and you say you're almost finished and I grit my teeth and it isn't as wonderful as everyone says it is, and I think of the other times I saw stars and it was better than everyone says, and then I think of how later on I would never do that position and how when I said it hurt you turned your back for a second with crossed arms and a frown with my legs still spread wide, a sacrifice to you, the way I'd wince and you wouldn't notice and my moan of pain made you go faster, harder, unpleasant. I think of other times when you went slow, torturously slow, touching me in a way that set my veins on fire and paid attention to everything from the part of my lips to the sound of my heartbeat to the way I looked at you and the times when you didn't turn your back and looked near ready to cry. "I hurt you, I'm sorry," when I assured you it was fine and it had been my choice but you still apologized nonetheless, wanting to soothe my pain and wishing to take it onto yourself instead.

And then I think of the words, "you're over all the time," and how they echoed in my head and how I felt you drop my heart and the thud of it hitting the earth and every time I hear them it seems to repeat, the versions of my heart a never ending Matryoshka doll.

And "I just want a little less of you," and how I did it then, I shrank, and you begged me to come back and I never could, and how you later on acted like you would sacrifice yourself for me, if you could, and today, I believe you would, the way you gather me into your arms and say "I love you", I have no doubt that you do. You want to take those words back, you punish yourself for them everyday, but they float into my face, little notes the same as the ones I used to slide under the bathroom door when you were taking too long, "I miss you", "I love you", and "hurry up", the daydreams and long talks full of silences and silences full of long talks, like today, the finality of everything, and how everything and I mean, everything reverberated through me like a plucked violin string and I could feel it, deep in my core.

I recall the days full of pleasure, writhing at your hands, and days where you forgot I was capable of that, rushing, rushing, rushing, and I endured, and in the beginning, even if you treated me invisibly, the occasional butterfly brush of your lips against my cheek, and your arms around me, for the first meeting ever, happy, Happy, Happy, euphoria, misery, misery, misery, happy, happy, all at your hands, and the day I realized you weren't a god, but a man.

And how much you wish you could change things, but again, you aren't a god, you're a man, and a frayed string eventually breaks from its tether.

And maybe its a blessing in disguise, holding onto nothing with clenched fists only ends up with crescent shapes in your hand, the same shape as the sliver of my heart that evaporated in yours, but I know.

I don't need that piece anymore, I don't need someone to hold it anymore.

I only fell out of love because my heart became someone new. I became someone new. No longer the story of a heartbroken girl and a god she believed could fix her, the story of a girl, with a heart, frayed and tattered, perhaps battered but still beating, walking away from a boy, after handing back his heart, placing bandages where she could, and whispered apologies where she could not, hoping her absence could heal them if nothing else.

And that is the end of us today.

#ex past love tumblrwriters prose love fallingoutoflove #mythology #heartbreak #Writer #excerpt from a book i'll never write

starlitstory

maybe i love better with the lights off. thats why i flinch each time you walk out of the dark. hum me lullabies but never sing. drive me home but never turn on the headlights. and you can hold my hand but never my heart. i only chase shadows and silhouettes. i never get what i grasp for but maybe thats the point. this is not something i can change right now. so forgive me, i keep running into the night. forgive me, i close my eyes when we kiss. forgive me, i cannot see a future in you if you see it too. i tried saying your name out loud but it only sounds right in a whisper. only sounds right when it isn’t real. maybe im scared of the end. maybe thats why i flinch each time i see the road.

—S.Y. // i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry

Dear diary

I keep waiting for... Something striking to happen. Every day passes and truthfully, I find no interest in people much anymore, preferring to immerse myself in guarded introspection and observations that make no one but myself chuckle. I keep waiting... Waiting... Life has seemed like a waiting game, like soon something will burst from a door, explain why it feels this way and give me some change. I need change, not want. I basically crave it at this point. I want a person to show me different, I want a meteor to suddenly fall from the sky and impact my life, jar me awake, shake me up. Wake me up. Everything has seemed the same, and repetitive.

I want midnight adventures again, and laughter at nothing but the fact that we have the audacity to go on midnight adventures, I'm so tired of being safe and other people sticking to what's familiar and routine, the same boring old routine. I want change. And, I want to be change.

I want change as much as I want to be someone else's change, to introduce them to something new and bring excitement and curiosity, awaken the inner child and make your skeletons of the past dance until they crumble to dust and neither of us are concerned about what has happened in the past anymore, and be allowed to be someone new in each other's presence.

I want this, so badly, like an ache.

But I don't know where to start, but to ask, do you sometimes yearn for this, this thing you can try to put into a million words and still be unable to capture- do you want this too?

And I've met some people who never answered but their souls sang, they screamed until their lungs were hoarse, "Yes", like a song that only we know, belting out the lyrics in a beat we've memorized years before even though we never met. And I've met others, others who ask, "What do you mean?"

Others who tuck their arms around you as you fling yours out and open to the universe, folding you back up, asking you to remain in the comfort zone, to swallow back your screams and whoops of joy as they're a little too jolting, to be content with a little bit of rain, as that's all the excitement they can handle and stop dancing in the storm because it worries them,

I want people who want to be struck by lightning with me, not even that, I want people who are so filled with awe and openness that they become the lightning, and nothing can harm them, nothing can harm as, as you streak across the sky, and let the rain pound against your face, and open your mouth and just get a little taste...

A little taste of freedom.

glassbonespaperskin

Lovely little sky image

#sky #night #night sky #aestethic #lonely #peaceful #moonlight #creative writing #writers of tumblr #poetry #writing #writer #nature

spiderrrling

I am a(n):

⚪ Male

⚪ Female

🔘 Writer

Looking for

⚪ Boyfriend

⚪ Girlfriend

🔘 An incredibly specific word that I can't remember

valtsv

tarot reading but no matter how many cards i pick i just keep drawing the fool

bostonpoetryslam

“A poem is not a place in which we negotiate with the oppressor, it’s a place where we talk back.”

— Marilyn Chin, “Translating Self: Stealing from Wang Wei, Kowtowing to Hughes, Hooking Up with Keats, Undone by Donne,” from After Confession: Poetry as Autobiography

alisonzai

valtsv

me: i don’t need to write this down i’ll remember it

me literally a minute later:

wahtdahel-blog

Most of the medical research was done on white males and their response to medicine. This is why medical books should only serve as a framework but clinical expertise matters more.

And this is why we need more black doctors.