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@mymagpienest
I loved you so much the words used to catch in my throat
Like some big, dark secret, or a crust of bread
I used to make you say it back
Like a baby, wailing, ‘love me, love me!’
I wonder what I was so afraid of
Your answer, probably, or the lack thereof
Hold me in your mind
Make me in your image
Reflect my love back so I know that it’s real
(Pain demands witness, but so does love)
I cannot know myself if you do not either
I am naked, I am lost, I am unwhole
Take my hand, wipe my tears, piece me back together
I am only myself insofar as I am yours
Love me, love me
Please
- IS
Vicente Aleixandre, from Sound of the War; A Longing for the Light: Selected Poems, 1979
anyone else manic pixie dream girl themselves a bit too close to the DSM-5 and end up here?
I often wished you’d hit me harder
So that there might be some mark, some blooming evidence
Of the fear and hurt and fury inside me
Sometimes I imagined all that rage spilling up and out my mouth
Staining my teeth black, one by one, with misbegotten hate
You did, once
I stared at myself in the mirror for hours
Lightly probing the skin
A bruised pear, dragged up the stairs by its throat
I looked and looked until the purple started to spread
Down my neck, my chest, into my heart
Slowly turning it black, rotting me from the inside out
I felt your hands on me for weeks after
The bruise only lasted a few days.
- IS
I have fashioned myself after you
Pinned up this pretty, painted, porcelain girlie
Look, ma, we have all the same stitches
In all the same places
I have tried to be you for as long as I can remember
Playing dress up with your handbags and your heels and your habits
A papier-mâché daughter
I wanted to fix you so much
I am beginning to think I undid myself in the process
Please ignore the ash
Spilling from my seams
Please ignore the dirt under my fingernails
From clawing at the roof of a coffin
Not even in the ground
Did I do it?
Satis sum?
- IS
C’est compliquée, ma cherie
I cannot protect you
The ice is already fracturing beneath our feet
Do you not know I would give you anything
(everything)
And the blood from a stone and the soul
From the root of the world if you would let me?
Do you not know I am you more than I am myself?
I see you watch me through the warps of steam
That curl from the glass after a shower
Your smile in the cracked skin of my lips
Your eyes reflected back across two or three or thirty years
If I screamed I think you would too
- IS
just a little something that came to mind
Frida Kahlo, from a letter written in 1934, featured in "The Letters of Frida Kahlo,"
Khalil Gibran
Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Vita Sackville-West dated 20 March 1928