feeling extremely haunted right now

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almost home
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
trying on a metaphor

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Misplaced Lens Cap

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Keni
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Xuebing Du

titsay

blake kathryn
we're not kids anymore.

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@oncelia
feeling extremely haunted right now
i need to do something other than ache
but how?
but what?
alas, i am unhinged
so these are all the places we would have kissed had i not been a fool?
so this is the splendour that calls me by another name.
i can only love while lying
i need to do something other than ache
but how?
i need to do something other than ache
i am covered: entirely in your sorrow,
entirely in my own demise. the path i built
to lead me nowhere still leads me nowhere
and still, my mouth hangs open in surprise.
still, i seek comfort from you,
seek comfort til i am dripping in another's sorrow -
it takes a moment for me to realise that it is not yours.
not yours, no, certainly: it comes from inside of me
though i do not know who it belongs to
i have returned post-trauma!
seized the beasts from the rain
and disemboweled them.
no more tongues, hooves, pupils
to dilate. no more shining lights
and iodine and smelling fear. i have plucked them
from their homes, erased their teeth,
been acquitted. after all, why not me?
after all, this is a trial. they made that clear.
these are trying times. you made that certain.
you placed me on a white bed, you cut me
and walked away. you confirmed my name
before doing any of it. as though sleeping in front of you
isn't the same crime repeating itself.
as though you cut the other one any differently.
as though my birthdate, clarified again and again and again
by my only tongue
with only my mother as a witness
might change. and maybe you hoped it would.
and maybe i would pay $200 to call you what you are --
maybe the violence of my father does have some use
after all.
and maybe i can find you by searching for a previous version of myself,
or is she tainted too?
we can both play the same game, both choose not to fear
the consequences. both be guilty at the same time,
one of us less so than the other.
maybe you have exaggerated your ability to walk away,
but then again,
maybe so have i.
i must tend to this garden
whatever in it blooms
declared by some god
a giver --
a woman who grows things
until she is overcome with what blossoms
a woman who will not pull out the weed
not even when it outgrows her home
not even when her body is sprouting leaf and vine
and the repellent sits on a windowsill
not even when the god finally comes back
to say she is free
to say the overgrowth is past tense now, there are new homes
to inhabit
new gardens to grow
no, the woman will never
stop tending, and after all, what is a woman
without being tender? at least, she knows this is what they will say
and if she abandons what she begged to grow?
what they demanded? what they said would one day be beautiful?
perhaps she would not be a woman after all
she thinks, maybe womanhood can cease
at some point
if you stop letting the infection spread
or maybe it's the other way around
maybe being a woman is to hurt
to let the vine grow
and grow
and grow
scared to stop watering it
in case it is all that is left
i have no more words! they are gone from me!
the lobotomy
i write my poems and leave
the honey is dripping down my sleeves
and everyone has touched them
mouths opening and closing it is a
tragedy for them to be wordless
raped of all trauma
mannequins for peace
but i am her frontal lobe twitching on the floor
——– i make sure she remembers.
in the white snow
there are some places where a lack of hunger is worse than starving. for example: in the white snow where i lost you. children have planted berries there. they walk past after school, their eyes scanning the ground for new growth. i don’t tell them how this lack of light stagnates movement. they think that life can persist wherever life persists. they haven’t been outside of the city. there are a few things i have learned: absence becomes you; she doesn’t move over when something else arrives. when children speak, they are always telling the truth. humans remember the way light hits their furniture, but don’t realise until the house is empty. the sun sets exactly where you are gone. the biggest misconception about loss is that it empties you; i am so full.
the two of us
i say your name and it becomes a poem on its own. even when we aren’t talking, there is no lack of language.
heatstroke
if you could wake up and ask me anything maybe the questions would bruise or maybe your tone would transplant the trauma.
on the mattress: i’m licking an icy pole and practising: i am getting better at being asleep. i am getting better at pretending to dream.
in the evening: the questions flee. i am starving, i am sucking out the seeds of fruit. i am asking if there is such a thing as sorry enough.
i am telling secrets to other girls. i am asking cousins what they know. i am praying god won’t give me a sister. i am careful of my aunty’s truth. i am watching my mother to see if she moves the same way i do. i am studying genetics. i am finding out this trauma is hereditary.
i am wondering: how can i hurt so much that it never happened? how can the daughter of a god learn to talk???
i am big and small, i am hearing! i am someone, i am named, i leave bruises, on the other side of doors. i get painted in gold, it’s in my blood.
i am sweating, the truth swells and throbs.
i am soothing the beast, telling him not to worry:
my art-form is forgetting.
chocolate wanted / i haven’t seen you in ages
me and shae walk down my street
at night; there is a single street lamp;
a house with sleeping light
and from there we hear the music,
the wailing ghosts. we are scared
so we run away. jump the fence
and make a pinky promise
never to leave the other’s side.
we’re sitting beside the grass,
resting,
wanting chocolate - freddo frogs and caramello koalas.
then, we see the white light move beyond the fence
and before i can stand,
shae is gone.
i wonder if i will ever stop thinking of you