sincerely, me

a. cho ; proper noun. someone who only wants to speak without hurting. (synonyms: wanderer, poet, star.)    

[poisonlaurels]

dearest, we are daring: we are dashing all our hopes against the breakers— but we are made of more than seafoam so we will weather this still. you said to me, the future is formidable. and i said, we must not be afraid. there is love in the spaces between sand. we will find it there or die trying or live failing or we will live and i will find you and you will find me and in this way, nobody is ever truly lost.

lessons from oceans || a. cho for (@illuminosity)

[poisonlaurels]

one day i'm gonna feel a whole lot better than i do right now, and that's a threat!

[poisonlaurels]

u kno some days u have to hold urself up. not in the lion king circle of life way, in the way when ur best friend doesnt pick up the phone but its ok because that means theyre busy, not that they love u any less. but because theyre not available u have to love urself more then.

sometimes the dark is vast and there is only u that u can see.

so love urself. be braver. tell urself that its going to be alright when u dont believe it will. cry it out. talk to urself in the mirror. tell that reflection person, ur doing the best u can and thats enough for now. take deep breaths. breathe deep sighs. oxygenate ur lungs. nobody’s going to do that for u so do it for urself. 

when the dark is vast u must be vaster.

[poisonlaurels]

how do i ignore the bad voices in my head?

pt. 1

but are they bad or are they true? this is what keeps me up at night. what’s your poison? or maybe they’re bad and true. it’s hard to tell when the truth is you just feel bad. 

so here’s a thought: maybe it doesn’t matter. either way they’re still knives to your back from a mind that won’t lie still.

pt. 2

my counselor put it like this: your head is a house and every bad voice is the knock of an unwanted guest— but you don’t have to answer the door. she said, intrusive thoughts are kind of like mental vampires— they need an invitation to do their worst. you can say no. you can say no. (how do i say no?)

the problem is, i think my home has broken windows; anxiety is in the air. there’s a draft of despair blowing vicious, clawing at the edges of my mind, and shadows creep through cracks in the wall. all my demons live here; (i’m not good at saying no.)

pt. 3

i don’t know, sometimes it’s kind of nice having company. my brain goes, “let’s die” and i retort “fuck off” and it’s a familiar exchange. like sure, there are terrible thoughts and terrible times but at least i can get the last word in.

so i guess what i’m saying is you don’t have to pretend. i’m saying use what works, and when ignoring doesn’t save you that means it’s time you find another way to save yourself. i’m saying, ignore them or not— you’re still strong.

— the haunted & the houses || a. cho for @ace-on-ice

[poisonlaurels]

i would rather tear myself apart than love you again.

but i’m over it || a. cho

[poisonlaurels]

04.10.2018 been thinking about spring again

[poisonlaurels]

when you fall in love, are you falling or flying? here's the truth: sometimes they're the same thing. i mean isn't flying just falling in style? they're the same thing. i mean flying or falling you still end up on the ground. here's a tip: it's only love if you land on your feet.

the truth about falling in love || a. cho

[poisonlaurels]

i wish i could be brave enough to believe i won’t run out of words; but i am caught up in the fear of being finite. my parents always taught me that i would never be enough, that i would never make it to eternity, that only god himself could compensate for all i lacked.

so now every time i try to write, i remember coming up short in front of altars and wondering where heaven would find the space to store my emptiness. every time i start sharing another piece of the person i’ve become, the sounds stick to my tongue because i am afraid of lasts.

i mean, after twenty years i still have nightmares about being left behind.

[poisonlaurels]

quick question: how do you care without caring too much. how do you love without being crippled by loss. i mean, i don’t let down easy so i keep my expectations low but i still end up disappointed. hey, at least i’m not devastated. i mean, i pay my dues: a little happy, a little sad. a balance that burns light and easy. hey, it’s not like i want to set myself on fire. i just want something more to see by.

[poisonlaurels]

i’m angry about love, is what i’m saying. my heart breaks in all the same places and the familiarity is sickening. i mean, is this really all i get? fractures following a lightning tree that crack every time they run full with grief. sometimes i don’t love myself well. or—i love something a little too much, so i retaliate by not loving anything at all. protection that is walls that is prison that is enough. i’m running out of things to write about, is what i’m saying. i mean, where can i hire a sledgehammer because it’s time to throw caution to the wind.

[poisonlaurels]

ari.

the cicadas are singing / the cicadas are dying in droves. they are droning graveyard hymns so relentlessly i have to wonder: is it their funeral or mine? maybe i am the one being buried here under the summer heat. maybe i should be mourning too.

dear dante, do you wear shoes in chicago? what i mean is: will you still be the same as i remembered? and do i want you to be the same? you can’t answer these questions; i’m just wondering, i guess. just wishing something could be different even though i don’t know what.

dante.

dear ari, chicago is too full of shoes; not enough birds / not enough dreams. i miss swimming, and i miss you— can i say this, at least? i almost miss el paso, but the memories of home are starting to blur. everything hazy except you’re always in sharp focus. you can’t answer but i’m also wondering: if i held your hand, could we make it through all these faded june afternoons?

ari.

(maybe. i don’t know. i don’t know—)

dante.

if we carried hope into a thunderstorm could we finally taste the rain?

— boys like us || a. cho

[poisonlaurels]

a girl falls into a fight her blood says murder and there’s this graveyard city around her at the bottom of an abyss

— blackout of thea by @elisabethhewer || a. cho

[poisonlaurels]

it's spring again. what i mean is— i don't feel any better, but i forgot that flowers bloom, and something in my chest still aches for color. wait, what i mean is— i don't know when the roses opened. part of me is angry they opened at all, because i am not an open rose. i am an empty chest with my lungs clenched in two fists, my heart between my teeth; i bite down because i can't touch the petals without searing them to ashes. i am too angry, is what my therapist says. i harbor my wounds like battleships for a bitter war but i don’t know what i’m fighting. it's spring again, i mean— spring is over so quickly. does it even matter? maybe i just hate the way it gets cold again; maybe i can't feel safe in my skin until summer really storms in. it's spring again. everything's growing except for me.

frostbite || a. cho

[poisonlaurels]

life put out her stars, so she emerged from the darkness incandescent.

girls become fireworks || a. cho

[poisonlaurels]

dear depression,

i hope you know what you've done. when you chose me as your victim i was young and naive, awkward and self-contained. everywhere i stepped i saw broken glass and splintered crosses so i tread fearfully. when you chose me, you chose well. i didn't know difference yet between feeling sad and choking on an inexplicable sadness which, to this very day, still claws and crawls its way up my throat when people ask, "what's wrong?" i didn't know, but you taught me.

you taught me that the best way to divert attention from myself was laughter, a smile; people don't have to inquire after my health because they can see for themselves. clearly i am ecstatic, i am on top of the world, i am joy if joy skipped meals and forgot how to sleep, how to feel, how to care. i had many bad days. and i don't need to tell you the number of times i screamed softly under covers at my own emptiness, because you already know. you were there, not a witness but a cause.

i remember how you decided to play hide and seek with my happiness. most days you left me fumbling in the darkness, haunted by everywhere i had gone wrong and terrified of everything i could still ruin. ever relentless, you kept stealing, and stealing, and stealing, another week, another month, another year of my life. but for every painful hour i spent forgetting myself and slipping from grace, i learned.

you made your home beneath my skin and constricted my lungs and crashed static through my thoughts, but i learned to let my friends and family fill my tormented mess of a brain with stories of hope triumphant and sing lullabies to the cacophonies that echoed in my ears, and when i could believe in anyone but myself they told me i was loved, and i learned to trust them instead of the splintered emotions that ran jagged through my small and sorrowful heart.

now, i am not the same person bending over backwards to walk with your weight. i am not the empty house with dead lightbulbs and cracked plaster walls. i am not the destructive self-harmer with anhedonia. i spent too much of my life wanting to die when what i really wanted to do was live. and now, because of you, but thanks to me, i can do that.

dear depression, you taught me how to die in spite of myself, and that i couldn’t help. but in fighting you, i learned to live for myself and i chose to live. i choose to live.

sincerely, thanks for nothing

[poisonlaurels]

i don’t think i’ve ever told you this, but you can always get me crying. not in a bad way, in a “i haven’t cried for months but there’s a knot of grief in my chest that won’t loosen and you unravel that” way. a good way. and it happens so naturally that i am only surprised when i look back on it. the way your words wind themselves around my wounds and paint beautiful truths onto my palms and remind me that we humans are fragile beings in a great wide world and it is okay for us to just love and be loved. it is enough and we must raise a gentle finger to the lips of our groaning hearts to remind them that everything comes down to us and we are enough. we are so enough.

it hits me at midnight when we should be asleep || a. cho

[poisonlaurels]

oh, dear heart—you only have you, small and fearful and frail and utterly human; swept away by life in this terribly grand galaxy. there is so much here you have no control over: you can’t choose who loves you. you can’t cast out the anxious dragonfly fears fluttering your chest; you can’t undo your mistakes, you can’t keep from making more. you can’t hide from the hatred that will haunt you for who you are. you can’t make anyone understand who that even is. but oh, dear heart—you have you, curious and catastrophic with a heart trembling open wide enough to hold the promise of hope. there is so much in you to celebrate, to cherish: you can love the imperfect people, hold yourself against the darkest demons, deal in forgiveness; you can choose what to make of your own scattered, starry soul and with everything in you, you can fight. you can love and love and love because love is radiance and glory, everything that sears the shadows and redefines the dawn: love is always. you choose love.

— for us to keep something burning || a. cho