Here we go again! As per usual I’m okay just need to type out all my emotions. Under the cut, feel free to read my poetic shit?? But?? Shrug!
I wonder what you’d like more, sometimes. Would you like your fingers around my throat, or mine around yours? I don’t think you’d mind, in my head your smile is as devilish as you are beautiful.
I try not to crush so easily, my heart reaching out with desperate tendrils to try and curl around yours. How would I even react if you said something sweet to me? Honey pouring from your lips for not an audience, but me?
Ah, I see. My fingers are made to be wrapped around my own throat. Holding back every noise, whisper, I may say aloud. Shoving my heart back down my throat with a venomous swallow of hope.
Your gaze would feel soft on me, wouldn’t it? Or would you narrow your eyes in disgust? Perhaps, in my thoughts, it is both. Where you hold emotion that I cannot decipher.
Oh how beautiful despair must look on me. Oh, pity the one who wants for all too soon. Who falls with a single trip into anyone who pays an ounce of attention. Who hopes to see them in the morning and night because sleep is so hard to find nowadays.
Licking at my throat is the hopeful tendrils. I clench my jaw tight and swallow harder. My heart will not prevail this time. I won’t allow it.
You are too strange, I tell myself. Perhaps, my brain reminds me.
‘But, perhaps they like strange.’ Another echo. A hopeful one that is cruel as it is wonderful to hear.
Peaches and cherries taste so sweet, but hearing your voice tastes even sweeter. A play I can write throughout my head like a symphony of twisting of cruel and soft words.
Cruel suits me much better. Don’t you think? Ah, but perhaps you do not see me in any way.
Perhaps, you see me as a stepping stone. To roll in your palms and use as leverage. And I, ever the fool, would allow you with my jaw clenched shut.
I wonder if I spewed violent words, if that would help me.
No music inspiration this time, but it is a bit of a sad-ish ramble?
Idk poetry is involved bc it’s my thing, makes me feel better about rambling to myself!!!!!!!
I’ve never been pretty.
I’ll rephrase that- I have never been conventionally pretty. I have never been stick thin, I have never been an Ideal beauty for a lot of people. I am not quiet, like a mouse. I am not shy or quiet, or perhaps meek.
Of course, at times. I have thought to be a rose. Conventionally wanted, always sought after, classic, timeless. How beautiful a rose is, how it is one of the most beloved flowers of romance. How roses are forgotten to come in all different colors and have various thorns.
Even stripped from their thorns, they have to be. Despite already being so beloved and beautiful. They, too, must face the hardships of removing their defense. Of removing their roots to be called ‘beautiful’.
I wish to be beautiful, sometimes. So beautiful that everyone who glances at me thinks that I am pretty. But, I am a type.
People all over the world have Types in their person of interest. Some people’s types are bad boys with hearts of gold, some people’s types are people with curly hair and big dimples, some people’s types are short people. Everyone has a preference in some form or another.
I do not mind being a type. I do not mind certain people looking at me and liking my appearance solely based off this.
But, sometimes. Sometimes I wish I could change out my body. Or my face. Change out different pieces until I was an entirely new person- then do it all over again. Fitting different ideas of what I find to be beautiful, what is eye catching.
Yet, I say this. But, I find all flowers beautiful. Honeysuckles, sunflowers, daises, lilies, pitcher plants, venus flytraps- so many different colors, shapes, sizes, so lovely and stunning. So, how would I know what is my own ideal beauty?
Perhaps, if I describe myself in pieces and picture someone like me. Curly hair, mohawk, bright eyes, strange makeup, piercings, a loud booming laugh and voice. If I picture that, without thinking of myself, I see a beautiful person who warms my heart.
How strange that it is the norm to hate yourself. How strange, that I have to tear myself apart until I find myself beautiful. How strange, that I cannot be simply happy to exist.
‘Why not fight this war without weapons?
And I want it and I wanted it bad
But there were so many red flags
Now another one bites the dust
And let's be clear, I trust no one’
‘And I will stay up through the night
Let's be clear, I won't close my eyes
And I know that I can survive
I walked through fire to save my life
And I want it, I want my life so bad
And I'm doing everything I can’
Vent. Nothing cute, an actual vent/poetic vent, whatever these are now? Like an online journal I can’t burn but can delete.
How strange, you’re free from my visage. Perhaps it was not just you who ruined me, who curled your fingers over my arms and made me shake and sob.
Two faces, invisible to my eye, to my mind, but I can smell them. One of perfume, floral, clean. Another, cigarettes, milk chocolate. Sickening in my head, can’t see their faces, can feel them. Different- music teachers? Why do I love music so much. It should have been ruined.
Can’t think of stupid things. Loud noises make me sick, my own heartbeat makes me sick ,sometimes I can’t even touch myself for fear of feeling disgust at my own pleasure. How awful to think of, that I should be scared to do something like that.
It’s easier now, my partners are understanding. Easy to talk to. My little mossball doesn’t know how to comfort me, he does not know how to soothe me, all he knows is to hold me until I fall asleep, all he knows is that my heart and mind are heavy and that the burden of my own mind is too much sometimes.
My sweet little lemon knows how to distract me, coax me to look another way, distractions are easy to help soothe and distract. Sweet words over a screen can do a lot more than you think, especially when you take in to consideration how communication goes nowadays.
And yet, why am I upset? What is driving this feeling deep within my body? Was it someone taking notice? Was it- something else? The weather is nice, dark, rainy, soft, love that.
No one has said anything otherwise today, I have not been overheated, I have not seen anything to trigger this emotion.
And yet, it feels like a knife has been driven into my chest and happily held there. Another stabbed into my head, held in one place I’ve managed to hide from. So loud, pulled apart at the seams to allow the screaming to be released.
I want to cry, but nothing will come. I want to release something from my chest in loud sobs, screams, whines, but nothing is happening. I used to be so sensitive, the biggest cry baby, anything went wrong and I would drop.
Now, I think I have become too emotionless to my own emotions. They do not matter, if they are negative. I will tie them up in a neat little red ribbon and throw them to the side like weeds to be thrown out later.
I wish I knew how to tell people what I needed. I wish I knew how to talk about myself in anything but a joking or positive manner. I wish I could pop open my head and tell them to read for themself.
I wish he hadn’t hurt me. I wish he hadn’t touched me. I wish even she hadn’t coaxed me.
I wish I didn’t feel the need to allow myself to be so sexually open with anyone interested- because that’s all of how I know how to open up to someone.
Stupid, idiotic, awful, this feeling is so disgusting I want to rip off my own skin. I wish I had a new body- something that hadn’t been hurt like this-
I wish. I wish. I wish.
I wish, for the last time, that I could go back to not understanding what happened.
‘Kiss me on the mouth and set me free
Sing me like a choir
I can be the subject of your dreams
Your sickening desire
Don't you wanna see a man up close
A phoenix in the fire’
Gay shit ahead
How curious, I feel. The longing, the hope, the love.
Curling and coiling in my chest, in my stomach, a seed planted deep within me now blossoming outwards into beautiful little flowers breaking off into butterflies.
Butterflies, curling in my stomach, hoping to burst out forth and be able to explain my desires properly.
How my worries, my worries you breathe in so easily. Hold it within you like a hit off a cigarette and breathe it back out to me in more beautiful terms. Pinks and blues, blues and purples, ‘it’s alright’s ‘you’ve got this’.
Anything I say becomes yours, you hold it, take it and cup your hands around my words. As you pull your fingers back, you reveal a flower instead to add to the crown in my hair that you have made.
Kiss me, kiss me like you mean it, hold me close to you, curl your fingers in the cloth that covers my skin, leave marks. Bite me, sink your teeth in, yours, yours, yours, I want to be yours, want to show I am yours, want to be marked as yours, want to be yours.
How my words could come out so cool, so calm, how I can tease and twist and play with you like nothing but a simple instrument. A sure fire word slipped into conversation, your highlighted words with my name between them. How you laugh, soft, and charming as I call you beautiful.
The high I get. Knowing that no one has made you feel this way in ages. The high I feel, knowing that all I must do is drop an octave, coo just right, have you putty in my fingers.
How I will submit to you, I will. Two words are all I need, nicknames, pet names, a coo said just right. How your promises of fingers in my hair make my heart give a lurch upwards, your promises of lazy mornings, of mouth on my skin, of promises. Promises of worship.
Heated, deep passion. Thick and brewing. Rich and delicious. Red wine poured over moon-pale flesh, gold streaks painted over rich and dark skin like the night sky, contrasting and twisting.
It is midnight, the moon may see my sins. The stars whisper of delight across your skin in these dreaded nights. Where you are all I think of, where my emotions twist and twist until I am a curled knot.
Oh, how I wish the stars to stop whispering your name in my head.
‘Look at me with your sleepy eyes
Ollie ollie oxen free, we don’t have to hide
I just wanna touch your face
Take me straight to outer space
Come lay me with me in our treasure trove
Kids don’t know what it’s like to fall so far’
Sleepy Eyes - Elohim
This is a gay rant. Here is the happy gay one y’all.
How sleepy you are, my beloved. How soft you sound in the mornings in my head as I first wake up. Gentle breezes in my head, the smell of you is an imaginary one in my head. How I wish to hold you close, bury myself in your chest and be at home.
How funny it must be, to look back to my pining now. How eager I had been to listen to you, to selfishly take in your compliments, soaking it up like a happy little sea sponge.
My throat constricts thinking how I was so ready to allow you to slip from my fingers if it meant your happiness. How that first ‘I love you’ in the early mornings, how shocked you had been at yourself, how I had teared up. My heart fit to burst, twisting, concerned- are you sure? Really sure? Do you mean it- it must be a spur of the moment.
How it feels to tell you I Love You as easy as listening to the rain. How enamored you are by me being enamored by you. I live for days I can gush to you, when I’m struck so hard in the heart that I am able to.
So many things make me think of you now, and what a soft feeling that is. Even as I type to you now, I am at ease.
Rain, thunder storms, musicals, star trek, lemons, your favorite color of the day to match your moods, Aquarius symbols, plants, foliage of any sort, the stars at night when they twinkle just right, the beach at night, so many things fill me with such blossoming love.
A picture can say a thousand words. Whoever has passed on the opportunity to fall in love with you is truly a fool. How your hair is so lovely I can’t wait to get my hands in it, braid it, pull it, touch it in anyway you’ll let me. To kiss your forehead. To clamber into your lap and drape over you heavily.
To steal your shirts, anything I can get my hands on. Burrow in your sheets and nap the day away- get excited for when you come home.
I think if you’d kiss my forehead I’d die.
To know one day I can sleep with you and hold you close to myself is everything to me. Look forward to whatever future is planned for us.
‘You said don't treat me badly
But you said it so sadly
So I did the best I could
Not thinking you would have left me gladly
I know you're not sorry
Why should you be
'Cause who am I to be in love
When your love never is for me‘
8 - Billie Eilish
Bad vent, not a cute one, not crushy, gotta vent out my brain!
How sad of me to think about you. How angry it makes me. Like a poison in my own very throat. Holding too tight. Can’t get you out of my head. How I wish I could so desperately. Specific words- the specific words still haunt me to this day.
You never loved me, I know this, I can live with this now that I am older and loved by two understanding people. You never loved me, you loved my attention, you loved what I could provide.
I’d love to say I’d love for you to rot. Rot like the bark peeling off trees in too humid of spaces, how they peel off to reveal their sensitive inner layers. How I would love to say, that I’d love to take the peeling pieces and rip them and pretend it was your ugly insides. Hideous, budding, blossoming with poisonous flowers. Purple hues, purple, purple, purple-
But I cannot. I do not dream of this happening. I dream of you living a happier life, I dream of you becoming a better person and accepting that you were fucking terrible. I dream, of you stopping living in your sadness. Treating depression like a fun Aesthetic for yourself.
How blue, you must feel. How blue, your mind must be. How lavender, leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
I have wiped you clean. Nothing of yours remains with me. I have purged you as best as I can.
But oh, oh how you have left a dent in my head. Thought it would be easier just to leave you in the past, but how how first loves hold true. How you used me, again and again, how I couldn’t say no, how I am so scared of feminine people now because you tore that visage from my heart.
My head hurts, my heart hurts, how hard it is to open myself up to people who ask for me to. A book, under lock and key now. Bound in leather, tape, padlocks, caution tape. I want to open it so badly, want to gingerly peel off the tape and unlock everything. Open up.
Just to be open. How choking of a feeling you were, suffocating, drowning me, deeper and deeper into despair. A game, I know I was just a game to you. Fun, fun, fun, twisting and shaping. Would do anything for you, would have.
I want to pretend at some point you did love me. Would that knowledge make this easier for me? Perhaps not.
I’ve run out of steam for this vent. A breath is all I needed.
“You've got a warm heart
You've got a beautiful brain
But it's disintegrating
From all the medicine“
Medicine - Daughter
This is a vent post, not lovey or anything. Very venty! Please be warned! ptsd/csa/suicidal ideas shit I just need to choke down with words. I am totally okay, very okay, just trying to get it out so I stop choking on it!!!!
I remember I used to take so much medicine when I was younger.
Growing up I was so in tune with taking birth control and the likes, physical pills. As I started to melt, to falter, to need mental medication, I don’t think I made that knowledge loud enough. That it wasn’t working. You could choke me on the pills, fill me up fit to burst, make me sick with every white, chalky color.
How the idea haunts me of swallowing another.
I hate how I wished they would have worked. I prayed all the time that if I took it again, this one time, maybe they’d work. They’d flip my brain inside out and scrub it raw until I forgot. Till I forgot hands on me, too young to understand. Familiar hands on me, so confused, why are you hurting me? What have I done wrong?
What did I do to make myself so vulnerable and available to the hurting? Happy, pleasant little girl I thought. Too many opinions to voice. I think about my outfits. Music class, happy as could be in my little pink sundress and hair in pigtails, my fancy dress shoes and little lace folded over socks I loved so much. Six. Six fucking years old.
Again, art class, a nice smiling lady. Trusted her. Hair in a halo braid, some punny little shirt and my overalls with too much paint left on them. How her smell sets me off to this day, anything too deep makes me weary. Too bright of blues makes me cringe back into my skin. Six. Six, too young to understand.
Ten. Rage filled hands. Treating my body like an inside out punching bag. Lies, lies, lies spilt so freely from my lips, lies I have to get over, lies I pretended to think were real for years. A familiar face, trusted, loved, twisted with anger and blinding rage. Forgotten, doesn’t remember. Ten. Through fourteen years of age. Summer heat is blinding pain, can taste it still whenever sweat begins to cover my body.
Smiling soft lips, long beautiful hair, the smell of flora and the idea of bunnies and lavender. Haunt me, taunt me, rip my heart out with sneakily sharpened teeth. An adult, should have known better. Should have seen the signs. Didn’t understand what had happened until I’d done it. Cried into my mother’s shoulder- cried when I realized why you had asked me of it.
Medicine. Thick, white, chalky. How I wish to swallow you whole once again and pretend you shall make my world vivids. Neon signs flashing within my eyes until I forget I was ever this bad before. How I crave the harsh feeling of swallowing you without water, praying I’d choke.
How I wish you’d have worked, have made me forget instead of making me hope and hope on yet another working. Higher dosage, said my doctors with a smile. They don’t work, I’d scream with tears in my eyes.
White hospital walls. The smell of bleach. Rosaries on the wall make me strained, too many people shouting in my ears, too many thoughts of how t odo it with such limited tools. Swallow a marker, take the phone apart and find the sharpest thing inside, how hard could you hurt yourself iwth safety scissors?
Weekend visits. Hour long drive just to see me- must have been hard on my sister the most. Sad eyes from my mother as I smiled at her, trying to tell her I was okay, but voice cracking, betraying my want to come home. To say I would be okay, but not wanting to lie anymore.
Lies she believed, the truth she would not. Mom, I was hurt real bad as a kid. Mom, I don’t want him alone with me. Mom, please you aren’t listening. Mom, stop covering your eyes and see I’m not lying.
Coming home- will that be better for you or me? Will I be alright, knowing that to this day I was seen as something to shoo away the feelings of? How will you deal with my sister if she came forth with proclamations like myself? Would you believe her?
Would you believe him if he told you what he’d done?
No. You may pull the wool over your eyes, I shall allow this. For me, I will allow this. You may pretend all you’d like.
I don't know just how it happened, I let down my guard
Swore I'd never fall in love again but I fell hard
Guess I should have seen it coming; caught me by surprise
I wasn't looking where I was going; I fell into your eyes
Avicii-Addicted to you
You’re so easy to please. I like to think I’m enamored by the little things in people, their smiles, their little actions of love. No one’s exactly directly pointed out what I do before, or even said something so simple as car ride games were...cute.
Ridiculous. I feel like a child in love. This is bad, it’s new- it’s good. It’s so good. My throat constricts with worry when I think about telling you- you know, I’m sure, you know how I wish to hold you. Kiss you. Anywhere. I know you have said you don’t like mouth kisses, but perhaps the corner? Your nose? Eyelids? Would you smile if I kissed your forehead?
This is not infatuation. I have come to the final conclusion. I become so tied up in people being nice to me, sweet, that I think I’m falling. But, I actually am just interested in the positive, sweet attention on me.
Yours is...different. Not roaring flames of interest, my thoughts can be clear of you for moments at a time, not everything is about you. I’m not aching or bouncing or yearning- because you give me just enough. Each time. You laugh with me, joke with me, gods and your smile. Your little pictures.
Soft words, smitten, sweet, in love, adoring, butterflies, head spinning around, twitterpatted. New feelings, loving, slow, oh so slow. You’re so gentle and slow. Gods, no one has ever- not even. I just.
You’re so strange. What a strange being you are, I wonder. With fingers outstretched towards you and knowing you would hold them in return. What a delightful and solid feeling, how they grow and flutter. Like a storybook romance.
How sad it is. That I have not found someone who makes me feel this way.
Oh how I love my little mossball. My sweetest of boys. With soft cheeks like mochi and a big smile that crinkles his nose. But even he did not take it slow with me, does not call my meaningless tasks ‘cute’. Does not seem to notice the heart I put into little things.
How odd, I think. But, perhaps my two hands may be held one day. A balance between my loves twisting into beautiful, vibrant colors.
A bowl of fruits we shall be. Peaches, limes, and lemons. How wonderful a life would it be with you in it.
