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wanted to dance but i kept spinning towards the butcher - 6/25/26 (adornself)
Def heavy: mentions SA, prostitution, drug use, incest, and medical trauma
Keep knocking, and I’ll keep falling. There must be somewhere I can go after all this, you’re convincing me this love won’t be easy. My heart has stopped at the gate. I’m not carrying any shields to this battlefield. You said I must fight, I’m here to be defeated. And you must see how I bleed. Every single bruise will bleed, and my bare hands will fall next to me. The seasons are gone, the story is over, the songs have stopped playing. Turn me into ashes, please. I’ll trust your plans. I will. Just tell me, but the angels don’t know what to say. They’re standing with me in defeat. If everyone I knew lost, then who won?
- trustonlystars
bittersweet is the place where we rest our sore feet after dancing all night with a bottle of serotonin, oxytocin, endorphins, dopamine risky and raw on your cousin’s kitchen floor, a place where your hands find its way to the arch of my back, with you whispering, “I can’t breathe”, only for me to catch you smiling. bittersweet is how you tell me you admire everything about me in between inhales and exhales, sounding like a drunk person eager to have the next sip. bittersweet is when that bottle is empty and all that’s left of the bottles are wines and whiskeys and more nightcaps to sip out, what we both do not want to take away– like the night and the memories combined and the love that grew bitter and sour like the colors of wine. bittersweet is when you love me and i love you and we still couldn’t be together.
Summer Falls, Winter springs
If in every day is something gorgeous–
then pearl divers are we, looking for that blessing:
summer fruits, winter coats on sale,
a friend with a story to tell
poetry's core is thus:
take heart in hope and crumbs,
dive–until diving is done
help me find those pearls, neighbor,
Holy One, Monday, stranger
with aluminium eyes you say the past has no mercy left and everyone stays
buried
in their own season mistaking brief fulfilment for hauling fingers: your tune
scatters pearls
like you hope to give me
your eyes someday
as beauty and sadness penetrate one another at takahashi shores: where i'm
the most lost human
on the warm
breathing train beside you and a young couple fixated on their device: before
that we are spread short
on the fire exit circle
within our smoke-words: as you name every single panorama after all that
we breathed into each
other eons ago when stars
had ears that questioned everything above them and you were there
before the primordial: before i felt every single murmur with
my tongue
I wanted to rewrite my life
But i don't know how to restart
I wanted to delete the unpleasant part
But i can't find the link to lead me back
So I decide to move on the next chapter
To make a brand new start.
The Life I Want
A house burns, and in its
place nestles a pond and fowl.
The pond is drained, and
surrenders to an orphanage.
Does tilling and sowing
not yield a harvest?
And if not the crops,
does it not build a stronger back,
and hardy hands?
No, no work is without
purpose, or result.
There's time,
I'll be fine.
The life I want
will be mine.
What did you do to the girl?
When do they let you grow up?
How many unblown candles turning
to wax does it take?
When do they stop telling
you to change the way you are?
or hiding your the clothes
they hate to see you wear?
when does it stop
the glares of a father
every time you step
out of the house?
when do the whispers stop?
when do the sirens stop blaring?
when does a mother
stop trying
to turn her
daughter into herself?
how many girlhoods
does it cost?
How many wasted barbie dolls
and how many
wasted make up kits
does it take for a mother
to realise that her
daughter hates her?
when do they laughing at you for
loving something they don’t?
when do they stop killing
the girl who loves pink?
how many teenage
dreams need to shatter
for a girl to finally be good enough?
how many girls need to die
to make a good daughter?
when does it stop,
the house not feeling like a home?
when does it end
the urge to run away from it all?
when does it stop
trying to be the daughter who will
never be good enough
the sister too small to fill up
the hand me down shoes?
when does she stop feeling
like she’s standing naked
in front of
a crowd that hates her every
time she wants to speak what’s
on her mind?
when will the world stop
putting her on a pedestal
to make the world out of her reach?
when will the silence end?
when will she grow up?
why won’t you let her grow up?
why won’t you stop holding her back
because you refuse to let go of what was?
where is the girl gone?
what did you do of the woman she was supposed to be?
where has she gone?
what did you do to her?
will she ever come back?
where is her grave?
is that what you wanted?
