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Keanu Reeves

Let’s be honest-- I am a terrible person.

I want you to know just how terrible I am, how conceited and devious.

I want you to know that I think about you naked, fucking your dead wife in a cold Canadian bedroom.

Every time you thrust into her pale, pudgy cunt that is thick with death and decay

I hear you say: “sorry, eh.” In a cheap Canadian accent you’ve never had.

I want you to hear all the devilish things I say, all the depravity that deeps through my lips like thick tendrils of drool.

I say, look at this man, he’s a good man. But he always looks like a kicked dog.

always play the same character in every movie, facial expressions like clinical depression on botox.

I want you to know that I am an indecent person, because you are a decent one

--and your pain isn’t funny even when it could be.

#M #This was a writing prompt in class #I don't really feel this way

i am your daughter.

I am your daughter.

I came out of your womb, lined with thick blood clots and vernix caseosa. you created me, you crafted me out of seminal fluid and eggs well ripened and I came out screaming for help and you thought it was just an earache. Well, I’m telling you, I was hurting bad.

#M

body like an orange peel, fingers dug deep beneath thick rind into juicy core peeling away the orange skin fingers sticky, smelling citric

my Blood on my forefinger, seeping from my center. ripped clean, orange peel skin-- and I remember the moment you came, the relief that it was over.

#M #first love

autumn

purple lipstick smudges on paper cups half psychics swathed in silky shawls and polo shirts sweat stains I think of you in terms of similes, like salt in coffee instead of sugar.

dance it out, swing step and dip your shoulders back into open air. october is warmer than it should be and i’m still going home alone.

you don’t ask me if i’m okay anymore.

#M

tr3mples

lost connection

we danced late wednesday night at the Masonic Hall downtown. you were practiced, gliding around me like a ghost, hands spinning me into thin thread. I fumbled, leaning in too close, twirling loose.

you made my ears burn red, hips aching.

#m #swing

religion

emptiness demands sacrifice, blood and feather. hard bite. messy hands. lean into the heat, metallic and bright. accost yourself. Religion isn’t always icons and baby baptism. Religion is empty pews, confession, prayer: begging for forgiveness.

pray at the alter of your body, broken glass, Depression, clinical. preform sacrilege. deface the shrine. spit, shine.

#M

you cannot understand loneliness until you despise yourself, the vessel, the carcass, the carnage that pumps thick blood through your wrists and womb and throbbing pustules. the body that betrays you, a brain set to self destruct. you don‘t understand until you start writing yourself into every story, already heartbroken and bleeding in medias res. you cannot understand. you, fresh dew on honeysuckle petals, morning dove, lovers quarrel. wake up to rain and feel renewed. maybe it feels like no one loves you but they do, and they do, and they do, and they always choose you.

you cannot understand the self loathing born from second place, from pointless ritual, from failing again and again. you cannot understand the denial, the imagination of others around you who fill in your gaps with easy to swallow explanation. you cannot understand the soreness, the softness.

you will not understand my loneliness. I wouldn’t want to either.

#M

routine

wash my skin red, steep tea, cover up the evidence. liquid skin, powder on. I cannot leave my room without routine, cleansing this vessel for holy communion. you are beautiful, you are beautiful, you are beautiful. repetition. my mantra. It falls on deaf ears. people only see me, hair flying, lipstick smudged. they do not see beneath, sore bumps, rouge patches. they do not see beneath, girl, trying.

take off all my clothes, brush my teeth and tongue, scratch and squeeze my face. I do these things ritualistically, hoping the power or repetition is akin to the power of God. If I work harder for beauty, go through pain for beauty, offer my blood for beauty, sacrificial lamb: then I will be beautiful. my prayers fall on deaf ears.

#M

stream of consciousness

a thorn stuck in my side, blue flesh swelling. I’m not sure how to get it out: all this pain. the emptiness, the loneliness, the rape, the aching, the monotony, the sameness and staleness. I am a pus filled wound, ironically, covered in pus filled pimples. I feel endlessly ugly, wanting sandpaper to shine down my skin. blood looks good in october scenery, autumn colors. I want to scream but there is no sound inside me. I want to cry but I don’t have to. there is nothing to be witnessed, nothing in the mirror. my reflection is a bruise. I poke at it, yellows and pinks and greens. I taste bile. I taste sleep. I want to claw open my throat with my pink press on nails. I want to slap someone. I want to drink twelve coffees, decaf. thats what my anxiety feels like. immobile, feet wriggling. there is nowhere to run to. i want to dip my hands in twelve coffees, dye them yellowing brown and open blistering wounds. I want to feel something, anything. why don’t I want to admit my ex boyfriend raped me? the word feels heavy. I feel like I’m supposed to hate him because of it. I just feel empty. was it rape? I told him I didn’t want to and he said he wanted to anyway. he didn’t care that I was bemoaning, not moaning. I was red, bleeding, a wound. I was a scab for him to pick at. I was a ditch to dig. I was a bone to snap back into place. I wasn’t an individual anymore, just a snow bank.

#tw rape #m #first love #stream of consciousness #stream of thought

a pervasive emptiness. an unwanted intruder, lingering malignant. loneliness tastes like bad breath-- maybe that’s just me. alone feels spacious, the room has a purpose, me and the sheets and the pillow almost falling between the wall and the mattress. when other bodies occupy a shared space there are only gaps between, like how matter is mostly empty space; the loneliness wraps around my ankles, the loneliness watches me through a strangers eyes.

time is empty, my mouth empty, the sky empty. bite into a fruit, empty. it’s the spaces between that hurt the most.

#M #trying real damn hard to write again #v hard

Seven Hail Mary's

have you washed your hands clean with holy water? the scripture says fast for four days, beg for forgiveness, repent repent repent. do you now feel pure, saint-like and omnipotent? clean like white linen, bleached clean, threadbare, barebacked. god does not make mistakes so surely you've done no wrong. worshippers kiss your feet, let you step on sunken stomach and broken back to keep from getting wet. you cannot see your sins from so high up. twist the knife in the martyr's back, sainthood a stone throw away. Joan of Arc postulant, pretender. highlight lines in testament that sound good together, like adultery and divine love. sing your twisted sacred song so believers have word to preach. your little world is lush with white knights who lust for your divine being. what other reason do people exist but to please you? nightly prayers from pious lips do fall, begging god to spread her legs, licking old wounds. I do not worry about Hell. you may be God but I have been excommunicated, an atheist at the sidelines of a crusade. M.

#m #protagonist

I have picked up the practice of swallowing my tongue. It is a serpent thing, a slithering snake that wishes to hurt you; I bite back in the words it sinks into my mind with jealous fangs, a battle fought in my own closed throat. In the morning Jealousy tastes like black coffee and I like it that way, drowning myself in bitter black animosity. I always make a second cup just the way you’d like it and let it go cold, cream clumped on the countertop. Jealousy is a muzzled dog on a short leash, curled up at the bottom of my bed, wagging tail when I get home.

this was about you.

#m #protagonist #from the funny one

In a dark room of smoke and crushed velvet sits a star that says it's a sun. A tarot card pulled says the lovers, then liars, four eyes turned two watching one. M.

#the universe knows #karma knows #that's all #m

Fool me once, where do I put this shame? We cannot blame ourselves to have loved, to love. But how can one make themselves whole by giving bits of faith away? There is no dignity in this self-pity, no conviction in claiming victim, I take up all the blame for every mistake and self-fulfilled prophecy of a heartbreak. Just as I must take allegiance to my own shift in consciousness: Take care of thyself, For if not you, Who else?

- no expectations shouldn't mean no standards for how people deserve to be treated -

#k #set the standard #treat yourself well #If I only see myself as a victim that's all I'll ever be #happy

unit-02

wake

slip a carpel of mandarin underneath my tongue like gold coin so I am prepared to pay the river stix in a cicada smile. I will be ready to walk into my next life, by boat or muddied water. I will swim with eyes and heart open wide.

place two cacao leaves on my purple eyelids, stretched thin like violet petals. slip a paper back underneath my pillow and a poem in my clenched fist. do not mourn for me; I do not have regrets because I had stopped dreaming while I was awake. dreams are for children and lovers.

my final days here were spent sitting, sipping coffee, focus changing like camera lens, playing back old memories like VHS tapes rewind. stop. play. rewind.

I wish I remember what love was like. soft summer sun hits my shoulder blades, A Bird hits the window.

#m #first love

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