This Prodigal Daughter

my sympathy has always been misplaced; it's not only the younger son trying to find his way home

[thisprodigaldaughter]

Fear is a funny thing It comes in a whisper, A chilling flight so quiet you never hear its wing A lurking, shrinking ooze, a loneliness, a sting Of silent screams, of tears that won’t be stopped See,  Fear is a funny thing

Friends are a funny thing They come as the years pass, Or in moments, so fast you don’t suspect a thing A cosy silence, growth towards the light, a spring Of laughter tears (where is your power, fear?) Yes, Friends are a funny thing

- Poem For My Friend

[thisprodigaldaughter]

a dandelion before it’s blown a baby bird before it’s flown the tears that fall from spilling milk dewdrops strung on spider silk the cries of bell-birds in the trees bubbles floating on the breeze tissue paper, crystal glass lacy frost on blades of grass a crisp reflection on a lake faith and hope when love's at stake the membranes of our red blood cells icicles, and pale eggshells a cage-bird's chances in the wild truth's value to to a frightened child a snowflake perfect beyond mention full cup of water's surface tension skeleton leaves that filter light the held breath while your parents fight a birthday wish, a childhood dream bone china, and a moonbeam's gleam

- things less fragile than the male ego

[thisprodigaldaughter]

chrysalis child

there are so many things i would say to past me if i could (little girl, boy, chrysalis child)

and one day this me will be little past me as well

hold on little me, this isn’t forever, it goes away (it will it will it will) and we get through it (we will we will we will)

i promise we do

there is a morning when the sun comes up and the breeze blows and you are just here

it isn’t even that you’re happy,

you’re just here. present.

here.

and that moment, it is everything.

you have things to do and places to be, but you’re not in your head

that isn’t your refuge anymore

because you don’t need it

the whole wide world is your refuge

and, little chrysalis child, that sun warms your face and the breeze lifts your wings

you are not free, not fulfilled, not yet

but you are here

[thisprodigaldaughter]

5. - Acceptance

look, I’m getting there

Stages of Grieving - part 5/5

[thisprodigaldaughter]

4. - Depression

morning star and evening star and no love left for me

it’s when someone who always swore they loved you, despite all your flaws and foibles, who said they didn’t matter, turns away and leaves – it’s when you start to think maybe it did matter after all

oh god it’s so grey not dark or night just grey like every day is overcast the strange brightness reflecting from the clouds casting everything in funny colours but leaving no shadow closeness in the air that is claustrophobic and cloying cataract film over the eyes so nothing is in colour life leached out of every thing around

how did you manage to take all the colour with you?

if you’d asked me before (before the worst, before it ends) in theory I would say (did say, have said) I would let go (if you love something…) let it go, let you go, let you free if you wish to be not curl my fingers under your collarbone and hang on as if the devil himself were pulling me away but I’m begging i’m begging now don’t leave me

please, don’t leave me

Stages of Grieving - part 4/5

[thisprodigaldaughter]

3. - Bargaining

imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry i’ll take it back, all back, all of it, everything give me just one more day give me loss of face over loss of you give me no more tea, forever, over no more us, for just now throw in books too, why don’t you, and hey! who needs food or sleep or air give me getting fired over ‘we weren’t really that close’ give me failing university over seeing that cruel smirk on your face

here are my offers; i’ll trade my privilege for a smile my happiness for your good opinion my sweet dreams for one more night of laughter my self-love for an embrace that isn’t false and cold my every thought for an hour, not talking, not touching, just being

give me anything other than this give me the endless purgatory of a dying friendship over this circle of hell

give me a boy who’ll break my heart over a friend that’ll play me false

Stages of Grieving - part 3/5

[raphmike]

I HAVE WAITED ALL YEAR TO POST THIS

[im-a-red-nose-reindeer]

I love this

[thisprodigaldaughter]

Yay!!!

[thisprodigaldaughter]

2. - Anger

and we flew so high together, but you were there to watch me break, and you were coward, coward, coward, all you did was take, take, take because how fucking dare you? ‘I guess we know who’s getting the blame’ isn’t a joke anymore, it’s a death sentence and one I don’t deserve ‘cause honey it takes two to tango and maybe five to foxtrot and we’re none of us blameless in this bloody mess I. Am. So. Sick. Of. It. All. conversations that go nowhere and run around you in circles like you’re the fucking sun, while I’m here mooning over nothing (a facebook post, of all things) (oh the indignity) just when I thought it was all over you pulled me in again, so well done, congratulations, are you proud? still the left out child in the playground, all of six years old and alone choking on silence and bile and black venom there is so much poison now songs I can’t hear, places I can’t go, memories I can’t touch like a cancer eating me away from the inside out and that’s on you, baby-boo but think thinkthinkthink you’re not my problem anymore good god, I should be grateful, really, shouldn’t I? no more tantrums to defuse no more dealing business with a five year old trying to do adult life with someone whose emotional maturation ceased last century see adults forgive and forget (apparently) they move on, they’re civil, they’re even kind (apparently) but I’m not adulting all that well these days so I hope you burn I hope you suffer I want you to cry in a corner in the dark alone so alone if I loved you less maybe I could forgive you more but, my love, if you had balls I’d cut them off if you had a dick I wouldn’t let you get away with hurting me like this if you had a heart (#whoop there it is!) because, honey, baby, sweetheart, sugar, love, I am fucking fabulous and you, well you’re nothing much at all, are you?

Stages of Grieving - part 2/5

[thisprodigaldaughter]

1. - Denial

your Christmas present sits on my desk, and why shouldn’t it? it’s not like it’s months (two three four) after the fact it hasn’t become part of the furniture, part of my cleaning routine (lift, dust, replace) or something that scarcely holds meaning, I mean we all get busy, I’m the busiest of bees, buzzing here and there so of course it makes sense that I haven’t seen you, I mean who has time to catch up, not me, I mean, really Really. and it’s not like just because I can’t answer questions I always could before (what’s she up to?) that it means anything people read so much into stuff these days, but it doesn’t matter because it’s you and me, baby it’s always you and me, baby till the end of time, till the end of the line 

(oh god why won’t she answer?)

Stages of Grieving - part 1/5

[thisprodigaldaughter]

Softly

I walk softly because my mother's feet strike the ground heel first the floorboards in our house are old (every movement is a squeak) and her steps are thunderclaps that make me jump and start I walk softly because I don't want to frighten anyone

[thisprodigaldaughter]

who is alter, who is avatar it is in the eyes of my loves, my kindred souls, my strangers i adopt for the journey between post office and bank it is the choke the swallow-disguised-as-cough of burning words taken back down into my gut to be disposed of because they’re out of place amongst the smiling

because feminism is an exercise in duality, it is a lifetime of either or, it is years of not admitting to yourself that you like pink before discovering that glitter and rainbows don’t make you weak

it is verses yelled from pulpits, it is scripture handed down like heirlooms from parents and grandparents and all the saints that binds you to your flesh even while demanding that you crucify it, before discovering that while He is a man He never meant for you to live this way

it is standing in my self defence class learning things tailored to a male majority who joke when i don’t have their strength and ask about king hits and bar fights and knowing that this is theory to them, unnecessary pre-emption, but of the four girls in my class statistics are not on our side and one of us will have to use what she learns

it is wondering if my number is the one that comes up and it is praying that it is hers

it is a silent sisterhood, silent because silence is survival, learning to mute pain and fear and anger, to negate the negative because even though you can’t like glitter and rainbows you must always be them, smile like Mona because that’s all you’re good for to hang on a gallery or arm

it is the white person’s fear, not the white man’s, the pale face green eyes blonde hair fear that if this is my personal hell than it must be seven eight nine a hundred circles further than that if my skin doesn’t blister in the sun

i am so proud of him, for wanting to learn, for knowing he is wrong and trying to fix it it is hating myself for being proud

there are times i don’t know who i am

[thisprodigaldaughter]

i don’t look like you, i’ve never looked like you people say there’s a resemblance but i don’t see it - i don’t have the eyes, the hair so maybe it’s that i seem like you, act like you, every now and then people say,  ‘there she is!’ i say, what they say, ‘you sound like your mother’

it’s a compliment. it’s supposed to be a compliment. it’s not a compliment. you sound like her.  i sound like thunderclaps and singed hair and pinpricks that mark little by little till there’s no wholeness left and all the soul seeps out?

that’s something she’d say. can you pick up by osmosis or magic the ability to cut through precise as a surgeon to the place of most damage?

discussions then of ‘perfect, aren’t you lucky, aren’t you happy, wish i was you’ and the smile doesn’t reach my eyes it’s the one you see in galleries because we all know even Mona Lisa had secrets

you’re away, so i feel safe putting this down because as much as you claim my ignorance there are two things i know -  I am 25. And today I started writing again.