and you, reader, are the nausea i feel when i wake up from the same dream. it's not your fault but i tear myself from your arms and pound my head with your words every morning.
the night bitch comes when the clock strikes twelve.
she whirlwinds like the bouncing rapids, striking rocks as she goes.
she leaves bruises on my arms and legs, and more recently, my face.
she attacks every angle of me and tears every paper to shreds.
she knows about the other woman he has left me for.
i’ve begun trying to lock her away in a tent. i should have picked something with walls.
i pull the zip shut - she pulls back - i pull again - she pulls back - i pull again.
like a childish fight with an anguished sibling.
i fear her now more than ever as she so casually rides the rapids on my cheeks.
because she knows about the other woman he has left me for.
i've posted this in two parts due to tumblr's character limit. it is intended to be read as one piece.
He wanted me and my flesh. I gave him no trouble for it.
A desperate broken girl, I was this angel's favourite.
Still my body ached for more like a desert oasis thirst.
Loved as I always wanted yet still afflicted with a curse.
Too hot and it was ‘next time’. Too tired and I didn't ask.
Tiny reasons to not touch me still stoked fires from the past.
One day the dream shattered. I woke up alone only to be
a slave to my darkest feelings and pretending I was free.
I thought I had felt heartbreak with a blunt knife in my back.
To be killed softly by a lover, without him, my world went black.
In the dark I sought the rush. I sexted any man I could find.
I found one who was close-by. Without love, I wasn't so shy.
Injecting lust in veins, a soulless easy fuck.
Sick with grief and love, my mind and body stuck.
Would you believe me if I told you the angel came back again?
He told me all the right things, he loved me, he was in pain.
Light returned from shadow but it had not gone unchanged.
Dark was lingering although his love was still the same.
Now working for that heaven is a worthy full time chore.
I'd still die twice to know I could feel it all once more.
With shadows trailing us both, we walk forwards in time.
A loop that finds dead ends but at least his hand’s in mind.
Grateful for the little things, despite the tears that fall.
I start to wish I was different. I wish I'd never had sex at all.
The teenager in my head, every time he kisses my cheek,
tells me he doesn't love me, she's counting every week.
I'm scared to believe her, I know I've been here before.
I look around and see ghosts. I get increasingly unsure
that he wants to use my body, that I'm not just his friend,
that he'll love me forever, that this work is for my end.
Nightmares that he'll cheat, just like the rest of them.
Or worse he'll kill me softly and I'll fade to black again.
It all went wrong at thirteen. Sex has fried my brain.
Love for me is ruined, I fear it'll all end the same.
Reader, if you're still here, I hate to tell you but that's all.
I am in this bittersweet place and I live with my worst flaw.
i've posted this in two parts due to tumblr's character limit. it is intended to be read as one piece.
For as long as I can remember, I've been a chaser of love.
Some of my earliest memories I was chasing after a crush.
Too young to know what it meant, old enough to see it on TV,
I so badly wanted to have my own and do all the things I'd seen.
I want someone's full attention. I want all my flaws to hide.
I want to kiss and hold hands, someone to see me and decide.
At that age love is a game, a school time make-believe.
It feels as real as anything, heart on my scrappy sleeve.
Each time was a rejection, a lesson I had to learn,
but the lesson never stuck and love I never earned.
So a lover like me grew up alone, angry at the world without.
Still I ached for someone but the loneliness was loud.
A hypersexual teenager hiding in her room.
Embarrassed and ashamed, understanding this new tool.
If I could get someone to fuck me, maybe they'd fall in love.
Or at least I'd feel that longing reflected back at me for once.
I practiced early and often, whole websites in my head,
late nights filled with lust, teen years of little deaths.
Young and finally legal. The men around me knew
I was holding something precious, and there wasn't much to do.
So easily convinced because I wanted it just the same
Chasing ‘yes I want you please’, and a high that never came.
The first man was a messy one. His own pit of despair.
But the taste of love he gave me, I was so happy to share.
After that, I kept the next one for a few broken years.
But love wasn't the name of it, he lost interest in my tears.
The sex was frankly awful but it was proof that I was there.
That my body had its use. That I could get someone to care.
He was a little too careless, and you will know the rest,
as soon as I got boring, he went to see who else.
My heart was freshly broken, despite the hell I went through.
My sex wasn't good enough. My love had lost its value.
So quick in turn, the next man, unlike the rest in his heaven,
loyalty, beauty, tenderness, the kind of love fated to happen.
I still wonder if I was worthy then, of the wonder in my eyes.
The bliss and the adoration of that man I idolised.
music low and the sky dusky from a well-earned performance.
I am not nineteen anymore but I am still in love.
Love, this time, has come a long way from full hearts and whispers from the moon. That gentle blanket on my skin is a constant reminder that I do not have you with me.
I don't know if you're feeling the Summer too.
So I imagine our hands, and cry my tears as the lessons I've learned try to stick themselves to my sweat-stained skin.
Nothing will get through the dreamy days of romantic surprises, late dinners, and evening beach walks.
I would tell myself at nineteen to do it all and say ‘fuck that’ to love.
may and june have tried to take me
i fear july may finish the job
if not, then august’s last revenge
will have no problem finding the stop
the summer comes this yearÂ
with venom and death
i have to be someone new, come autumn,
in mind or in flesh
who is at play when i resent
the love that imprisons me here?
my ghosts wants freedom
but the bindings are too clear
there is an illusion of choice
in a cage like mine
there is no search for happiness
there is only steady decline
am i free to jump, to swallow the pills?
am i free to make a change?
there is only burden slowing me down
and the future’s screams of pain
How shall I write about it now? With pleasure, with critique? With exultation, with anxiety? Am I doing this right? Am I lazy, am I shy? Am I wrong and deaf to the voice up ahead? I think I'm tired of the big ideas.
I'm a creature who wakes up grateful for the sun. I'm a lover who knows no life without love. I dance on the scales of a God in his palm. Love and death are the only things.
In silence I grow and in silence I bleed. In song are the echoes of the answers that I need.
i go in cycles with you
will we go in cycles again?
is this the beginning
or is this the end?
the ugly truth
will be revealed
and we’ll spin ‘round
on its endless wheel.
the reality is only
what we perceive -
that makes love
something i believe.
in love i believe
and in cycles i know
i have the power
to disrupt the flow.
but with power comes games,
and with time comes dust,
in cycles i find the
pieces of trust.
every last movement
ripples through the gears,
cycles of cycles
that could last for years.
for now, i try to hear the sound
of music to make art of it all,
like dancing a waltz,
in circles we fall.
so step in with me,
join the cycle of ours
dance with meÂ
in our twilight hours,
and wonder if the dawn will come.
blood runs, i carry the weight,
and i pray for you.
our cycle is fate.
