every relationship has been tested this year and the greatest romance i had has been with myself. the hardest parts of me found my empathy and the intimacy of bipolar thoughts made love on the pedestal of moral high grounds. love can be mournful. a lot of love is liberation. a confused crow shouting to find the parts it shouldn’t enter in a forest sleeps hiding in its wings- misery devours itself. in no language is “devour” synonymous to “punishment”, so misery perhaps is just poorly expressed love. the feverish traces of sunlight walk down the earth to touch my pale skin- my hair is golden. i was so sure that he was good and he miraculously was a husband to mary. the paper on the floor is a love letter. the paper on her table is a suicide letter. gods don’t work on friday. i will not wash my hand in holy water to clear my altar today. rage isn’t wistful. it’s aged love. everything is love in some form. some capacity. all of the years are muses. we are not poets. we are dancers. stage is kind. audiences aren’t. anyway, enamour your ballet shoes, get in the car. there are less accidents on road than there are at home. get out of your chimerical home. don’t go near the sea.
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kiss me with a feral rage. lose control. fall.
go burn the world for me. i will wait here.-
we don’t talk anymore but your thoughts are the songs i hum to myself during the day. im tied between trying to not remember you while not one cell in my body has yet forgotten you.
on the first shiuli of the season, i asked for your dreams to come true. one of many, or all, including the one of me and you.
my brain measures everything in your language- how you would have seen it and my whole world changes its meaning. maybe, it’s wrong to say that we don’t talk anymore. we just don’t share words now.
you know i want you standing outside my home with sunflowers. you know you’re the destination of all my thoughts.
god has been so funny lately. why is this pain ours to bear when this love was not ours to have been felt?
we fumbled each other not because of us but because the gods couldn’t have let something so perfect be without an eclipse. our love is now a moon. we can’t forget its scarred. pretty. very pretty. also prettily scarred. and, oh shiulis. even they fall. this is the way every good thing lives on in gods’ world- with tragedy. we were a good thing in his world. you and me. this pain is a kiss from god. go back home, love. my head needs rest. my heart needs sleep.
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his love language is giving.
he buys me flowers. biweekly.
my strength is preserving.
i dry them in my diary. for forever.-
i wanted to raise a family with you. starting with painting our living room together and potting sunday plants and rescuing a stray cat that snuggles between you and me. we get so attached, we can’t let go. the cat is our whole universe together. you wanted to hold my hand while talking to your friends. kiss my head every time someone mentioned my name in the room. we wanted the right things, baby and it wronged us so bad.
we were such great friends, now we are just sad. we make each other so sad. you hurt me and i can’t even put my foot down. you’re not holding us, i am not letting it go. our sunny friendship is washed out by our miserable love. you’re not wrong. you want me. i am not difficult to love. i open myself to you. why was there so much music if we weren’t meant to dance?
why did you dream of catching my breaths when you had to make me breathless. you don’t know what to do with me. i am trying so hard. you don’t see me. and im struggling to dislike you because our friendship was such a dream. i dont know where my heart is and i dont know where to go next. i want to come to you and tell you’re terrible.
i can’t paint that room with you. no pots will live in our home.-
i no longer want a home. i think if i got one now, it’d be most certainly why i will die. i don’t want it for myself but i still want it for my kids. they shouldn’t have to feel sorry for being alive, for living this wonderful life and feel deranged to see its potential and no realisation for it.
my kids will have a home for as long as i will live and in my casketed bones. i will tell them come home after every morning’s “i love you” and every night’s “amma has got you”. i will make it their second nature to breathing- coming home. from any corner of the world, at any time, when they will find themselves outside the door, this home will light up and breathe to welcome them. i will kiss them a “come home, honey” and fold their clothes with “home is waiting for you” so that when times are tough, bills are big, appetite is sultry, they can turn to this place without shame.
it’s not a shelter of guilt, it’s a forest of love; my kids will have a home that they can return to, whenever they want. this home respects their wants. amma isn’t waiting in grief, she is there for life.-
i went to the dentist today. i asked him to tighten my self adjusting braces. he told me they are already tight and it’d hurt incessantly if he does more. i want it. i wanted it. i wanted my teeth to hurt so that my head won’t. i can be so functional while being fucked but there’s still only so much i can bear. so, i chose teeth over head because there, a painkiller fucking works. i had to tell him the same thing for 22 times. i don’t get it. what’s wrong with him? he spent years to understand human pain and he still failed me. so did my illiterate father, my compulsively deranged mother, my lost brother, my addict lover, my dead children, my stone god- everyone just fails me. i am only asking for love. or pain. and all people do is make choices midst options that don’t exist. fail. and who bloody fails? them or me? me or them? who’s sad here? who’s a sadist? why does my sleep dream of schadenfreude. even my dreams are nazi. my destiny is at the end of the rope and this man wants me to tell him why must he tighten it.
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all you do is hurt me
and i can’t fucking hold you to it.
i am disgusted by who ive become.
all i know is how to make room
to let you exist,
if you don’t want it this way,
then how to make room
to hold you in it.
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i will always love my daddy.
he made me stronger
knowing it’d mean his defeat.
how helpless he must have felt
knowing he’s the monster, he’s
teaching me to kill?-