Don't worry about me. I'll be okay. I wrote this as a form of release. I write instead of crying. Where my dimples wereIs it bad?
The way he pinched where my dimples were? I don’t know. Maybe. It didn’t feel good. It hurt. He took his thumb and forefinger and pinched my cheeks in the space where my teeth would’ve met. He tilted my head up and kept it there as he yelled at me. So I’d have to look at him. With my neck in that position I was defenceless. I could only squirm and smell his sour breath and feel his spit on my eyelids. When he was angry his breath smelled like home. Isn’t that sad? That anger Smells like home? It was always worse than the spankings which were over quickly. When he got like this I’d be in that position for what felt like hours but probably was only minutes. But minutes are longer than minutes when you can taste blood or think you can. I always thought I could taste blood. Who knows if it was real? Probably not. Sometimes, if he caught me with my mouth open, I’d bite my cheeks as he forced them together. Not too hard. Not hard enough to make a mark. It was just a discipline thing. It was just a control thing. It was just a fear thing. I laugh when I tell my friends about how he’d pinch where my dimples were. If I laugh, they won’t know I’m crying inside, wishing for someone to understand. To know how I’m not sure if I need help, or if I needed help, and missed my chance. No one knows though. Knowing is dangerous. Scary. And if I avoid the scary things I am in control. It’s just a control thing. It’s just a fear thing. The only thing anyone knows is how he’d pinch where my dimples were until I grew out of my dimples and then grew out of his fingers. He still knows how to scare me and he still does. But not with his fingers anymore. With his words which are just as bad. Or would be just as bad if I wasn’t as smart. The words aren’t as bad as the yelling. Words are rational so I can dissect them and realise they’re untrue. The yelling’s irrational. I can’t prove it wrong. It just is, and always will be. Is it bad? The way he pinched where my dimples were? It’s just a fear thing.
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I wrote this about a friendship I have. My closest one, actually. But I feel like I'm draining her, and that's scary, and when I'm scared, or anxious, or have any strong emotions, really, I write about it. It's like crying, but I can use metaphor to hide my vulnerabilty. The River and the RockThe rock started out on land,
surrounded by others who knew it, and the river nearby was only a set-piece. But the rock wanted to get closer, so it tumbled into the river. Water only accentuates a stone's beauty. At least at first. Because the water began to run muddy, and the river watched its rock turn to sand under the too intense, too opaque, too inconstant waters. A rock this beautiful belongs in a lake. Somewhere where the waters are still, and the currents predictable. Yet this rock fell into a river. It knew not what it was doing, when it saw the way the fish swam with the water's current, and the little boats were carried on the back of the river, And couldn’t help but to follow. But a rock is not a fish, because fish are new, and naive, and are easily pulled by mild currents. And a rock is not a boat, because boats are still separate from the river, And so they can be lifted up without the river leaking into them. A rock is a rock. A rock is wiser, more beautiful, more exquisitely rare and unique than any fish or boat. The river was lucky to have the rock, and in the beginning, the rock enjoyed being in the river. But the river began to erode the rock ever so slowly, so the rock never understood that it was shrinking. Until it was too small to escape. And when the river realized this, it tried to tell the rock it wasn't its fault. but the rock had been shaped by the river and thus didn't believe a thing it said. The river cried and flooded and when it realised that the water only hurt the rock further, dried its shores up and begged the rock not to come closer. But the rock tumbled down into the river which was now a stream and secretly the stream was glad, because it loved that rock so dearly and was selfishly attached to it. Still, the stream knew it was only harming the rock, so it dried itself up once more. And this time, the rock understood, and tumbled away. As far away as possible. The next time it rained, the stream was revived and saw that the rock was gone, and as the water from the skies joined with the water of the earth, the stream begged the universe, to spare the rock from falling into another river, lest the rock be too worn down to escape a second time. I wrote this as part of a karmic spell to bring back a stolen object of mine. It's written in iambic tetrameter and I usually chant it in threes. If you want to use it, feel free, just make sure you leave an offering or something for Justitia (Dike/ Dice in Greek), as the incantation calls upon her. Blessed be! Incantation:By thieving hand and sweaty brow
By wretched heart that's beating now Bring back what doth belong to me Lest punishment come three times three If what is mine is now returned Perhaps you will be spared not burned But if you choose to keep your prize I swear to you by mine own eyes A hefty price you'll have to pay As torment haunts you day by day Justitia prove this to be true And in return I'll honor you For petty thieves must pay a fee It has been done, so mote it be. They ask me why
Why I hide Why I run Why I evade the questions And laugh at the jokes I smile sadly and say If the roles were reversed I wouldn’t be scared I wouldn’t flee Or conceal myself If the roles were reversed I’d be less terrified A little more happy Prouder If the roles were reversed I’d be confident I’d find love, maybe Or, at least, I’d be open to the possibility If the roles were reversed I’d still fight But I’d give less of myself Away to the enemy If the roles were reversed Shards of glass wouldn’t graze my skin Trying to shatter ceiling After ceiling After ceiling If the roles were reversed I’d have room for more Than panic And despair If the roles were reversed, I’d point at the tv At someone like me, and I’d say How cool is it that she’s ______ If the roles were reversed All the lessons I’ve learned Would be gone But so would the pain If the roles were reversed I’d be sad less But I’d cry more If the roles were reversed, My armour would be gone And I wouldn’t know how to fight Or survive If the roles were reversed I’d laugh less But at only the funny things If the roles were reversed I’d stand up and look grandma straight in the eye And I’d say You can’t say that. I’m ________ If the roles were reversed I’d hug her at night And smile at her During the day If the roles were reversed They would understand And they wouldn’t care If the roles were reversed I’d be truer Kinder Maybe not smarter, but nonetheless If the roles were reversed I wouldn’t feel the shiver Every time I think about It. I’d just shrug it off. But I don’t wish the roles were reversed I wouldn’t wish this on anyone And now the hurt Is all that keeps me sane I don’t wish the roles were reversed But I’m so proud of the ones Who overcame the fear. Because they’re heroes to me. I don’t wish the roles were reversed Because the pain The misunderstanding The fear Taught me something. Taught me to fight To be brave To be scared and sad and angry And to use the fear, the sadness, the anger To turn it cold To ice over and wait To wait until the time is right Like a snake, waiting to attack. And then, when the time is right, I know exactly what to say And how to hurt them the most Revenge is best served cold And sweet And you’d do best to savor it. After all, you’ve waited a lifetime. Don’t
Show that you’re unhappy. Silence is safer. You know that. Never Cry. That is weakness. You cannot be weak. Distance Yourself from your emotions. Your friends. Anything close to you will be ripped from your hands. Stop Yourself from yelling. Your anger must be cold. Hot anger will kill you. Remember The times when you showed emotion. Never repeat that, stupid girl. You know now what happens. Be Strong. Strength is numbness. Be numb. If you feel, Don’t show it. Show Happiness and laughter. If it is a lie, then lie. It is better for you. Stick It out. Go day by day. Then, once you can, leave. Feel Silently and alone. Never let anyone else know. You must be perfect. Write. Don’t cry. Pour your feelings into words, That will never be read by the Others Breath When you feel. If you breath enough, The feelings will stop Push Your constant sadness To the back of your head. Learn to ignore it. Panic Quietly. Don’t let the world know How very scared You are. Let Others be ignorant. They need not be burdened With your problems. Know You are alone. The people who “love” you Only love who they think you are. Keep Your true, broken self a secret. Guard it with your life and never expose it. It is dangerous, and only that. Don’t Let your emotions show themselves. Eventually, maybe They will go away. Midnight memoriesremember?
the parties in our basements with the singing and then the dancing and then the laughing and then the crying and then the hugs and then we’d all fall asleep with our hair unbrushed and eyeliner still streaked across our faces like war paint because we were fighters and we would all die for each other. yeah, me too. remember? the nights that were long but also short and timeless too popcorn never tasted as good without us all to throw it to each other we feasted like royalty and we were and we were everything as we painted our faces green and pink and sang in the mirror like they do in the movies. yeah, me too. remember? the hours on our beds with names and a pen and laughter because we got to choose who was good and we always chose each other and we swore we were being honest and we wrote out our lives and we lived them in seconds. yeah, me too. remember? the times i’d show up sad and then i’d feel better because we were all a little cracked so we knew how to fix each other and then we’d forget about the pain sadness tears and replace them with the scent of slightly burnt cookies and perfume and cucumbers and sweat. yeah, me too. remember? because i do. i remember how healing it was to see you all. and i remember the magic that came with going to sleep and waking up with the people who i loved most. i remember the inside jokes. i remember the bonds. i remember it all. i savor it all. because i will never get it back. i wonder how much our tradition has evolved without me. a lot probably. it makes me sick when i think of how i have a best friend now and i will never get that. i regret that i will never get to spend a magical night with my soul sibling. i will never get to heal like i got to heal then. i will never get to laugh or paint my face with tears and mascara or hug my best friend at three am after we cry about dumb things and big things and things we would never tell anyone else about. i miss the laughter. i even miss the fatigue because it was a kind of exhaustion that meant i had had fun. i miss that fun. i miss being woken up by screaming or pancakes or a slap or all of them. i miss the chaos that meant i was finally home. i miss spending a night as myself. i miss it all. i miss the unforgettability of the memories formed from caffeine and face masks. i miss having happiness burnt into my mind that i could re-remember whenever i was running low. i miss my friends and i miss the time i could’ve spent with them. |
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