Tag Archives: Prose

Don’t Be Fooled

Don’t be fooled by the forevers that drip at the corners, melting away before your eyes. Don’t be fooled by the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the mornings that brought you bliss or the fingers that blew you a kiss. They’ll poison your eyes and wither your soul even after you’ve given your all.

Don’t be fooled by the beautiful as they turn into stone, cold to the touch, freezing already frigid fingertips, causing a tremble at the lips. Don’t be fooled by words that say nothing and actions that mean little. Your feelings are much too brittle. Your old bliss will be hard to find. You can turn your back but you can’t turn your mind.

Learn that life means constant change. Otherwise, you’ll constantly be deranged. Nothing lasts forever, and you’ve just got to be okay with that. In the blink of an eye, with the tip of a hat, it’ll all be gone. Just like that. The life you shared, the tears you shed, the blood you bled. It’ll all be a waste, and that’s the toughest challenge you’ll have faced. You’ll remember when you shared the bed, remember when Valentine’s was red, remember your plans to be wed. Well, this is where it all led.

The end.

There’s nothing left to mend. There’s nothing left to be said, so just get it all out of your head. There’s nothing left to cry about. There’s nothing left to get out. The fight is over, and you can rest; wish yourself all the best. Remember that it’s not your fault, and that it’s now time to unhalt. Go on with your life. Get through the strife. You’ll make it through. It’s not a matter of when or who. This is a matter of you.

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Peach-colored visions

I can’t think
in peach-colored visions.

I used to think in so many colors,
They’d splatter against the canvas and cause so much clutter.
Now it’s blank and I can’t seem to fill it
No matter how hard I try to will it.

My hands are falling way out of touch,
Touching the keyboard doesn’t do much.
When my fingertips reach for a word,
It slips away with the rest, gone unheard.

I miss the watercolor visions, one big blur
Splashing against the edges so rigid and sure.
They’d blend and bend, break and churn,
So unlike me, as I would learn.

Now I can no longer rhyme or tell the time,
I can no longer sing or cry or plea or whine,
Speak or walk or try or fight,
Color or create or write.

This
is my attempt to retrieve my mind.

Denied Access

I

A closed off world, no longer reachable by me. My brain, not wrapping around the intricate non-geometry–such an abstract plane. This same world used to play right into my hands, dancing on the fingertips of my misery, the fingertips unique to each different mystery. Now the mysteries go unsolved as the pen stops and so do my thoughts.

II

The locks won’t stop me from checking though. I’ll go down every alley until I can access that universe again–the one I used to get lost in, loved in, felt safe in. The one that accepted me when my family couldn’t, the one that filled the void when my own universe broke. I know it’s hidden away somewhere, I still have the key–I just can’t find the right lock.

III

The universe, the universe. Abundant indeed, always came to me in my time of need. I drowned in it without dying, frowned in it without crying, and was allowed to do what I want without my limits always lying. I want  to go back, if only it’d let me. Where is it now–why does my memory escape me?

IV

I think I’ve found it–there was just a small piece missing. It turns out that every door was unlocked, I just didn’t have the strength to knock. I knocked them down and threw away the key–a very useless thing, trivial to me. Only strength of emotion can get me in–a happiness, sadness, anger, or frustration. I’ve made my own kind of key and will use it well, though honestly, only time will tell.

Really, now

Lost myself?

I am only now allowed to find myself,
Coming up from under the rock that is your fist,
I’m experiencing my firsts,
A grown up baby,
Still a baby due to your fumbling,

Mumbling that you don’t know me anymore,
When you never knew me in the first place,
Because you didn’t want to see me as anything but your idea of perfect.

Don’t talk to me
If all you have to say is “slut”,
Because I know I’m not
Forgetting what I am? Forgetting where I’m from?
I wish, but I will never forget being ruled under your thumb,

That shy girl is not the girl you thought you raised,
Obedient little girl you (hardly) praised,
Please, allow, allow for once in your life,
Me
To show you who I am and how I’ve changed
Because I’m no longer your little minion,
Despite what you think I’ve grown quite independent…
Actually always have been, but you never quite saw it,
But oh well no one but you is competent

So if,
Hypothetically,
I have lost myself
(If so it’d be due to you erasing my identity),
Maybe instead of trying to find me, then,
Allow me to find myself, fix my own mistakes,
Figure out for myself what it takes
To live life without a helicopter, blades cutting my neck,
Burdening my shoulder.

Leave me alone,
I won’t call if I need help

Of Course, Darling

Over and over and over and over,
Continuing the agony, burning the feeling into her hands,
Disconnected from her soul, that sour taste on her nails,

Opaque eyes, glazed over but in systematic motion,
Cracked lips, dry smile, always there at the turn,
Done but it’s not over, over, over, over,

Over, over, over, over,
Cringing at the angle of the rip in her heart,
Dancing around the edges, torn all apart,

On and off, lights of her mind,
Crackling with fire, the fire that went dark,

Dangling by a thread, all worn down, split into pieces,

Ought to stop now…
Can’t do it just yet,
Done – almost there – stopping – can’t – getting there – tiring bones out

Revolution

Your breath becomes sunlight as the rays strike,
I see you, I smell you, I take you.

Sprawled against the glass bed, dizzy head,
As the in-betweens crawl in, fingers all-in,
My head, the visual fantasy of white on white,
Blurry images of that silver earring, scaring
My heart to pieces, don’t shatter it,

The bed I mean.

Fragile yet sturdy
As she said, our own little fantasy.

Vitarthrite

Empty photographs of days gone by, tears run dry
as the ache in our wrists prevent us from thinking too hard
about the ache in our hearts, creaking and cringing
soothes our future-fearing, past-paralyzing

Selves that haven’t come full circle with the present
tense in our reluctant movements, so as to not break the fractured
joints, resting, passively sitting, non-action speaking volumes
about the days gone by, blood run dry

Unfinished business, settled,
We didn’t ask why,