Letterhead #10



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Dear writer, reader, blogger,
I have a question.

When are you going to realise
That you aren't going to be saved?
By your parents
By Jesus
By faith and hope and love
By the system
By your blossoming future
By a girl
By a boy.

That you will wilt
And shrivel and wither
That you will die
Drown in your loneliness
In your despair.
That you can't rely on anyone else
Anything else.

Or, alternately
When are you going to realise that you can save yourself?

knowing

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I get it.
That in the quiet moments, you can't ignore it.
When you are in the shower with it's too-warm water pounding on your face
And water droplets gathering like granules on your back.
When you are walking to the bus-stop, your hands fiddling with a shirt-button.
When you are at a party and for a moment your thoughts stop.

I get it. That in the quiet moments,
You can't ignore how unhappy you are.

Excerpt #6

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Guilt eats at her.
So she eats at the chocolate
that he gave her,
it's her favorite.
She has never felt more guilty.

Deja Vu

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I have this feeling that keeps coming back to me
like not only have i been here before, but i've said these things before, I was in this exact situation before
more than that, i have lived this exact life before
and like groundhog day i keep screwing it up
so i am forced to relive it
and i think
oh the cruelty
because more than ever i believe the mistake will be some kind of tragedy.
will be something bad.
but instead of peace i will be forced to relive it
to start again
to endure everything i've taken so far
again

it feels like moments are gathering towards one
and although i can do anything to change it
i don't know how to
or want to
because the idea of making it up as i go along,
of not unconsciously knowing what's in store
is fucking scary

FUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKK

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I actually realise why Dylan has given up on me.

Finally I understand.

I always knew but I never understood

I'm a fucking joke.

There's no words to describe what an incredible twat I am

REPEATEDLY

I am a douche bag

and it annoys me that noone will tell me so.

I swear to God I wasn't always this selfish.

It's just, I've begun taking care of myself, and that hurts other people.

i want to throw something and smash it.

Uncovered

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Again, doubts are nesting. That already,

With a soft word, you can voice your feelings
Ignites fear. Can't you see I'm concealing
...What? Incertitude, reluctance, dread. Flee
From me while you freedom holds its head. See
The way my mouth curves (not to the ceiling),
Not your fault but mine. A lack of zeal? Sings
The voice. No, I swear, my mouth is steady.
But look at what you have been dragged into,
My lair. The voice suggests I should sever
What has not even begun.  No! Adieu!
I scream to voices. Are they so clever
or am I so foolish as to undo
That which may bring joy to me? No. Never.

let it go

  dont worry about what it is or if it means anything
dont you get it?
the best things mean nothing
the happiest people dont think
they dont know
dont care

dont you get it?
Madame de Stael was wrong
The greatest happiness isn't to transform one's feelings into action.


the greatest happiness is to stop feeling
stop thinking
but keep acting

IGNORANCE IS BLISS
people are lonely
the world is fucked up
you will never be happy not really

and if you really think, really feel, it will be too much
you will lose yourself
(and if you don't lose yourself you aren't doing it right. if you don't lose yourself you're already doing this, subconsciously)

but if you act without thinking
without considering
others

you might catch a glimpse of happiness

because someone's always going to be unhappy
someone's always dying or crying
someone's always laughing
but it doesn't concern you

let it go
because empathy can squeeze your throat so tight you suffocate

and noone wants that

not really

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Ignore it, I dare you:

this is your future.

maybe baby

and then,
(and only then)
i might let myself

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letterhead #5

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Dear Meg,

This is my second letter to you.

You could already know what I'm about to tell you,

But somehow I don't think so.
Despite how confident I sound in my previous letter I wasn't sure it was you.
I thought maybe it was someone else,
Maybe I was making things up,
After all- a lot of people like frozen raspberries.
But tonight you cleared all doubt.
You have a blog, with 18 followers, you've been on it a year.
You signed a comment recently with your real name.
But most importantly, tonight you said you wouldn't want me reading your blog.
Wouldn't want me following your blog.

Sorry it has taken me so long to tell you.

I guess I didn't want you reading my blog,

Knowing it was me when you did.

But that only reinforces the point that I should be honest.

At first I wasn't sure what to do,
But I think I have the solution.
We stop following each other.
Stop reading each other's blogs,
Which sucks because yours is one of my favorites.

I don't want to force you to stop following mine but

How can I post everything that's going on if I'm afraid you'll judge me?

Afraid you'll tell someone or interpret it incorrectly?

This blog is the equivalent of my diary, of counselling,

It's everything I don't tell my friends.

I guess I'm taking the easy way out.
I really admire your writing.
I haven't breathed a word to anyone and I promise I won't.
Please do the same for me, no matter what you read or what you've read.

And please don't stop posting, I would be so upset, feel so guilty.

I even considered not telling you because I didn't want you to feel like you couldn't use blogger anymore.
And now you've left tumblr cause people are reading it.
I'm sorry I screwed this up for you.

I've already read all your posts so it's okay if you do the same.

But, please don't utter a word.

Please.

Thank-you for being so nice to me when I started.

Fair's fair.
I thought I should tell you on our own turf.

It's Grace.

last words

this not knowing is the worst.
not knowing how much i can say and how much it will mean.
how much is known.
but maybe it's better this way.
as long as it's kept secret.

so here's a promise

i won't tell.

but don't you either.

because these are the real kind of secrets

the one's that not even best friends know,

the kind that keep you awake at night.

and i guarantee noone will already know.

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i should stop listening Carole Bayer Sager before i say something stupid.

You again

Please, don't.

Actually, no- Just do it. Do it because you can and I can't, do it because it might return me to sanity, it might push the fog away, oxygen might return.


I have ways to cope,

I'll cover my eyes and cut off my ears. I'll snort cement, scrape away my nerves. I'll drink acid.
And i'll finally
stop feeling and just
be



-but that's cheating.

because this isn't twilight.

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"Why did you say that?", Jonesy said, his eyes searching her. Lee's eyes widened and she shrugged her shoulders, praying it would come across as apathy and not her stomach coiling and recoiling, as if her nerves were on fire. She could hear the words hanging in the air, the words he so badly wanted to say but couldn't.
"Why does it matter?", she choked out, amazed how his physical presence alone could affect her.
Now it was his turn to shrug, before -after a few moments of studying her- turning and walking away. It wasn't that she didn't love him, it was that she'd proved it to him enough times already and now it was his turn. That she wanted him to prove this was a mutual feeling, this love. But he couldn't, because he had too much too lose and he didn't know if there was anything to gain.
Because this wasn't Romeo and Juliet or Pride and Prejudice, this was real life, and he probably never had loved her, and he would never come back, and Lee would find another boy with laughter in his eyes and warmth in his mouth and give her heart to him, and hope he would take care of it because it's the only one she's got thank-you-very-much.
"Fucking coward." Lee muttered as she shook her head, her dark hair loose around her face catching her tears as she bent down to collect the shards of her self that lay scattered at her feet like glass.