Stolen

Kudos to Lily for posting this, I just stole it.

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“I wanted to kill the me underneath.
That fact haunted my days and nights. When you realize you hate yourself so much, when you realize that

you cannot stand who you are,

and this deep spite has been the motivation behind your behavior for many years,

your brain can’t quite deal with it.

It will try very hard to avoid that realization;

it will try, in a last-ditch effort to keep your remaining parts alive, to remake the rest of you. ”

—Marya Hornbacher

your story

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Watery sunlight leaks through your curtains, your eyelids.

It will become apparent to you, maybe wake you.
Gradually and then suddenly.
You will tug at your limbs, that lie dead against the thin, the white sheets.

It will be easier to give up.
To lie in half darkness, to let it wrap you up in it's consuming warmth. To let it smother you. To stay there all day, longer.
And so you will. You will lie and sleep and doze in a murky haze of reality.
You will lose track of time.
Family, then friends will worry. And -even though none of them are bright enough, and those that are will be too bright, too artificial- they will want you to wake up. But no, all the while you will drag your heavy curtians shut tighter.

You will choose darkness. Because there is a kind of comfort. A familiarity in it.

You will choose darkness. Because for as long as you can remember, that's how you knew it would be.

You will choose darkness. Because that's how the story goes.

Monster

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His handprints, imprinted
On her skin, chest, her thighs.
They draw my red-ringed eyes
To the unseen -his prize
Lost, that which showed his lies.
Society decries
Us. Who blames their surmise?

He causes me to despise
Myself. My babe was unwise.
Her failure to realise
His motivation, implies
I failed her, to advise
Her, as a father. Chastise
Her? I can't. In his cold eyes
She saw goodness. But his guise
Misled her. Led to her demise,
Her brokenness. I hear her cries
As she sleeps, blending with my sighs
For our lost years. It's been hinted
They've drifted off to holy skies.

twins

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i.
you look at me with dual faces they take me places
i don't want to go
your words wrap around each other, juxtaposed to their brother
twisting their meanings to your smile.
it is so wearing to tell which face you are wearing
today, to whom i am telling my thoughts.
I love you but only part of you
and aren't lovers meant to love all
 
 
ii.
it doesn't matter. we are identical
when i look in the mirror i wonder who i will be
today, and i wonder who
is wondering those thoughts.
i wander aimlessly through volleys of motions,
valleys of emotions
i have no ultimate.
only guilt for this affliction i force on you
on you who love me
part of me - even lovers can't love every part
 
 
iii.
you and me, we are identical

in that our faces aren't                                               

 

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.

la vérité

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here we go again
with your false hope and my reckless promises
your meaningful looks and my empty words
your beliefs and my aversion to changing them.

the storyline's the same we just rearrange the characters

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.

We

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We, like seaweed
Cling together.
Ravelling and unravelling, curling, unfurling,
Embracing and dancing,
Creating the illusion of cohesion
Before unceremoniously parting ways.

Like seaweed, we
Are puppets.
In the hands of tidal forces.
Our control is fantasy
And all the world content with misconception.
We hold our breath waiting for the curtain to be drawn aside.

Seaweed, we like.
It lives in the moment.
Unaware of the worries that plague the rest,
Pushing too hard and too fast,
Always straining toward the sunlight
Until -inevitably- it is torn away from the sand.

Seaweed, like we,
Is bound by a lie.
Mere sand cannot stop it, mould it, control it.
It is foretold, that it will break free
-Not by choice, but destiny-
Wash around lovers' ankles to be kicked away in disgust.

We, like seaweed
Cannot last.
Our joy is fleeting, our beauty flawed, flagrant.
Because away from the glittering aura of kelp-swept seas
Washed up on the sand,
We are shown for what we truly are.

the real.

Suddenly i have on this mask
 it was easier than i thought it would be

but it falls off in gasps:
in the dark of the night
alone in my room
staring out a bus window
a pause in conversation.
they pretend not to notice.

they prefer it
everything is back to normal
"it's easier this way, you're you again"
i'm me again
what does that mean?


i don't know how i feel
because now,
i question whether i put it on or took it off.
maybe the glimpses of the other me, are just an old habit dying hard.
Maybe what i thought was me
was a facade all along.

i'm losing myself.



Masks.

“The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are.
You trade in your reality for a role.
You trade in your sense for an act.
You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can’t be any large-scale revolution until there’s a personal revolution, on an individual level.

It’s got to happen inside first.

You can take away a man’s political freedom and you won’t hurt him- unless you take away his freedom to feel. That can destroy him. That kind of freedom can’t be granted. Nobody can win it for you.”
— Jim Morrison

When we are very young, we are taught, by example, that the only way to survive is to put on a mask.

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So, we do
because we want to stay whole.



At first it it fun, and everybody knows that it is only make-believe.

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But our faces get mixed up, and sometimes (only sometimes) we aren't sure which mask to choose, we can't remember which one

is the real mask

isn't a mask at all.

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So we continue to grow and as highschool catches us in its web, we get confused- everyone does.

You look at masks for so long,
you forget what it is to look at a real face,
get to know a real person.

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Pretty soon everybody has a mask and you begin to think without one you might be outcasted, thrown away.
So you keep it on, even if it starts to feel wrong.

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You stop taking it off, 

instead wearing it obsessively.

Around your friends,

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Around those you care about,

  

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Until, shock.

Horror.

 

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You realise you've forgotten how to take it off.

Until the day comes when you look in the mirror, and don't recognise what you see,

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don't know how to get back what you've lost.

But don't give up, everyone has been, is or will be where you are standing now.

  Don't give up,

because you'll find that those moments when the mask lifts,

even if only by accident,

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are worth all the others combined. And eventually,

if you're lucky...

 you'll find someone who can see through the mask.

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“I keep expecting to come to my senses, but the pressure is lifting with each step I take. I’ve spent a lifetime keeping up my guard, watching my back, wearing my mask. Relief was never in sight until now.”

— Dexter - 2.11 - ‘Left Turn Ahead’