You can’t begin to imagine how much my heart aches. And I was supposed to write a happy letter. This was supposed to be the happy letter, finally.
Would it were that life were simpler and now that life is simpler I see it is the mind that is tangled. My head is knotted with thoughts, none consistent with the next. How I long to be quiet. One thought, one moment, one day at a time. One future that is optimistic. One past, escaped. Still it lingers in the spaces between until the spaces become the moments and the moments become the days. Failures overwhelm the successes.
Life is long and not what I wish it would be.
I try so hard to write my happy, but words come so easily to the sad. I will try again tomorrow when I may be content.
I want to read a love story
Pushed out from behind the clouds
Dropping from the sky
Hold out your barren hands
Raise your dry eyes
For the rain
How long to expel thee? I thought I was stuck with this fat forever. The jiggle so endearing. You with me. My add-on that isn’t me. We’ve been together so long. I shit you out. I sweat you out. I stop eating your lies. I trim the fat with truth. Now it’s just me; my metabolism strong.
Sometimes you win; sometimes you learn.
“I love you, but” isn’t love at all.
You, going into the ground hits me like a thud.
The Angels – Michelangelo
When I get to heaven and the angels ask me, ‘how was it? All that time on earth?’ I’ll say, ‘fuck, it was tough.’
When you look into my eyes and question why I don’t believe, I’ll ask you why you need to. Let’s put aside our arrogance for one evening. You put your flesh on my flesh and remember that it contains no knowledge, nor power, nor eternity – it’s just flesh. The beauty of our flesh is what makes the angels sing the songs that we will never understand until that day. So love me now that you can, and leave me only when the angels separate us.
Remember when I could’ve drowned in my tears but you stayed afloat,
So I listened to your silence to soothe my soul,
A knowing nod that meant I was still royalty
No matter what anyone else said; you’d slay my judges.
My safe place. Now that you’re gone I’m drowning.
What do I do with the enemies that rob my confidence?
Now that I can’t feel your everlasting pride in me.
My safe place, where I never had to be anything
Because you already knew my potential, my pain, my needs.
God, bring him back to me, so I can hold his hand,
So he can hold me.
I fall and there is no comfort.
I can’t bear things ending, so I better not begin.
My life in pills. One pill, two pill, three pill. Six months’ worth please. No, I don’t smoke (obviously I do, bitch, don’t judge me). Will I die (won’t we all)? But no baby right? Will it still make me not have a baby? Wait, I want a baby. Goodbye eggs. Scrambled please. Blood pressure’s fine. Weight the same. Everything’s the same, day after day. Pill after pill. Monday, Tuesday…
Floating birds and flying feathers.
The only man that never wanted anything from me.
Dear God, I’m not pregnant; just getting thick.
Friday 13th October.
They say it’s an unlucky day.
But how can it be unlucky when she was born that day?
Even though she went too early it will always be the luckiest day ever.
I love you, Mummy.
Last night I saw you on the verandah and everything was okay.
They say such birds don’t fly by night but along you came.
I should have known. You’d never left me alone before.
Rock of ages, Ancient of days, My Grandaddy.
Where to find you now? Amongst all of the chaos and confusion
Of endless days. Why, perched on the railings of the verandah
With Mummy and Gran chattering away about times gone past,
Spurring on my tomorrows.
I hear your laughter and I stop the crying.
There’s no need for tears when we’re all together,
Gathered like this on the verandah.
Your presence is the gift of the night, and so I dream.
Our heartbreak colliding.
Soaring low, a pigeon skimming the dirt.
The Broken Column by Frida Kahlo
The simultaneous love and hatred of life
The beauty of melancholy
The ownership of low self esteem because trying is too difficult
The disorientation of a passing moment
The will to begin again
The terror of depression
The quickening of time
The knowledge of the past and its shadow over tomorrow
The don’t look back
The draining of all creativity
My broken column
I used to think God put the stars in the sky for you.
And all the saints say, ‘amen!’
Your miserable hanging face. Just want to hook a bag on your mouth to show how much you drain me, make me angry and disgusted with life. Like, cheer up for fuck’s sake… Can’t believe he ever loved you. Can’t imagine how distressing that climax must have been staring into your weeping eyes. How distressing it was for me even imagining it when I was forced to look at you. Looking away. Running away. Getting away from your morbidity. The stench of death. All over my whole fucking relationship. What a waste.
‘I had to lie ’cause if I didn’t lie she’d know the truth’
What came first? The woman or the womb?
Absence makes the heart grow cold.
I don’t want to be loved. I want to be worshipped.
No words. You took my first words. I remember that, can’t forget that. Blood on the leaves. Murder of the Springtime. No more nursery rhymes for me. Blood on the sheets. Wounds of history. An unnatural inheritance through your bloodline to me. Blood on the car seat. Stolen jewellery and things like that, like choice and dignity and myself. Blood from you. ‘All stabbed up’. Blood on me. I don’t want your blood on me. I don’t want your blood on me.
I DON’T WANT YOUR BLOOD ON ME.