My Broken Column

The Broken Column

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

Mary (mother of misery)

IMG_0852

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.

Blood on Me

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.

Alley Talk

IMG_3536 I said, ‘I walk this alley every morning amongst the dead mice and the butterflies’. And he said, ‘I walk this alley every night when the mice are skittering and the butterflies are nowhere to be found….and I’ve never seen you’.

Before I was there or wasn’t there and now I’m Everywhere

I used to wonder, late nights wondering about my children. Now I wander through your thoughts freely. I am the reunited part that was parted from you at birth. Naked as the day you were created, there is no need for hiding nor explaining. I have no ears to hear nor eyes to see; I simply am the spirit that is you. I know you’re thinking about all the things you could have said, well you couldn’t. Human lips. Human time. Human flesh. I used to think of all the things I should have said. Human lips. Human time. Human flesh. Remember when we tried to look at each other and only caught glances. Hot tears that burnt with longing and missing and misunderstanding. Remember when you held my hand and it wasn’t long enough. There will never come a time now when time is not enough. I never feared death because leaving was only returning to my beloveds. Before I was there or wasn’t there and now I’m everywhere.

Dedicated to Andre and Hayley and all the other children of eternal mothers.

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. 1 Corinthians 13: 12

Cold

Cold isn’t winter. Cold isn’t that freezer that holds your meat. Cold isn’t the man that had his heart chilled as a child and never melted again.

Cold is her body that they all want to fuck as she walks down the road, and her thoughts that taste bitter to the air that surrounds her.

She is the ice at the mountain point that breaks midnight. Nothing darker. Nothing colder. Nothing more relentless against the warmth of daybreak.

Give her a crown and a torch. And let her be.

IMG_9147

27 Club

(message from a survivor).

Like Shula, I think about cutting the ribbon sometimes. I imagine the oppression of life and then I remember that it’s real, that it’s really happening to me. Maybe the world wouldn’t be better off without me, but maybe I would be better off without the world. I thought it would get better but that is the deceit of hoping. I believe I deserve better and everybody tells me I do, but it never happens. There has never been a day when I haven’t been trying and yet I have attained nothing.

I don’t blame individuals anymore. They are characters in one great story of brokenness and pain. Now that I’m 27, I wonder if it is worth continuing. I couldn’t write anything better than the tale that has already been told about me. I’d like to rest please. What I am is no surprise – I was always destined for disappointment. It’s in my nature to want a certain thing that I would never be able to achieve. It was in my childhood and my abuse and the deaths. It was already laid out: and now I’m just lost in the unfolding. I’d rather be a shell, brain dead, deceased, anywhere frankly, but here, trapped in this body, in this world, with this mind and heart and all the passion. It is impossible. I am entirely impossible here. And I have no hope anymore, not a drop.

Take my money. Take my brain. Take my spirit. Take my connections. Take anything of any value to me, for it is worthless to me where I long to be.

image

Estrangement

image

Estranged dad
Estranged lovers
Estranged memories
Estranged God

I don’t think you’d know yourself even if yourself turned up at the door.

‘But, Grandad’, I said, ‘we’re all lonely old men’.

image

Dear Life…

Dear Life,

I have been all things. I have kept my body pure; I have opened it to all debauchery. I have employed wisdom; I have been foolish. I have chosen love; I have chosen hate. I have given generously and I have kept to myself. I have watched a man who smoked and drank and swore and lost his temper live to 100 and I have seen a baby die. I have been all things and seen all things and known all things, and I can say that there is no justice. Nevertheless, I have made it my purpose to win.

Thanks for everything and nothing,
Cx

A Painting

Lost in subliminal messages you can’t see you’re sending. A figment of your perception. A conclusion you’ve drawn. A woman blocked out by your ego. A wanted person. A haunted house. A length and distance. A traumatic event. A shadow. A mood. A painting.

image