I don’t want to be a palpable woman I want you to choke on my thoughts because they’re important and deserve time to go down slowly and digest in your system before you spit back at me that I’m bossy and sassy and moody and just a girl in a corporate office younger than you yet excelling in everything I touch I hate that I’m hated for being strong and confident I don’t fish for compliments or flatter my boss into liking me by pretending to like her I won’t make myself easy to swallow
I don’t know her but then again I do we were just getting acquainted when her brain left the station
I used to think the people who thought pain was beautiful were fucked in the head but now I know they were just looking in a mirror and they wanted to actually like what they saw we all want to like ourselves
I have a theory: you hate him you hate him because he’s like you the way he talks the way he cries the way his light fades when you look away but he’s your moon: he can only reflect you
am I your inner child? do you care for me as a way of caring for yourself? sometimes my inner child is my future baby and I care for myself so that one day I may care for her better to raise her imperfectly than to watch from above maybe if you keep caring for me you can get me to that place of safety away from the place of cold and shadows on some days my inner child is the plant I’ve had for nine years and on some days watering that plant is enough
I get really low ink me so it hurts dilate my eyes when I think of the rip in my skin it’s all an excuse I can do my own tattoo when I used to medicate my mind with my nails and a blade and a splash of ethanol to keep it in control I’ve been really low
I think I’ll drink until I bleed inside and then I’ll drink just a little bit more I’ll swallow some mouthwash and spit out my pride and then I’ll swallow you to give you a surprise
this room used to feel bigger when you were in it I missed you at the time but I miss you even more now that you’re back your laugh has become toxic your humor snide who would have thought then that you’d be full of such pride? such shit? you’re legit on my final nerve ending and I just killed the last cell in my brain that cared about you and about what you think but if that were true then this all wouldn’t hurt so much would it?
maybe I’ll get bored and write some poetry on the shitter that might feel good
I only feel together when I’m tearing myself apart that’s a life of hypocrisy
Fudge It! 