knowledgeable.

in the shower i become
knowledgable
of all the wounds i didn’t know i had

scratches from god knows where
i’ve been, a cut
on my calf that wouldn’t heal

purple bruises from last year retreat,
“cooking accident”, did that
fool you, there’s just too many

i can’t explain

some mistakes are permanent
others continue carrying the weight
i know, sorry i broke you, this has been

weighing me too,

do they still hurt because now
i do not feel safe loving
anyone like this ever again

before i know how to say it.

Madisen Kuhn

the light.

Jeanette Winterson

alibi. (2)

it’s just that when you’re in love you’re more accepting than you’ve even been, more than you’ll ever be.

neither.

… the overwhelming majority disliked [“childless” and “childfree”], with one being seen as stigmatising and the other gleeful and nasty in its implication that parents somehow need “liberating”.

… that’s one reason why – when absolutely necessarily – “doesn’t have children” is the kindest, most neutral descriptor we can hope for. Though we can also hope to be moving away from one’s parenting status needing to be defined at all, especially for women, who still face this question far more frequently than men. Language matters, and as ever it often says more about us and our assumptions than we realise.

read more here.

sometimes. (5)

i no longer am talking to most people in my life simply because we have no longer things to talk about. sometimes it’s not personal.

my existence doesn’t matter to them. i could be dead tomorrow and they still wouldn’t find things to chat about.

so much.

you have no idea how much.

five years.

what can i say about me in a five-year timespan? 
everything and nothing.

it’s funny when you fill out fellowship applications they will ask you where do you think you will be in five years, what do you see? expecting you to be somewhere else, a different person, in a different place. they will dismiss at once the idea of being a static, a stagnant.

but here’s five years after living abroad. 

1. no matter where you go, or where life takes you, you are still you. i came there to cleanse myself of myself, off of myself, and here I am still the same. 

2. you will see more and more evil in this world, they came in different faces of kindness and sincerity. you will be fooled and you will not grow out of it. still, you keep wanting more and more. you always want more. arms wide open, bleeding just the same.

3. they will stab you in the back time and time again, and you will endure. you will cry, but you will endure. you will not get over it. shopping is a cure and you will go broke from the stabs. you continue to live, of all the whispers and screams, you’ll live.

4. everything that seems fancy, is not. go back to what you love, who you love, they’re there for you, and they will be there for you, again and again. put them in a frame, and carry them in your heart.

5. friends leave. let them go. it’s alright. you were born alone.

6. it will be exhausting and you will be exhausted. and death is not coming to get you. you will create an escape in the least things expected, in the most unthinkable ways. you will survive. you will not be smiling, but you will survive.

here’s to everything and nothing the same.

lighthouse.

a flicker in your eyes that tells everyone in the room that i am more than just.

those blues you sang.

from here.

someday. (4)

keep going when you’re on a high…

crash. boom. bangg.

Years away now. Years my life without you near. Years in solitude and just like that you came back into my life. No signs, no hunch. No sting in your gut trying to tell you this is the day. This is the day you’re going to again meet the love of your life. You got rid of him and now the universe is giving you a second chance.

What have I done? I set you free. I have set you free.

youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers…

by hermysticvibes

growing up i’d been depressed, hopeless, unaware i was raised abusively thus often mistaken abuse for love. it wasn’t always physical, although it many a time involved violence. i wiped it off, brush it off, renarrate, deconstruct, reconstruct but never the feeling of shame and an abundance of guilt for being simply me. i had questions answered with humiliation. my intelligence was responded with punishment if not embarrassment. it took years for me to realise, i was different. i was ahead of my time. i was in a wrong place, with wrong people. i haven’t found my people.

only by physical distance the pain and burden of being blamed was less intense, but i since long ago have always been aware it will never disappear. i am forever a wounded animal, born to bear resentments of who they were and what they could not achieve on their own, making it easy for people to walk all over me and have no concepts of setting boundaries.

All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.”—-Mitch Albom

i start to imagine a world where we don’t—

she came to me. she knocked on my door said thank you, when really she meant thank you. i didn’t do anything. i wasn’t even there. i just got there. i saw you and felt this was just beyond my emotional capacity as human. i can’t do this. i can’t see you hurt. i can’t see you hurt and call it love. i don’t want to feel love this way.

and in a way that is very much sabotaging i began to think that I caused it, I caused things, bad things. If you hadn’t seen me, or met me, or knew me, you’d be fine. you’d still be with her and you’d be fine. we’d live our lives separately, peacefully. and at the time I really believed it. i believed we should have parted ways and be alone, together.

i would probably see you every now and then but we didn’t have to know each other this way. we could be some sort of acquaintance or two people who knew mutual people. i would probably still be tangled with him in some way (though i found it hard to imagine knowing him the way i did without me knowing you the way i did). but that’s it. 

i began to imagine us brushing hands at meetings or some casual gathering. i mumbled “sorry” and moved on. i wouldn’t be caught by your eyes, that smile, i would’ve kept going, not knowing you and moved on with my day.

the thought of me without you in life was so intriguing i might make it happen.

let me make this clear for you, just so the universe isn’t pretty random after all, i will love you either way.

PTSD

To me it’s the early mornings that lingered, longer than they should, when I groped and grabbed and nothing. It’s an empty bed, you weren’t there and I let you. I let you be alone, in another room, in the bathroom, the living room, sometimes in the basement, lying near the laundry pile, vomiting. It’s more practical there, you said. You grabbed a sheet, puked, and crawled to the washing machine and threw the wet sheet in. I would never know, for in the afternoon they would be minty fresh laundry. I’d just pick it up and went on with my day.

You never asked me how I felt. Lying there in the dark, I too, alone and torn. Desperate, frustrated, for you to share your pain. But it’s yours, not mine, you said. It’s not for me to take. I wished I had been more understanding than I already were. In my mind I would be more than a lover, I would be something closer, deeper, more meaningful than a companion. But it’s yours, and not mine to take. So I lay there sinking within a surge of my own pain.

Sometimes in the afternoon, when I slowly open the lid of your dryer, I forgot to breathe, for it was not yellow stain on the sheet, but dried up brownish blood. I tried not to wonder. Because it’s yours, and not mine to take.