I'm sorry

"// Grow // 

Emotions drive into my heart

My mind has shifted 

To a dark place

A big green eyed monster

Awaits me 

It's not easy being you

I hate things that I can't foresee

I breathe things that I can't achieve 

You don't know the things 

Inside me

They grow 

They grow

Deeper and lethal

Like a disease that infects my soul

But you don't know these thoughts 

I harbour

I don't want you to reassure me

Don't tell me you're mine forever

But acknowledge the pain you've caused

And forget about it in the morning

I know this will never stop

Because this disease grows

It grows 

It grows

As we grow older

Deeper and lethal

It infects my soul

But I'll learn to control it

For you i'll conquer these demons

Abolish them from my kingdom

Leaving only you in the wreckage

Waiting for me to grow together"

As those words unravelled it occurred to me how in your silence, I often fail to dig deeper. I don't stop to think enough, about just how careful I am to be with your heart. But, believe me when I say it is my most prized possession. I'm a fuck-up, I'll admit, I'm muddle-headed and sometimes I forget how fragile you actually are. I hate how I can't say no to people, how I may give other guys the wrong impression while I remain, completely unaware.

I'm sorry.

I would struggle to trust myself too, and maybe it's too much to ask, but, please don't doubt me. You may think I'm out there, my heart misplaced and mind in disarray letting thoughts of you float in and out while I drown myself in the company of others but you're all I think about. I don't think of being with anyone else, yet alone think of another's arms replacing yours? I wouldn't have it. Tell me you wouldn't too. I don't mind your rage just tell me it is fueled by a heinous love for me, because I never wanted to be possessed by anyone as much as I do you. I know no felony like that time you ripped my heart from its cage and it's never functioned the same again, you told me you couldn't open up to me again. It's okay if you hate me for awhile, it's what I deserve, but please, be the one to kiss me goodnight and may the knuckles that collide with the wall be the same ones that brush my cheek as you lie beneath me. Hate me for a minute and then spend an entire lifetime loving me, I wouldn't mind. I'd want that, I'd love that.

Please just listen to me when I say fuck the rest of the world, because all that has to matter is you and me. In lecture halls, holding my hand under a textbook, we couldn't give a shit about anything else, could we? It doesn't have to change, sweetheart. I loved you then and I love you now. No amount of bad faith could make me falter. 

Tonight I am more in love than I have ever been

I want to say it feels more than I could ever feel

it might be a longshot but it feels too good

too good to care that idealism favours the young

i am listening to songs that seep into our pores

as we sink into each other,

that watch us as we lose ourselves

in each other's hair and i find yet another reason to stay

i want you to touch me until i have a shot at your perfection

i want you

thumbs pressing against my sides,

our hipbones brushing and

our demons kissing in the dark

Conversations at dinner

"Why don't you write a book?"

I tell him I am no good at commiting to a character and

My attention span has a knack for waning 

I don't tell him he is the exception 

"You're really good at analogies."

He tells me and his lips part as if

To slip another compliment but he reaches for his glass 

He thinks I have a way with words

But his tongue could do so much better than mine

 I could never write a book without writing about him; how when he stretches his eyes are tight creases like crows' feet,

How he always closes his eyes for so long before and after a kiss

How do I tell him I am really only good at loving? 

in contrast

I made a deal with God the other day

My right cheek squashed against the nape of your neck

I swore I'd turn the other but I didn't want you to stir

Our bodies were touching,
thermal equilibrium

but I felt a steady heat starting from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair

it was beyond any science
I dare say you are a work of art

you hate it when I stiffen as you start to talk about Him
and you meander on while I sit
struck with rigor mortis
is that look supposed to be love?
because I sense only judgement
your mouth a thin line
and mine a minefield
if I say the wrong thing again
will you hold us both through the wreckage?
plot twist: you left me to die, amassed with sins
while you buried your own in weed and tobacco

I smile as he softly snores and I allow
myself to drown in soliloquies
he loves me so much better 

Past, present and ?

I've been thinking about fame. When the world is so stirred about trivial facts about you. Like, will there be a day I reach a stature so revered that there'll be a tumblr post of a picture of me, in greyscale, my smile a blur and my teeth the whitest in the plethora of greys. Its caption would read: she used to feel so small when she had a job at a cafe and so many 30 somethings would treat her without the slightest respect because of her youth which they either conceived with envy or didn't need to take seriously. Or maybe a torn out page from a love letter I wrote you would surface on the internet, the piece of paper raw on it's edges like a country on a map. The rougher it was torn the more people would subscribe to it, deeming it gold even if you and I had a perfectly ordinary love. This; if only somebody felt that way about me or I could read this letter over and over pretending it was addressed to me, would they say?

I've been wondering if my love was something people would feel privileged to have, cause lately I've been feeling like giving it is the only thing I'm good at. Maybe that'll explain why the only redeemable material I've come up with revolves around love. Love, you, lack of it, lack of you.

I hope you think I'm good at it.

I'm just always so afraid of living a life without building a name for myself. I don't want to be on billboards or have tens of thousands of likes on my photos. I just want to be remembered, even if it's by only one person. To matter. If writing ever takes off for me, I just want it to be known that I was never of any real talent or ambition. I'm still so lost everyday. Maybe when I become somebody with a considerable amount of popularity I'll find myself, but I'm pretty sure everybody struggles to get out of bed some mornings and most of our pillows soak up lost dreams. I really don't know what this post is for and about anymore I'm just so anxious about my future which is banking on a results slip and I just want to make a living from selling people words, I promise I'm good at keeping them and perhaps even better at writing them but that is all. 

THIS

“Too many young girls don’t know how to act when someone’s being inappropriate with them. They giggle or they try to brush it off. Don’t do that. Tell them to go fuck themselves - be a bitch. If someone’s being disrespectful to you, be disrespectful right back. Show them the same amount of respect that they show you.”

Wise words from my mom (via fleurlungs)

I need to learn this.