i really liked this one and i can relate to how you're feeling on a different level. i want everything back. before it became ugly and the world made it okay to have excuses if you're famous. i can't stop yelling and pacing and smoking and dying inside (again). Summer is back I can feel it in my chest and stomach but there's no way to appreciate it with all these sad tunes and cloudy morning sky and the second you walked out that door I knew you were never coming back no matter how many times you tell me you left the phone in the van because you fucking leave that god damn phone in the van everytime i call. i just want to be and learn how to cry again because something deep and dark and vile bit me months ago and never let me cry again so i'm just sleeping alone in a house i don't own and the ghosts of that hotel room curdle my blood until i stop breathing altogether. make me into something better. then this. then this horrid ugly girl with bad ideas.
'there's no way to appreciate [summer] with all these sad tunes and cloudy morning sky.'
oh, i know. this is what i'm feeling lately to, but i'm sure it's also on a different level. are you afraid he won't come back? or are you just lonely and waiting?
no, i'm afriad he won't come back. therefor i am lonely and waiting. i guess i have been waiting all this time, cause he always comes back. so do i. but he says i am AM and he is PM and i hope everything goes to shit or maybe i could just cut off his fingers and kill the talent. something has to be done. it's like that old grinch, only worse. oh, the grinch made me a margarita the other day. he was a real ass. he was a snake in the grass. i want to wear my "R" necklace again but i am scared. because who wears and "R" necklace when it doesn't answer their calls.
i wish i had more to say, but i think you've said it all. you are the kind of girl who i have stashed words on my walls, the type of girl that i admire in more ways than i can explain, the type of girl that makes me speechless and sad when i see that she feels the same way i do sometimes and i don't know what to say to make it better. please believe in yourself, please love yourself like we do and god damn, tracy (sightempest) says it better than i ever could.
you don't need to say much at all, juliette. just being around and knowing i love you is all i'll ask for (unless some rare occasions i require something else!) you're so great and wonderful and i just want to thank you for everything. i'm flattered i've graced your walls.
i'm working on loving myself. it's hard, sometimes. 'how do you live when the only thing you're made of is mistakes? when you dwell on them, when you deal them out instead of conversation, hide behind your faults and mistake your cracked skin for love?'
i'm pretty sure it's freudian, but i can't blame anything on my mom without knowing why or how or what.
i was a mistake ever since i was born, so i can kind of relate to that. for a really long time, i felt worthless and i would spend so much time and energy on everything wrong, when i finally realized that it doesn't do any good, and pity is not something i want. it was sudden, not gradual at all, and i was okay again, not great, but realizing that mistakes are made everyday, and sometimes it should really be called a surprise.
ily. & if you ever need someone to listen or talk to, i am here.
everyone has so much to say in response to this & all i can think of is how much i adore you & can once again relate to almost every single word that crosses my eyes from your fingertips. you always make me realize something i forgot about myself somewhere inside of me. i thank you for that.
i remember the day i decided i discovered i REALIZED it was my nature to prefer safety over sorry
It was because of that line that I couldn't respond to this post. Sitting inside me (or next to me, like the person who takes the seat next to you on the bus when your stop is too far away and the air is thick with your low mood and the idea of strangers) like a hot weight, something unbearable and recognisable.
I wanted to echo what I have said before: "be kinder to yourself", so I went to look at the poem again and oh, Kelli. It hurts.
I love you furiously. Big, beating artichoke heart (I am forever repeating myself) and art in everything you do - poet and poem and the intake of breath before the reading starts and after the meaning hits.
rachael, you're never obligated to respond at all. i just appreciate the company / readership and a comment here and there to let me know you're alive.
are you the same way, then? do you refuse to go out on a limb? i don't know how to be kinder to myself because that trait of mine has ruined at least one really good thing. that poem says it in just the right way, too. it really, really does hurt, you're right. adrienne rich has that certain way to pluck heart strings, that's for certain. (our words misunderstand us . . . dead winter doesn't die, / it wears away, . . . rained away or burnt dry. / our desiring does this, make no mistake, i'm speaking / of fact: through mere indifference / we could prevent it.i love you so much, i do. 'furiously' is a wonderful word. i'll use 'without reserve' - i love you without reserve. (i repeat myself all the time. if you go back through all my writings, they all say the exact same thing at one or two or four week intervals; with the same analogies and imagery and metaphors and rhthym
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'how do you live when the only thing you're made of is mistakes? when you dwell on them, when you deal them out instead of conversation, hide behind your faults and mistake your cracked skin for love?'god
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oh, i know. this is what i'm feeling lately to, but i'm sure it's also on a different level. are you afraid he won't come back? or are you just lonely and waiting?
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i'm working on loving myself. it's hard, sometimes. 'how do you live when the only thing you're made of is mistakes? when you dwell on them, when you deal them out instead of conversation, hide behind your faults and mistake your cracked skin for love?'
i'm pretty sure it's freudian, but i can't blame anything on my mom without knowing why or how or what.
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ily. & if you ever need someone to listen or talk to, i am here.
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i hope i change, i do.
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It was because of that line that I couldn't respond to this post.
Sitting inside me (or next to me, like the person who takes the seat next to you on the bus when your stop is too far away and the air is thick with your low mood and the idea of strangers) like a hot weight, something unbearable and recognisable.
I wanted to echo what I have said before: "be kinder to yourself", so I went to look at the poem again and oh, Kelli. It hurts.
I love you furiously. Big, beating artichoke heart (I am forever repeating myself) and art in everything you do - poet and poem and the intake of breath before the reading starts and after the meaning hits.
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are you the same way, then? do you refuse to go out on a limb? i don't know how to be kinder to myself because that trait of mine has ruined at least one really good thing. that poem says it in just the right way, too. it really, really does hurt, you're right. adrienne rich has that certain way to pluck heart strings, that's for certain. (our words misunderstand us . . . dead winter doesn't die, / it wears away, . . . rained away or burnt dry. / our desiring does this,
make no mistake, i'm speaking / of fact: through mere indifference / we could prevent it.i love you so much, i do. 'furiously' is a wonderful word. i'll use 'without reserve' - i love you without reserve. (i repeat myself all the time. if you go back through all my writings, they all say the exact same thing at one or two or four week intervals; with the same analogies and imagery and metaphors and rhthym ( ... )
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