hymn for the godless
you once said to me there was a rhythm in the way we peeled ourselves apart; like fruits spoiling in the sun, tearing off each other’s sweet flesh and melting peach into the earth.
in another version we are peeling back our shoulder blades to make room for angel wings. you’re saying come here, my little icarus, the sun is so far away and i am so close, and there is no flight in this sacrifice of ours, anyway, no mythological wonder, we are too godless and small to touch the bird-blue sky.
and they wouldn’t say it like this, but i know we became divine for one moment. it was the second where you were tending to my wounds, rebuilding your little barefoot lover in the white dress, and i was watching the stars turn above the open field, and in the silence i swear i heard the humming of your lawless boy body.
there is one more version of this story, of course, the one where i am clawing at the legs of your ghost in the middle of the night, and i am tearing your bones apart for one last glance at your heart. but you are already gone, darling, there isn’t a thing beating inside of you, just a drum-boy marching down a burning hill, beating out a war song. he is the sacrifice, the showman, all dressed up to die. he looks up into the vast sky of your body
and i am a god for one breath
as he tells me you are long gone.
behind the brick garden wall
behind the brick garden wall
cold and artificial
tall and looming
a lavish greenery awaits us
countless flowers blooming
masking the scenery
with their sickly sweet scents
a small pond
decorated in lillypads
and an abundance of cattails
the fish say hello
the frogs watch silently
from their moss covered rocks
butterflies flitter about
dancing with each other
the lazy cat
lounging on the garden wall
mewls loudly
as if inviting us
to come and play
it’s just behind the brick garden wall
dad, can u hold me like u did when i was little? i need that right now.
i don’t have a key chain name, you knew that when you adopted me; sometimes, i wonder if it’s the first thing you noticed about me. i don’t much care though, because you love me anyway. my strongest memory of you telling me so is when i asked you why i was brown when our whole family was so pale, ‘caucasian’ i think you told me (that little detail is blurry, sorry). you explained to me i’m beautiful and every in the family wants my tan skin and my blood dad left me but that doesn’t matter because you loved me. you loved me and that’s all that really, ever, truly matters. and you reminded me this a thousand times in a single minute while holding me, hugging me, your rough calloused hands surprisingly soft against my coloured skin.
dad, can you hold me like you did back then, when you told me you loved me and my looks had nothing to do with it? ’cause, i need that right now. life’s so confusing and painful, i just feel like- no, i need to start- crying, right now. my hearts in a million pieces, and, i know it’ll scratch up your hands, but can you please pick them up and hold them together?
it’s partly because of this boy who broke my heart. daddy, i loved him, and he left me. and loving him was like cutting onions, i was always crying (i knew you’d like that metaphor); though, i thought it was temporary. he’s my everything, or i thought he was; since he’s gone, i don’t much anymore. and i don’t want to think of a future without him in it, even though he’s broken my heart, because honestly? he helped me discover it; simply, he was my first love, i believe it. but what’s worse, is whenever i’m not hurting over him, i’m hurting over her.
daddy, i met a girl- and she’s bloody brilliant. she knows i’m a writer, and the best part is, she is too. but not everyone knows the true existence of her writing, most have only ever really touched the surface. whenever i read her work, it’s like finding parts of your soul in word form, strung together in a poem she presents to you in a way that makes you think you’ve never known yourself. and even then, she’s more than the words handcrafted by her heart. she’s outrageously smart, i can’t keep up (though i pretend and attempt to, because i’m the older one). talking to her is like a breath of fresh air and when i need her most, she’s the human version of home. at one point, i almost told her i loved her. i held back because i think she would believe it meant something else entirely, and say it back in a different form. but the main reason i held back was because i’m not even sure what it means. i’ve never felt like this with a girl before - not even a single one of my boyfriends (including him). i know i love her, but the proper words to tell her are nonexistent because they’re foreign to my unknowing mind. but i do know this, she makes me question everything. and yes, i know grandma raised you by the bible and jesus is the colour you bleed, but please, if loving her means i’m sapphic, will you still love me? ’cause if there’s anyone on this damned planet i need most, it’s you, dad. i could live an eternity in misery without her, but without you, i wouldn’t be able to live at all.
so please, daddy, please- hold me, hug me, be there for me. because out of everybody, i need you more than anything. and right now, i’m crying tears and questioning everything and believe that sylvia path’s life will consume me: dark poetry, mental institutions, people slapping me with the words crazy, tragic endings. and no, i’m not scared of dying; it’s the living that scares me. what if i haven’t lived my life enough? i won’t ever stop fighting to breath, but i just want to know that it’s worth it and i won’t regret anything.
dad, i love you; please, take me back to when i was little and you holding me would solve everything.
rhetorical questions/rant (towards no one in particular)
flighty flightless broken toes
balanced on a spread of
smeared righteousness
fear spinning down the fire bar uneven bar
lands both feet cracked against the
curl of a lipped regret for all the wrong things
shamefulness lingering
caverns explored in caution like tiptoeing through
quicksand
hatred only being reasonable when
“justified / understandable / living on /”
when were musings enough to carry a conversation?
painting this idyllic photo i can’t believe
do you deny yourself your humanity?
do you exist without all the ordinary vices?
does existing with a prefrontal cortex guarantee you a path to being ‘human’?
is hate ever allowed to be unreasonable when the circumstances allow it?
do you pretend to be superior?
are you only admitting your mistakes so you’re on the higher ground?
how do you know? how is this not a lie?
can't every action be construed as selfish?
are you only wrong when you allow yourself to be?
what right do you have to be spewing all this bullshit like you’re some kind of saint?
have i turned into a villain? am i to be yelled at, us be damned?
how fast will i fall without you to support me?
those people those people what’s the goddamn difference between us and them?
tell me
being civil like i'm worth your disdain but not your anger
who the hell do you think you are?
i lay awake at night
tracing the cracks in my knuckles, asking myself these questions
and all the other things i can't
unblinklingly smile and think about a little bit
damn
what a hypocrite i am
love, thesaurus definition
love, thesaurus definition:
synonymous for throwing rocks at the window
of the dying house in the woods just to hear
something besides myself. to look at the
broken glass on the ground and think,
"that's me." there is a metaphor here
somewhere, but don't try to find it.
when i see my phone light up with your
name, i am a thesaurus definition of the crickets in
the meadow past your house: noise, blast, buzz,
clamor, crash, cry. you'll notice none of those words are
actually the same. what i mean is, let's go to
the grocery store and talk about every time we
ever lost our parents in the aisles. how my loneliness
is the same as the squeeze of your heart when you
ran to who you thought was your dad just to
find a stranger's face. what i mean is, let's be birds but not
the singing ones. no, not the colorful ones either. let's be
ordinary and desaturated in our nest of the world.
i love you theoretically, in the way i love
the dying house, in the way i love the dying
city, in the way i love fire- in the distance or
else when it's all falling apart. still there's the
burn on my finger. still there's the airport line. and
still, the broken glass on the ground.
Eww
Doomsday Dating - an influx of people on dating sites that are either looking for a chance to empty their sack or someone to shack up with for awhile. It is EXTREMELY annoying because it's 98% horny men that have forgotten how communication works and are basically just sending their dicks at random.
Ex. "I wouldm't revommend getting on Tinder. Everyone is doomsday dating so you'll either gwt a bunch of random dick pics or ultra-personal questions from someone you only said 'Hi' to. Just go play Scrabble with your cat."