Lately, I forgot I cared
That I wasn't loved by you
And then saw you smile
And it took me back to the days we used to laugh
Our energy together allowing us to run for miles
And I wonder what about me didn't make the cut
What about me didn't appeal to your senses
What about me wasn't enough for you
Lately, I remembered what it was like
To want to be wanted by you
And then I saw
The array of nothingness in your eyes
Something I’ve never noticed
And I wonder how long they’ve been empty
What about the world that made them die
What about the world affected your sight
Lately, I have lived in a world
Worried about you
Releasing it wasn't I who did not satisfy
Because you were lost
And I wondered what you really longed for
What about your life is not appealing to your senses
What about your life is not enough for you
Haunting sky of stars
Singing to the moon
Flying pieces and parts
Dancing to the tune
A lonely toy
A pack of wolfs
A dream I dreamt
A hollow mattress
My eyes closed tight
As the butterflies
Head to the moon
A lonely toy, pack of wolves
Married daisies following hooves
A grateful girl
Herd of horses
Thorns without roses
Running away from the tune
Things I wish said to you.
"The silence. This very silence. That has gone on for months. This silence is the loudest in my head it has ever been. The silence between us. The strangers we have become. Is it the worst crime you've ever committed? Or am I truly dumb?
The Discourse. The very Discourse, that we used to have. Lingers. Creeps. Barges in as I brush my teeth, as watch the professors hand move across the white board, as I eat, talk, drive, walk. It Barges in throughout my greatest daydreams, forcing a remberance of my worst nightmare. Oh the jealousy I feel towards you. To be able to inhale and exhale without thinking of the words you once told me.
I think you are cruel, genuinely mean. I know you are a liar, but I do not know who you were lying to. I don't know if I ever truly met you because you were not who you shown me to be.
Remember the discourse. The very Discourse, the words you yourself told me. I got to admit, It’s a beautiful lie. The yearning thought of your apology
It's a hopeless void, knowing you don't miss me.
Do you remember the words? That came from your tongue. An inching spider to mother a web of lies.
I am thankful we do not speak. Because speaking to you again is the concept of failure, it is stepping on a nail barefoot, it is expired milk and projectile vomit. It is being the only person to laugh at my joke. It is digressing. But there is one thing I want you to know. Karma is laughing at my jokes too, she'll find you. I hope you get everything you deserve - but I hope I don't hear a word about it."
You don’t love me .
The first boy who called me beatiful,
ended up being the worst guy I ever met.
so no, you do not love me.
My body is the guideline for boys.
My heart is the instruction manual.
they throw away.
You don't love me.
you love the idea of my hair.
falling on your face
as I remove my lips from yours
You love my softness.
the idea of making me
You love the way my body.
could benefit yours
You don't love me.
Never missing that a beating heart
is an open wound.
You don't love me.
You just wish you could.
the blood that rushed throughout veins
from birthing of child
to matching the pitched in which the doorbell praises
I wonder if it all meant something.
or distinctly destroyed by factors outplayed.
the decipher of a baby's tears.
nights I've stayed up.
wary and woed
bleed straight from my soul
Take away my special
and carry me the defensibly.
as the girl next to me
who worships the grave
is the difference
between violets and roses.
Being published was the warm cherry on freezing cold ice cream, the validation I had always craved. Being published means more than just expression - it means livelihood. It is the blossoming of the seeds of the garden I planted as a child. The " i'm proud of you" that I have heard but finally realize is not satire. Being published meant the world to me just for my tiny college's tiny art's magazine. I can't wait to see what my words can do when pressure is applied to the message. Being published would bring meaning to my name.
wasn’t made to be loved. I was made to give but never receive. My purpose was to be the first to say congratulations but forever be the last to hear an applause. It is something I have come to terms with. I was made to be hurt but never protected. I drop everyone off but no one makes sure I get home safely. I have come to terms that my smile will never be contagious and my tears will never water up someone else’s eyes. I wasn’t made to be loved.
Even though knowing this fact about myself , I still wish you never looked into my eyes. I wish you had never asked me if they were real or just contacts. I wish you never invited us to that party and I wished I never allowed you to spend the night. I wished you never kissed my forehead, never kissed my nose and never kissed my lips. You reassured me that my eyes are pretty enough to fall in love with but not enough to fall in deep. To love them as objects but not the soul that lies beneath. I remember you told me you could tell I was a sad person when you looked into my eyes , you asked who hurt me and came to the conclusion that a lot of people did . You were right. I still wonder why you brought this up - because the sadness in my eyes meant nothing to you 3 weeks later. The sadness in my eyes did not phase you as you told your roommate you never liked me.
“ I didn’t like her” a phrase that has never been uncostumed. I have heard this phrase my whole life. This phrase coming from everyone else was not a lie though; It was a genuine statement. You, on the other hand , looked into my eyes and called them crystals. You told me I was beautiful. You told me I made you nervous. You put my face in your hands and kissed me. I would have never made a move - that's just not who I am. You found me when I was looking with my eyes closed. You saw my innocence and praised my vulnerability. But why did you have to turn me into a stupid girl who turned out to just be naive? I did not know I was just a check off your college girl hookup list. Did you enjoy being my first ? Did it give you some form of ego boost being an 18 year old girl's first kiss? Was it an added pleasure being the first to ever touch me with given permission? And did it bore you when it was slow? Did I bore you when I moved your hand from my inner thigh? Is that when my eyes went from being beautiful , to just eyes? You purposefully undressed my loneliness but wished it was my body.
I know I wasn’t made to be loved but I think you were just the epitome of what it could be like for me. You were just an idea. A hypothesis once again proven wrong. I think this was what left me in despair for so long. What left me sleeping through my days, what lost my appetite, what blocked my writing. Because what is it about me that people always found okay to throw rocks at until I am black and bruised? What is it about me that makes people think they can treat me wrong and just move on with their lives perfectly fine? What is it about me that made you walk past me with a group of girls and tell me to have a good night? What is it about me that gives you the right to lie ? Was it the way I told you it was okay to cry? The way I made you laugh ? The way I checked in on you when you were sick? Was it a repulsing feeling for me to hug you when you told me you needed one?
Even though you were a complete asshole to me, you, yourself do not deserve the credit for my depressive episode. I was over the you aspect the moment you told me you were just busy. You just brought out my trauma of always being the one pushed away. The friend who walks in the grass because there's no more room on the sidewalk. The daughter who was told “ I cannot wait till you move out” You made me remember that no matter where I go or who I meet I am the same little vulnerable naive girl. The same girl who cried night after night in her closet. The same girl who only has 2 -3 friends she doesnt doubt. You made me remember I wasn’t made to be loved because how can you be loved if you were never even made to be liked.
My biggest weakness has always been my anger. My previous depressive episodes meant words of power in arguments. It meant making people wish they never met me . These episodes meant war. This time around I did not feel anger , I did not have energy to yell and force out hate on to you. The one thing I have always been ashamed of , you made me crave. I craved to feel the heat rush to my face and turn my ears red. I craved to belittle you right to your face. I wanted you to feel small and to show you what a real bitch could be. I wanted to be able to prove that no man had ever encountered anything worse than my feminine rage. Make you realize you did not just get away with throwing my heart in front of the city bus. I wouldn’t have cared who you told I was a psycho afterwards. I wanted to pull out all your insecurities , throw them in your face and get rid of that awful ego of yours. I wanted to make your 5 '7 , frat boy with no common sense, mommy issues, outgrown facial hair, ,no personality having ass cry. I wanted to watch the tears fall from your eyes onto your lips before you could wipe them because the emotions distracted your reflexes. Make you regret making me the worst crime you'd ever commit. And believe me if you were any other motherfucker I would have. So I do not know what was different, I do not know why I let you get away with this.
Maybe it was because when I looked into your eyes , there was already nothing there . No sadness and no hidden truths. Your eyes are so lifeless it was scary. I think that’s enough of a problem for you to deal with, because whatever demons tried to kill you obviously won. I am not phased when I see you with the seventeen girls I have seen you with so far ; I know they could never mean anything to you. I am not convinced by the alarming amount of videos of you drunk and partying - I know it is all just temporary and fake happiness. I know when I walk past you and act like I never knew you that one day all you will feel is regret. For now though I will be okay and not worry about hitting you where it hurts. As hard as it is for me to say , at least I have depressive episodes , because at least I still feel something from the horrible world around me.
Though I wasn't made to be loved , at least I am still able to give it out.
Winter does not last forever..
Winter does not last forever. The chilled wind comes and then goes. Red noses turn into stuffed ones as I sniffle from the pollen as plants bloom in spring. 3 months further along noses will turn red again peeling from the sun. I learn to have fun, to smile as I sweat. Winter does not last forever. Yet sometimes, even in the blazing sun I am stuck right where the chilled wind left me. Swimming with floaties turns to drowning underneath the ice as my friend's skate right above me. The cracks in the ice let in a safe air but my hypothermia isn't supposed to be anyone else's heat exhaustion - it's just my hypothermia.
I think winter last as long as I've conditioned myself to let it. Enjoying summer feels like high infidelity to my winters. At some point between the changes of the seasons I began to miss the way my lips turned purple. I long for the goose bumps on my arms in place of the freckles in which the sun had kissed me with. I find so much comfort in the cold that warmth has become suffocating. I'll bath in ice just to the spark the snowflakes within me again. After I'll turn around and invalidate my winters like the North Invalidates the South's.
Winter does not last forever but it finds its place throughout calendar's and comes around whenever it can. Different conditions, different temperatures, different storms. Winter is a teacher of strength and resources. Winters are escapable but I can escape who I've accustomed myself to be because of them. Winter does not last forever, but my winter may live inside of me for the rest of my life.