vrch: just dropping by to tell you how much i enjoy the pictures of your life
<3
you look like i’ve forgotten how to love you
neglected, a tumbleweed garden in the middle of your chest
a desert, all dried up
this is something like dreaming
—how you say
i always get sleepy
when you’re upset with me
i’ve been tracing new mountains
down the notches of your spine
marking new trails
across the veins within your arms—
there’s a shortcut
between your clavicles
and this is all because
i’d rather cross the terrain of your upturned palms
with a kiss
than try to explain, with words
the number of stars, planets in infinite rotation
pieced together into storybook constellations
and all in perfect alignment
so that i could love you
in a silence louder
than all of your frustrations
and this because i think i’m cool or something
Anonymous: favourite blogs and people on tumblr?
adelinegray, vrch, & dimensionsofsleep are some of my fav tumblr babes! check ‘em out. juliaghouliaa is one of my favorite ladies irl and, of course, littlefog is just my favorite ever.
there you go.
i’ve been burying my disappointments across this town—every day is feeling more and more like a sidestep around another headstone. two days ago i woke up in the middle of an anxiety attack so severe it had me whispering prayers slick like the edge of a tear—asking for an answer to all of the question marks that have landed me where i am. since then, i’ve been decent at holding it together, but today, leaving a coffeeshop that once felt like home, and running out of breath, my brother slipped away from the turn home, rolled the windows down, and drove the country roads surrounding the town in which we grew up, speeding around the corners and blasting gospel music. he didn’t have to say anything—it felt like something my mother would’ve done, back in the day. i thought about calling her again, telling her that she cannot treat me that way, but then telling her that i will always love her.
i didn’t.
instead, i put the coffee stained bedlinens into the wash—the ghosts around here have been stirring, a stationary coffee cup landed right in the middle of my bed, upturned and emptied while i was in the shower. oh, see, see how everything’s a joke at first? remember when you told me to “stay strong”? you told me “don’t give in” but now i’m sitting in an empty apartment, pulling meaning from routines simple as washing the dishes and cooking myself dinner (like not owning a microwave makes things more sophisticated, somehow), and feeling like defeat. maybe there is something wrong with me, maybe i can’t unwind myself from my mother’s past and maybe i was born with a broken heart. i know i treat things like the world is either beginning or ending and i know it’s unattractive, to ricochet so rapidly between the extremes. but, i don’t know, i try. i love with my whole heart and sometimes, when it comes down to it, i can feel it ripping at the seams, an earthquake inside my skeletal frame—everything slipping through my fingers. i can’t control it, i can’t even try. and maybe accepting it is the most okay i will be right now.
it was a joke at first, but even my ghosts are fed up.
Anonymous: what are you currently reading?
i have been slowly, slowly working my way through trailer park girl by terese svoboda and i just received a book of micro fiction edited and introduced by jerome stern in the mail from the lovely adeline (whose letter i am just about finished with! only a few more days now). once school’s finally out for the summer (two weeks), i will have a lot more time on my hands for reading and one of my summer goals is to read a new book each week.
i’m missing a lot of people today
i’ve poured all of my words into asinine poetry and discussion for a grade and i feel used-up. i sleep past my lectures, daydream my way through work, and then go back to bed at night disappointed that i didn’t do anything worthwhile. i want to talk about things like the way i accidentally filled the teakettle too full this morning and it boiled over and flooded the stovetop with hot water, how i used the last dishrag to mop it up; the way i cried when i suddenly realized how hard it was raining after you left my apartment, slipped on my oldest pair of tennis shoes and drove after you—how you were soaking wet when i found you. i want to write about the way i’ve been searching for god like i’ve been waiting for my mother—how i saw her face across the bindings of my books lined up in my bookshelf, how it fit in the worst way: a prayer off stagnant lips; how i spent time in a coffeeshop just to sit on a couch with nothing to say, feeling heavy and wide open—cavernous with the disappointment.
i want to talk about how i get irrevocably messy sometimes because i really am just confused—uncomfortable with myself because i can’t find the line between my adolescence and my adulthood anymore: blurred with my worsening sight, quieted with my worsening hearing: thinking that maybe i really don’t look closely enough, listen intently enough, anymore.
