You raised me to question the authority of people who are like the person you've unintentionally become; you belittled me for questioning the authority which you use to demonize the person you unintentionally raised me to be.
the mosaic of an adult crafted with the pieces of the child you broke
My body, still, slicing through the
crisp autumn air.
I didn’t have to think,
I didn’t have to feel.
I was weightless.
Falling was the easy part.
My body, bruised, smashing through the
still and concrete water.
I didn’t have to cut,
I didn’t have to cry.
I was surrounded.
Falling was the easy part.
My body, silent, slicing through the
soundless dark depths.
I didn’t have to hurt,
I didn’t have to breathe.
I was submerged.
But then the people came.
My body, limp, laying on the
cold ground after being pulled out of the lake.
I had to apologize,
I had to say goodbye.
I was gone.
If you fall into a lake and there’s
nobody around,
did you really make a splash?
You wake up,
morning sun grazing your skin;
rays of light kissing your eyes awake.
Everything is slightly more pretty than it was yesterday.
Everything is slightly more blurry.
To see the swirling hues of crimson and maroon
instead of the
bed with stains from the blood
you forgot you bled last night.
To see a galaxy of purple and blue
instead of the
throbbing black eye
you see when you look in the mirror.
To see the rays of neon lights
instead of the
faces of the people you once loved all in a club that
you look at on your wall every day.
When you put on your glasses,
you see the detail.
The rips, the tears, the lose strings.
The disturbing, the damned, the demented,
all of it.
It’s all right in front of you.
This is a hellish paradise we live in-
this is a sick joke.
Something I've recently gained perspective on is the fact that the woods behind my childhood home is now overgrown. You can no longer see the things I once saw as a child- the river, the rocks, the sand, the secret places my dad and I would go on adventures to. That part of my childhood- that part of me- is gone now. However beauty is in perspective. Yes, I can never go back to the places I once did as a child- I can never go back to my childhood- but there’s still beauty and life in the overgrown vegetation that has taken over the woods. There’s still beauty and life in the future. It’s not the same type of liveliness that my childhood had, but it’s still a journey that awaits me.
Have hope. The place where ferns and trees have taken up the spaces where your past once was is the same place which holds new life.
Who wants to just pack a toothbrush and some money and go somewhere with me? Just drive the backroads and listen to the Lumineers while we fall in love slowly without realizing it. We could hitchhike when our crappy car inevitably breaks down, and learn all of each others deepest secrets and strongest hopes and longest lasting dreams. We could go to old second hand bookstores and get a dozen books for a crinkled five dollar bill that you had left in your pocket and I could read to you while you drive. Become the best of friends on this road trip to heaven and just live. No real destination. Just happiness. Let’s go on a journey together...
P A I N T the W O R L D with P R I M A R Y C O L O R S Paint the world primary and the rest of the colors will birth from their touch… -the Amazing Freakshow
I just want a dark academia boyfriend/ girlfriend/ partner who will go on dates with me to old second hand bookstores and play vinals and CD’s and tapes while we dance in the kitchen and read in the morning surrounded by the crisp air of the fall and bask in the golden glory that is the sun is that too much to ask for god damn it
Also yes I know my grammar and punctuation are appalling I’m ranting give me a break
Honestly I haven’t been feeling much of anything lately. I’m barely phased by the things that’ve been happening, when I should be having a breakdown. Am I even alive? It doesn’t feel like I am. I’m just a shell of the girl I used to be, who is a stranger to the girl I am now. But that’s the thing. I’m just a girl. I should be going out to parties and football games and sleepovers and doing fucked up things because I’m young and dumb and enjoying life for what it is- a mess. But no, I’m sitting in the darkness of my room, swallowed by the demons I call my only friends because no one else is here, and writing to the internet on a blog no one will ever see. Is this my shout into the void? It must be, because it physically drains me to open my mouth and utter words. I never understood when people said they literally couldn’t talk until now. Now I get it. And in a way it’s a good thing in certain lights, because if I get better, I'll be able to help people going through similar things because I'll have gone through it myself. But in a way it’s a bad thing, because I now also understand the term “passively suicidal.” That I wouldn’t kill myself, but I wouldn’t mind if I did die; that if I managed to cut a bit too deep- if I was crossing the street and a truck came hurtling towards me with no sign of stopping- I wouldn’t mind.