anastasiaoflore

[anastasiaoflore]

COMMIT

Intimacy looks like this-like lying, body and body beside you, planning a murder you’d never commit. 

“How would you kill me?”

He thinks he does not understand.

“How would I kill you?”

“Yes.”

A moment. He thinks. There is an eternity in that thought.

“Helium. I would use Helium.”

My first thought is a balloon. Hospitals and baby showers, birthdays and graduations. Not funerals. No one brings helium balloons to a funeral. 

“Helium. What would that do to me?”

He isn’t quiet. Not exactly. Still in the way that a storm is, after the lightning, before the noise. If I sit still enough, and do not breathe, I can hear the crackling of electricity in his voice. The groaning weight of the thunder in his locution. 

“It would essentially suffocate you. You would not feel it though. You would be passed out in two minutes and dead after ten. It would be fast. It would be painless.”

It is happening. It is happening here and now, and I can feel the weight of the future on skin i will not wear for seven years. In the brick wall, where I was breathless…again, then, I am breathless. And will be. It is the future, it is a story, it is happening to me. It is the culmination of every experience, I have and will have. 

“Thank you.”

But there, in this narrative or prophesy, is still a thread of doubt. I press my eyelids against it, tell it not to ask. My mouth does. It has always been a traitor to me.

“Would you….kiss me first?”

He doesn’t wait. He knows what he would, and he can feel it happening now too, and he is without hesitation or guise when his mouth betrays us both.

“Yes.”

I shudder, and would begin to cry. I do not cry.

“Thank you.”

He does not say anything else. He has said everything he would. I love him for it. I would love him because he killed me. Because i was beautiful enough to him that he would kiss me, before his hands took my life from me (his life from his). 

A moment passes, things are said. They do not matter. They are air between the murder commited moments ago and the one that will come. This time, between breath and air, I taste crimson. I imagine knives, but that does not come to me beautifully. I know i am not beautiful, and my murder would be no different. I breathe ragged, cut like wet cardboard through the silence.

“I wish I could say I would use a knife, but I doubt my physical ability to do that…I would strangle you to death.”

He went silent and still as soon as I spoke. I can feel him knowing what it feels like to be killed. I hope that he enjoys it, that he finds it as intimate, as beautiful, as present and impossible as I do. I wonder if he could feel the knife, the hands around his throat. I wonder if he would. 

“I would…force you down. I would climb on top of you, straddling your waist. I would choke you until you died. I would enjoy it. I think you would too.”

The future becomes uncertain. I see him lying beneath me, at peace. It is a peace I cannot ever achieve. It is a gift. 

“I would sit up. Wait for you to wake up.”

I am childish even when I kill him. Dreaming even when I dream. 

“I would realize that you would not. Never be awake again. And that I did that. I would cry.”

I feel the grief, the dawn in my mind as the grey sun rose to reveal the grey deed I had done, his grey face, his beautiful dead and nothing beautiful about this after all.

“And then I would get up and walk away. Keep going. I’d be okay.”

In my head, I do. I pick up my shirt, wipe off my mouth, and leave, out the brick alcove where he kissed me hard, his body somehow seeping pain into the ground around us. Around him. There is no us. 

I know this happens, but I see myself turn back, throw myself on his body, on the body that was mine, was always mine but i never knew, never trusted him. I walk away and die and decay on the inside, my face a masque and my eyes dead as his are now, and I stay with him until they find me. Somehow, both stories are true. I am gone before the cops come, i am never found. I am found crying and clutching in the red and blue lights, I am guilty. 

“And then I’d come back. Lay with you until the cops found me. Found me holding your body and crying.”

He is breathing again. We are both here again, on this air mattress on the porch, our bodies alive and breathing and bloodless and guilty and innocent. We are both alive. We are both breathing again and it is all over. It is all over now. In another world, we are dead. In another world, we are dying. In another world, we are killers. 

But we are in this world. We are in this world, and this world is going to give us exactly what we deserve. Innocent, alive, breathing, bloodless. He looks at me. I move closer to him. 

We breathe. We breathe. We are breathing.

[anastasiaoflore]

“How to explain that “trans” may work well enough as shorthand, but the quickly developing mainstream narrative it evokes (“born in the wrong body,” necessitating an orthopedic pilgrimage between two fixed destinations) is useless for some - but partially, or even profoundly, useful for others? That for some, “transitioning” may mean leaving one gender entirely behind, while for others it doesn’t? …How to explain, in a culture frantic for resolution, that sometimes the shit stays messy? I do not want the female gender that has been assigned to me at birth. Neither do I want the male gender that transsexual medicine can furnish and that the state will award me if I behave in the right way. I don’t want any of it. How to explain that for some, or for some at some times, this irresolution is OK - desirable, even - whereas for others, or for others at some times, it stays a source of conflict or grief? How does one get across the fact that the best way to find out how people feel about their gender or their sexuality is to listen to what they tell you, and to try to treat them accordingly, without shellacking over their version of reality with yours?”

— Maggie Nelson, The Argonauts

[anastasiaoflore]

What is it about birthdays that just fucking suck?

It's not the fact of getting older, at least not for me. I've long since made my peace with death, I'm just carrying it out to the end now.

Is it the recollection? The memory of days past and people lost? That's closer I think. I wonder why I only remember loss, and not progress or gain.

Why is pain of the heart more vibrant than fulfillment of the soul?

I keep resetting, over and over. Hope gives way to longing, to loneliness, to despair. And it starts again. Isn't it supposed to be worth it? Isn't that what they say? Hard to find truth in that when you're the one living.

One more reset, one more cycle, one more year. Happy birthday to me, til death due us part.

#happy birthday #to me at least

[anastasiaoflore]

Oh? Your favorite video game/anime/YA book series is Kingdom Hearts/Neon Genesis Evangelion/Percy Jackson and the Olympians?

What are your other coping mechanisms for your childhood abandonment trauma?

Personally I run a dissociation-based build, but to each their own :)

#kingdom hearts #neon genesis evangelion #percy jackon and the olympians #coping mechanisms

[anastasiaoflore]

The Ache Inside

Why couldn't you just hate me?

Why couldn't you just hate me

& walk

away...

Why couldn't you just hate me?

Yell, & scream, "Goodbye!"

Why couldn't you just hate me?

When all you did,

is make

us cry...

I never even wanted, to ever, say goodbye

Oh, I wanted to try,

I wanted to try,

I wanted to try...

Oh, why couldn't you just hate me?

Now all I ever do,

is yearn

& ache

inside

Oh, why did you say that you wanted me?

Why couldn't you just hate me?

When all you could do,

is cry

& ache

inside

#poetry #poets on tumblr #ache #inside

[anastasiaoflore]

Sometimes it really do be like that

Staring at it on the wall actually kind of helps

Not trying to call anyone out, I'm just tired of hurting myself when I'm already hurting

This is about self improvement

[anastasiaoflore]

Get you a girl who's a poet

Me, the girl is me I'm a poet,

Get me

#poets on tumblr

[anastasiaoflore]

Keep Me in Your Phone

I know you gotta go

I know you can't see me right now

But just do me one favor

If our time is anything, just this 1 thing

Keep me in your phone

That time comes, cleaning out the closet,

When you see my name

Remember me

Remember the sweet days, the nervous days too,

Remember my face, remember it caressing you

And if you remember me, cleaning and seeing

My name, do me a favor, just this 1 thing

And keep me in your phone.

#poetry #poets on tumblr #love poem #cellular telephone

[anastasiaoflore]

The Time I Had with You

I grew with you, blonde-haired beauty

Step by step, year by year

You've been by me & stayed with me

Fiery to touch, warm if felt

Your smile gives life, hopeful & pure

I learned to be with you, dark-haired beauty

Shared shadows & dangerous plans

You found me in the dark, I found you shining

A soothing breath, goose-bumps down the spine

Your smile gives love, hopeful & pure

I used to be with you, short-haired lover

A kind face, knowingly embraced

You lit my path, faded to shadows

Smooth & rough, a lover's touch

Your smile gives sight, hopeful & pure

I'm going to know you, red-haired beauty

Excited secrets & shared plans

You glow with passion, day after day

Hot to the touch, held and beholden

Your smile gives hope, simple & pure

You are my Sun & my Night

You are my Moon & my Day

I will love you forever

Forever & ever

Until forever, I fade.

#poetry #artists on tumblr #day and night #a tale of thousand stars

[anastasiaoflore]

I had forgotten what I felt like

To be so full of hope

To not only face, but to embrace, the unknown

To look upon it not with fear and worry

But to look upon it with curiosity and strength

#poetry #skyphotography #canvas

[anastasiaoflore]

I'm sorry I'm weak.

I just couldn't cut it.

The past was too hard I think,

The present too much to cope with.

I can't do it, and I'm sorry.

I'm gonna go now, I really did enjoy my time, some of it at least.

Maybe I'll get to see the castle again before I go.

That would be nice.

[anastasiaoflore]

Kingdom 💕 As$ Bullshit

#kingdom come #let there be light #art journal #acrylic

[anastasiaoflore]

Tooth

Jar

it' s a jar frrr yrrr tooth

#replacement teeth #witch jars #cute smile #art journal

[anastasiaoflore]

ah. !

fly. !

#fly high #art journal #scream #frog mom

[anastasiaoflore]

Please Don't Hurt Me

#box office #tenticles #art journal #puppy dog eyes

[anastasiaoflore]

I'm tired

I made art today

Working on some kind of negative space painting

Some cool doodles too

I don't know, I just feel better about myself I guess. It's been awhile since that happened

They're not done well, but it makes me feel good to create something and at least there's some good ideas there

[anastasiaoflore]

Different

“You’re…different. I’ve never met a girl like you.”

She stares at him, hands stilling over her sword. “What?”

“All the girls in my village are so boring,” he says. “So focused on finding husbands that they don’t bother learning about the world.”

“Girls in your village aren’t allowed to own property or vote,” she says, somewhat incredulous.

He winces at her tone. Need she be so harsh? “Well…it’s not like they’ve ever needed to, we’re a very progressive village and I always vote in favor of their needs. You’re not like that though, you fight for your rights yourself.”

“They are fighting for their rights,” she says. She sets down her sharpening stone, a frown stretching across her face. “No voting, no property, no wages of their own to purchase necessities. Besides finding a kind husband, what else do you think they can do to find a good future?”

“Th-they could leave,” he says. He did not expect the conversation to go this way. He expected her to blush like she had when he complimented her sword skills. He finds himself oddly defensive. “The men in my village aren’t slavers. The girls can leave any time.”

She snorts. “On foot? Your village is a hard, three day ride from the nearest city and that’s by horseback. And, even if they made it, what skills do they have? What references? The risk is too high for any woman to leave, that’s as good as trapping them. The fact that it takes me holding a sword for your opinion of women to change just shows how small-minded you are.”

 He bristles, unable to refute her. “Look, I was just trying to pay you a compliment! There’s no need to attack me.”

“Trust me,” she says, standing when he moves to loom over her. They’re of near equal height and, if he was trying to intimidate her, he fails. “You’ll know it when I’m attacking you. This isn’t it.”

He doesn’t seem to hear her, flustered to be seeing her eye-to-eye. “Furthermore, I think I’d know what sort of girls I grew up with! They’re timid and lack a desire to explore the world.”

“The world you created for them doesn’t take long to explore,” she says. Her sword is bare in her hand. “Marry or descend into poverty. Bear an heir or be cast into poverty. Behave or be thrown into poverty. I was there for a week and figured it out. But,” she continues, looking him up and down, “maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. After all, you’ve lived there your whole life and you still haven’t figured it out.”

He splutters. “That’s not–there are other options–”

“When the revolution is done,” she says, coldly, “and your people are forced to give women rights, see how many stay and how many leave. See how many suddenly discover their wander-lust. See how many end up like me.”

She leaves him there and stalks off to the edge of camp. She leaves him there with his mouth opening and closing, and heart pounding in his chest.

She leaves him there with the unsettling realization that he doesn’t want the women in his village to end up being like her, so different and strong. Because, if they did, where would he be? Where would his home be?

It’s an upsetting realization to have, mid-revolution. No chance to back out now.