fuckmewithwordss

[fuckmewithwordss]

hi

[fuckmewithwordss]

I still do

“All I want is you, you and vinyls, and poetry, and coffee, your smell, your hair, your taste, your words, cold and us”

— (via fuckmewithwordss)

[fuckmewithwordss]

“Oh, you know, you realize that grief is perhaps the last and final translation of love. And I think, you know, this is the last act of loving someone. And you realize that it will never end. You get to do this, to translate this last act of love for the rest of your life. And so, you know, it's– really, her absence is felt every day.

“And ever since I lost her, I felt that my life has been lived in only two days, if that makes any sense. You know, there's the today, where she is not here, and then the vast and endless yesterday where she was, even though it's been three years since. How many months and days? But I only see it in — with one demarcation. Two days — today without my mother, and yesterday, when she was alive. That's all I see. That's how I see my life now.”

-Ocean Vuong, NPR

[fuckmewithwordss]

Ocean Vuong, On Earth we’re briefly gorgeous

(words sewn onto paper) my art Instagram

[fuckmewithwordss]

Today, I forgot how to old my breath. I felt steady my hands didn’t shake, I didn’t cry while adjusting my wig on my head in the bathroom. I put ten dollars worth of gas in my car and drove home.

I drove the fuck home.

I’ll be honest I know no one reads a single word I write here anymore & that’s okay. I just need to let go.

Amen

[fuckmewithwordss]

I am turning 35 in a few months. I’ve been depressed for 30 of those years. Lately, it’s been more realistic for me. Surviving is a bit tiring most days. Living life after divorce and re-teaching your body all the ways to sit and smile, loving yourself again and again and fucking again…learning to just breathe and not wince at the pain of whatever it took to get you to where you are now. And where is now? Now is a one bedroom home with an echo dot that you quietly whisper to in the middle of the night, “I love you,” just so you can feel at least bit whole again. Just so someone/something will know that you’re clinging on to the fold and climbing out from the darkness with bruises to thick and fresh to hide.

Do you remember your first heartbreak? I do, but that one doesn’t hurt. The latest hurts, the one from July of 2020. The one where I ran away hoping he would chase after me into the waves to keep me from being lost at sea. But instead, when I came back to shore he laughed at told me one night in the middle of a thunder storm that he didn’t love me the same because I had left him.

“Your hurt me when you left me.” -Khalid Marfouk

I’m writing this here because it’s safe. It’s a place that’s been home for my words since I was 20. I’m happy most days, but there are days when crying is as intimate as love making used to be to me. I sit in memories. Fold myself in what should’ve been instead of what is. What is truth? I’m healing and it’s lonely. It’s a lonely I need in order to feel peace.

If you’re reading this. I just want someone to hold me in the middle of the night while sirens wail through the chaos of this world.

I just miss being happy, always.

#poetry #prose

[fuckmewithwordss]

What seems like a reasonable distance to one person may feel too far to somebody else.”

— Haruki Murakami, After Dark