I found myself turning back time and reading love letters from when we were young and with hearts full of hope and light with the recklessness that comes with not caring about tomorrow's.
You wrote to me about becoming a rock star even if it kills you. You are and always have been to me.
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"just once I'd like to be the poem, and not the poet"
just once I'd like to feel how being loved feels and not be the lover
just once I'd like to wear paper rings and not make them
just once I'd like to get gifts and not be the giver
just once I'd like to be the one over whom someone loses their sleep and not be the night hawk
just once I'd like to feel how it feels when someone burns their existence into ashes just for me and not pour my soul into someone only for them to see me
~ kaushiki
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To You,
I want you to take up my space, use my things, steal my water bottle when I'm not looking. Steal that one sweater you love so much on me. Subtly leave your hoodie at my place, telling me it looks better on me anyway. Brushing your ringed fingers through my hair, smiling when it makes me tired and I fall asleep in your lap. Drag me over to take a selfie just so you can post it, just so you can show the world that I'm yours and no one else's. Waking up to texts from you, smiling as they start my day. You buying coffee for us like we used to, before everything went to shit. Talking about anything and everything, absolutely carefree. Walking together, hands brushing but never connecting because you're not actually mine, just something close to it.
If you believe something can get better, it will. If you believe the repetition of something will get rid of it, it will. Not this time. I lie awake thinking about you, daydream about what could have- should have, would have- been, imagine what you'd say about something I did or said. My feelings go strangely dialed up and numb, tears pricking but never falling.
You were it for me. But you didn't believe in it. Believe in us.
Believe in me.
And I regret not convincing you otherwise before. Telling you sooner, before you found other people, other friends that weren't as quiet, as introverted, as awkward, as strange as me. Friends that weren't afraid of banter, weren't afraid to be judged for everything. Weren't afraid of being themselves.
I don't blame you. I never have. It wasn't the right time, maybe. Maybe we were never destined to work out. Maybe you were just scared. I'll never know, now.
-T
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another letter
you ask me how can i even like you and i know it’s over. i’ve been asked that question too many times not to know it means you don’t know how to treat me right. yet i have hope. because my love wasn’t destroyed after the last time i was asked this question. and i think i might want you to have this love now. please help me stop missing him. please replace him. please take my love for him and pass it onto you. please make me forget his laugh and his lips. replace all those memories with thoughts of you. i don’t want to hurt anymore, i want to keep loving. you walked into my world, please run in it. sprint through my paths so fast that i have to build new ones for you. rewire my brain. give me a fix. i want to be fixed. i want to be solved. when will the chimpanzee stop banging on the walls of my skull. let me share the noise. i’ll make it pretty for you. i’ll turn the raw echoes into the strings of a violin. i’m hungry to be eaten. i hope you like me on a plate. i hope you like the metal of my blood. please don’t put salt on my organs. don’t season the meat i butchered for you. i’ll cut my skin into hearts. i’ll cut out the scars. i’ll smooth myself out so i can be a plush ground for your bare feet. dig the past out of me. free me. plant so many flowers in my dirt that their roots leave no gaps.
but you don’t. you haven’t planted a single seed. when he uprooted himself from me, his roots left tunnels. and they’re still empty. not even worms live down there. flood me. wash the dirt back into my hollows.
and i can’t count on you to do any of the above. as much as you want me, you don’t want me enough. and that’s fine. what else can i say? that’s life. we don’t get the things we aim for or the people we crave. i want him back and you want to fuck me. if only an orgasm could fix me. i’d probably cry afterwards if you give me one now. you won’t free me and you won’t fix me. release never really comes.
i fall asleep to the slow booms of my heart. i’m not here but i’m alive still. i just keep waking up. i crave nothingness so deeply. i’d say goodbye to the clouds, and the sun, and the sky. i’d trade all these men for the one i used to have. if i could sacrifice them, i would. i can only like you so genuinely when i still love him. but that love doesn’t matter anymore. he’s dead. he removed himself from my life. all my branches fell off. i can never have any of it back, no matter how much i water the same tree. even if i planted the fallen branches, i still wouldn’t grow him back.
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A Writer's Muse
You will never love me the way I love you
Because I write, not just poems but I write to you.
I can close my notebook
I can stop creating worlds
I can sit with you on the dining table and write about you for days,
For months and for years to come, I'll describe you in every way.
Your love, your warmth, your anger, your calm-
I will call you the honey that I wish I was,
I will tell you, "You're sweet" and I will mean all my words.
I'll stop showing people how I love writing,
I'll sit with you under the stars explaining how they are shining.
I will lose my lexicon, I'll forget how to write-
I'll look at you and you'll still understand everything from my eyes.
All the metaphors and verbs in the poems I write
Will be lost in me on your actions and disguise.
I will stop bleeding on the paper...
I will bleed on your mouth,
On your skin, on your bones,
On the corpses I surmount.
My pen won't work like a sword anymore
It will be the feather to graze you to your core.
I will lose all my books, I will spill all my ink,
I will spell you how you are with my fingertips.
And still, you won't love me the way I love you
Because I'm a writer and I can give up the world for you.
~ kaushiki
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what's song 113? (i am shaking your hand in Very Long WIP playlists)
Very Long WIP Playlists is an esteemed club for those of us who spend more time daydreaming than actually writing 🫡
Song 113 is Hallucinogenics by Matt Maeson!! This one’s here for the certified Depressed at a Party vibe, which encompasses a good 30% of all scenes in this book. It’s also about getting fucked up and feeling bad about yourself after a breakup, which,,,,, I will not elaborate upon for spoilery reasons, but you get the picture.
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