#queue-riouser and queue-riouser

[jasminwritesthings]

Try Harder

[ I feel successful.

It has nothing to do with the awards.

I feel successful.

It has nothing to do with the accomplishments.

I feel successful.

It has everything to do with what I am willing to do to make my body look perfect. ]

[ I feel successful and sad. ]

[ I wake up.

Exhaustion encompasses me like a cloud of smoke.

I know that one day it will suffocate me.

I cannot stomach anywhere but my room.

So I stay here. ]

[ I don’t feel like myself.

Have I ever been myself?

Or have I just been who people expect me to be?

When I look in the mirror I don’t recognize who I see. ]

[ I wake up and I am too tired to leave my bed. I am too tired to stomach anywhere other than my room.

I wake up and I feel tired and it’s been weeks.

I have not left my room for weeks. ]

[ I have done everything in my life to become the winning’s team mascot.

I have smiled in the face of hatred and I have held the speaking stick and sung the song.

I ignore my needs to get the A. ]

[ I thought that that if I walked the line i would never fall.

I thought that putting my grades above myself would explain the cross that hangs on the wall. ]

#queue-riouser and queue-riouser #tw: religion #tw: depression #poetry #poet #poem #writing #writer #writeblr

[jasminwritesthings]

Sheet Ghost

[ Every morning I wake to a windowless house.

I roam the hallways on empty like it is my job.

I try to heave, but nothing comes up.

Not even the truth,

Not even a muse. ]

[ My mom says she misses who I once was;

she doesn’t stop to consider if I miss myself too.

She never considers if i am sick of feeling like a shadow:

Walking through the world leaving no mark, just a moment of fleeting solidarity,

Or a spot of darkness longed to be ignored. ]

[ I am stripped bare and I am lonesome and I am me.

Except I have to figure out what that means.

Because I am wearing a blindfold and I am looking for a green door,

But it is not even in the same building. ]

[ My clothes are fitting loose,

and I think that I finally understand

why you refuse to love me.

Maybe if I wanted to change I would finally know deeply whose mourning I have been gifted. ]

[ I am just someone’s participation prize.

I am a deeply flawed story that ends at the sky.

I do not know your narrator,

But I do hope that someday you find her. ]

#poetry #poem #poet #writeblr #tw: depression #depression poetry #bipolar disorder #writer #writing #queue-riouser and queue-riouser

[jasminwritesthings]

Who Can I Be?

[ I want her name on my epitaph,

and her breath in my lungs.

And don’t blame her if she haunts me,

I asked for that too. ]

[ Flowers don’t bloom in the winter,

but she is not a flower.

She is blizzards, and rainstorms, and clouds,

but she is sunlight too. ]

[ She feels like Christmas in April,

her peppermint chapstick will last her months.

Her lips are never anything but soft,

much like the words that come from them. ]

[ I told her that I wish to be a butterfly:

no insecurities, no problems, no solutions,

just beauty, and wind, and earth.

She would rather be a fox. ]

[ I knew life before her, and after she goes I will still know the scent of crisp fall air and the sound of snow crunching beneath me.

It feels like a joke that nobody quite understands, and I’m not sure I should reveal the punchline.

And yet I wish I could follow her, and be by her side.

I fly like a kite, and to her finger my string will always be tied. ]

#queue-riouser and queue-riouser #poem #poetry #poet #writing #writeblr #wlw poetry #bisexual #unrequited love

[jasminwritesthings]

Fall Flowers and Other, Sadder Things That I Don’t Understand

Trigger warning: mentions of death, suicide, and terminal illness

He holds the gun to his head, and I can hear myself scream out. I’m begging him to stop, I need him to stop. This isn’t right. I have had twenty-four full years with my father, but Thomas has had only seventeen, and Lily only thirteen.

He is crying, I have known him my entire life and I have never seen him cry. He didn’t cry at his wedding to my mother, he didn’t cry when Lily and Thomas were born, and he didn’t cry at his diagnosis, although everyone else did. Though grim, he somehow managed to keep a wide smile on his face despite the verdict that he was only going to have months to live. 

I didn’t mean to walk in on him. I was on my way to pick up Lily from school and take her to tennis practice, but Mom had reminded me that I needed to come back to grab the instructor’s cheque. I entered their bedroom, she had told me that Dad was meeting her for lunch, she had left early to pick up his medication. The last thing that I expected was that he would be home, preparing himself for the final decision he would ever make. 

I am shaking, but I can hear him drop the gun to the floor. When I finally gain focus I notice that he is shaking too, and for the first time in my life I feel like I should be the one taking care of him. I hold him in a tight hug, not dissimilar to those he would give me as a child, when I would fall off of my bike and it would feel like the end of the world. 

Now I’m begging, but for different reasons. I need to understand why he wanted these to be his final moments. I’m asking for answers that I don’t believe either of us have. What about Lily and Thomas? What about Mom? Was he just going to leave us behind?

When I was much younger, Mom and Dad got into an argument so intense that Mom left the house. It was late, and I wasn’t even supposed to be awake, but I had asked Mom earlier if I could stay up later to watch TV. I didn’t mean to catch their screaming, but I did. I watched through the rail of the stairway as Mom grabbed her bag and left, taking the car with her. Dad held his face in his hands and I ran downstairs crying, yelling: where is mommy going? Are you leaving too? He picked me up, bouncing me high on his hip. We walked towards the kitchen and he placed me on the counter, so we could be eye-to-eye. 

After I had calmed down, he held my face in his hands, wiping the tears away. He told me that Mom needed to leave for a little while. At the time, it felt like she was betraying our family by leaving us without a goodbye, but as I got older I realized how hard it must have been for her, for the both of them, to be parents at such a young age. Dad said that he would never leave me, he would always be right next to me, and Mom would be too, she just needed to visit Grandma for a little. They fought every once in a while, and they managed to patch things up, but I had always held Dad’s words in the back of my mind.

The anger that had briefly coursed through my veins settled when I realized that Dad had been selfless for more than half of his life, and this decision, his final one, would be his only selfish one. I continue to hold him until we have both calmed down, and when we finally do, I take the gun, putting it back in its case with the intent to take it back to my car. I tell Dad to follow me, and I take him to lunch with Mom before picking up Lily. 

My Dad has already lived for six months since his diagnosis, he was only estimated to live for eight. When he explains what pushed him to hold that gun, his reasoning makes sense, though I wish it didn’t. Ramblings of a madman are easier to cope with than the truth, though harder to understand. I have gotten the best of my Dad for twenty-three of my twenty-four years, Lily and Thomas have gotten much less. The both of them are forming key memories now that will stick with them for the rest of their lives, and the last thing that he wanted was for them to remember him this way: sick and weak, unable to do most things for himself. 

We still have time, he can make more memories with them before he leaves. But even if he didn’t, I couldn’t imagine Lily and Thomas remembering him this way. Before he leaves, he says that maybe he will try to make more memories, maybe he has more in him. He asks me not to tell Mom what I’ve seen. I check the backseat for the gun. I agree.

The next time I see Dad, my Mom has asked me to join them on a weekend-long trip to the cottage. I have more than enough good memories at the cottage, it has been one of my favourite places since before I could even remember, so of course I agree. I greet Lily with a hug, Thomas is still in the stage of his life where he thinks he’s too cool to give or receive affection, but I ruffle his hair nonetheless. I remember when I was in the same stage, I was angry all the time, but I didn’t want to be. I know that I can’t blame him for the way that his hormones and school make him feel. I hug Mom and Dad, and I follow them to the van. 

To me, car trips have always been the best part of any trip. At home and at our destination there is nothing that requires us to be together, but in the car, we’re closer than we usually are, even if it’s only for a few hours. When we were younger, Thomas, Lily, and I would play Nintendo DS together during the car rides. Now, we sing along loudly to bad songs on the radio and watch movies on the car’s entertainment system. We each take turns annoying Mom by asking her if we’ve arrived yet, and Dad periodically joins in. When we finally do arrive, we all cheer with glee.

Thomas helps me unpack the trunk, and by the time we finish Lily is already in her bathing suit, jumping into the lake feet-first. Once I drop the things in the living room of the cottage I watch Thomas interact with Lily at the edge of the dock. I see her hand reach up and pull him down by his ankle, and he barely has the time to toss his phone into the grass, all of us narrowly avoiding his temper for the weekend. He’s angry when he surfaces, but it quickly dissolves as he starts to splash Lily. 

I feel someone walk up behind me, and I looked over to Mom as she watches out on Lily and Thomas. She tells me that she’s glad that they can still have fun, they haven’t let Dad’s sickness eclipse their joy in the same way I have. When we found out Dad was sick, I stepped up to help Mom with Thomas and Lily, becoming parental over Lily more than Thomas. I’m here now, though, I want to make more memories too. 

I pretend that I can’t hear it when Dad starts to throw up, he’s been doing it every day for weeks, but Mom rushes to help him. I open the screen door and sit on the dock, watching as Thomas and Lily splash away in the water, play-fighting and yelling. When Mom and Dad finally come out, Dad has a giant deflated pool float in his hand. He asks me to blow it up and I jokingly roll my eyes, telling him that it’s going to take me forever to blow it up, but I don’t really mind. 

We spend the day basking in the sun, playing in the water, barbequing, and taking the boat out. It’s the most fun that we’ve had since Dad’s diagnosis, and I can tell that my brother and sister are having a blast. 

The weekend passes by quickly, a blur of water, food, and laughter, and Sunday night we are back out again, taking the van back home. I dread returning to the twisted routine that my life has turned into, but for now I decide that it’s better to live in the moment, and appreciate what we have left. Thomas flicks Lily in the back of the head from the back seat, and she screams out, starting a fighting match with him. I break them apart, and I tell Thomas to chill out, and we’re quickly back to watching ET, a movie that had once been my favourite. I couldn’t imagine being in ET’s place, where everything he had ever known was taken away so quickly, but he returned home. Although sad, Elliot knew that ET belonged home in the end. 

I take my stuff out of the car, saying goodbye to my family as I prepare to go. Mom lingers outside for a moment, she tells me that I can stay the night if I’d like, but I have work tomorrow morning. I give her a hug and tell her that I’ll see her later this week when I pick up Thomas to take him to dance, and I take my stuff to my car. I’m not sure why, but when I start to drive I start to cry. I open the window and scream, I can’t help it, I’m just feeling so much at once. 

Three weeks later, after work on a day where I didn’t have to pick up either Lily or Thomas, I got a phone call from Mom. She was crying, yet calm at the same time, I didn’t want her to feel the need to act alright when she wasn’t, especially not for my sake. She asked me to come to the hospital, but it wasn’t urgent. I was there in twenty minutes despite the lack of urgency. 

I met Mom outside the room she had told me Dad was in, and she explained the situation to me. Dad was reaching his final days, and he wanted to go out on his own terms, with the help of the doctors. This time, I didn’t beg or scream or yell, I just nodded solemnly as I looked at my father in his hospital bed. She told me that he wanted it done today, and that it was now time to say our goodbyes.

I stood outside for a moment, silent and scared to move. My dad is not a perfect man, he never has been. He is flawed, he says the wrong things sometimes, and he has made mistakes, but that will never change the fact that he is my father. I have always loved him despite his imperfections and despite the yelling matches that we used to get into. Even though I caught him in his room, ready to take his own life, that will never be how I remember him. Just like how this will not be how Thomas and Lily remember him. The hot tears fall down my face, and I rapidly wipe them away, I don’t want to upset him when I enter the room.

When I finally muster up the courage, I give him a smile as I walk into the doorway. I wrap him in the tightest, longest hug that the two of us have ever shared, I never want to let him go, but I know that I have to. I tell him all of the thoughts from my head, I shouldn’t say them all but they come out anyways. I tell him that he has been the best dad that I could ever ask for. He has been there for me my entire life, and I could never thank him enough for everything. I tell him that I love him so much, more than words could ever hope to describe, and I will never forget him, my kids will one day hear stories of him. I can’t help the stream of tears as the nurse enters, and our final words to each other are ones of love. 

I wait with him, I’m holding one of his hands while my mother holds the other, she let Thomas and Lily say goodbye to him earlier, but she didn’t want them to see this. He gives us a sad smile, and I stand by his bedside for the full eighteen minutes that it takes. When we hear the flatline, I know that I should console Mom, but I have to leave the room instead.

I turn around and I shut the door, I slide down the wall and plug my ears. When he finally did pull the trigger, I forgave him.

#short story #queue-riouser and queue-riouser #feedback is greatly appreciated #this is from early 2019 #writing #writer #writeblr #tw: suicide #tw: terminal illness #tw: death

[jasminwritesthings]

Activist, Sans-Attention

[ Loud voices speak of words that do not matter to them.

Ignorance is a practice born from privilege.

They speak as if they know.

Cheetahs know nothing of the ways of gazelles, nor butterflies, nor doves. ]

[ Those who light a match can always walk away from the fire.

A stark twinkle before a gust of wind.

The well enriched will never burn. ]

[ I hold the flames in my hands, I feel them in my heart.

I am unattended in a castle of ice, watching from inside. ]

[ There is a galaxy filled with burning supernovas.

A yellow rose seems too inadequate an offering, a snake far too overbearing.

There is no offer of warmth, and in its absence i seek solitude. ]

[ Once flames have licked the steps of the palace, architects scramble for recreation.

The fountainhead calls for further blaze.

Those who possess the gift may call for further change. ]

[ I may look on: a Shakespearean guilt pooling in my gut.

Tutorials of fire-breathing have never been enough.

Stars call for attention, and they may call for change.

Then why am I just water, even on the best of days? ]

[ I am a child in the dark, there is no nightlight to be found.

I have tried to find a way to help those who are no longer bound.

Fire in the streets, and fire at town hall.

The system is changed by those who burn and I will never stop trying to answer the call. ]

#queue-riouser and queue-riouser #poem #poetry #activism #writer #writing #writeblr

[jasminwritesthings]

Please, Please, Grant Me This.

T[ hree nights ago I dreamt that I ate a single chip.

The taste of sour vinegar hit my tongue, and for once in months I felt like maybe I was allowing myself to enjoy again.

I woke up in tears, gagging and screaming and choking,

The fake chip lodged in my throat;

Lodged in my heart.

It took me minutes to come to, but longer to stop the tears that started out of fear and in slumber. ]

[ I do not enjoy.

I may not indulge. ]

[ Your favourite food won’t make you skinny.

Your favourite song won’t make you happy.

But I pray that one day I can view myself the same way that I view others.

Because if you are reading this, you deserve love.

And I hope that one day so will I. ]

[ I am biddable but I put on brave faces.

I sit down as if pride has never been a word in my vocabulary.

I am humble and hungry and hurting.

I no longer know satisfaction or joy, just expectations and the need to excel. ]

[ I am a woman of superstition.

Woman.

The word is foreign on my lips.

The word does not belong to me.

I may appropriate what I do not know.

But fortune cookies do not come true unless you swallow them down.

378 calories, and all just for luck.

That doesn’t feel like luck to me.

It is a personal torture that I refuse to keep down. ]

[ Is this who I am now?

Throwing up ice cream cake on my birthday because I can’t bear the thought of those calories digesting?

Or them manifesting into my darkest demons?

They’ll tell me that I didn’t deserve it.

I don’t deserve a full stomach or a happy face.

And they would be right. ]

[ Linoleum doesn’t feel nice on my knees, but it is cold.

It’s alright, I think.

My skin is always running hot anyways. ]

#queue-riouser and queue-riouser #poetry #poem #poet #writing #writeblr #tw: eating disorder #tw: food #tw: weight #writer

[jasminwritesthings]

Breathe Me, Like Pollen

I.

now I feel at peace

like a wave rushing over

to sleep in the fog

II.

to wake in the rain

The gloom is all-consuming

yet so is the joy

III.

I wish I could be

like flowers, and birds, and bees

I would know true peace

#Queue-riouser and queue-riouser #haiku #poem #poetry #poet #writing #writings #writer #nature #joy #peace #collection