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Tag Archives: self

War

You can find me in the lock-jawed silence of every word I have never spoken when it meant the most – when the bombs were planted at the base of every heartache and mistake, and I only stood watching, mouth zip-tied shut.

I let the ruins of shattered memories fill me with ghosts I have never learned to forget, and at night they come out of my throat like flames.

Can you find the war still going on behind my eyes, and can you feel the loss inside me?

The shadows feel like old friends with daggers pressed into my back, but I hold them with love I’ve never stopped feeling. I whisper with my last breath that I will save them, when I never could. When they could never save me.

He called it trauma.

I didn’t even think the shell of myself was so cracked.

How was I supposed to know this is what it feels like when the war has gone on for years? Even though the white flags were raised, no one can let go of the anger.

I didn’t realize I was still dealing with the aftermath.

 

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Ruins

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Sometimes it feel likes a stone arch, one that you would find in the ruins of some old place. There’s something so beautiful and yet so sad about it. You press your hand to it and try to breathe in the life that used to be there.

I’m sure that when others say they have an old soul they don’t mean one that was born into the world already in ruins. Or so easily able to be crumbled. Like it has already weathered from time that had yet to even touch it. Yet sometimes it feels like an ancient stone arch. Or maybe pieces of one.

I’m not a landmark that everyone wants to see, to wish they had been apart of or had seen in it’s glory. In the midst of everything, a few wandering glances might catch sight of me and see beauty from the wreckage, but mostly I’m an overlooked, rundown, nothing-great.

The stories found here aren’t so wondrous. They aren’t magical and they don’t take you to some far-off place.

The stories found here are as plain as stone and maybe just as cold. Don’t forget to wear your jacket and tread carefully. Don’t slip on any cracks.


The Love I’m Made Out Of

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I kissed you, when every word I could think of was just too damn difficult to say. Words have never been easy but, dammit, I could kiss you hard enough to show everything through that one action. Don’t you dare tell me otherwise.

My breath would catch in my throat and my mouth would go dry. My heart would beat like a jackhammer and I would feel every flood of emotion in my blood. And I could still show it in every kiss.

Fingertips trailing on your skin, did you know I spelled out every word I felt over and over until it didn’t make sense?

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIpromiseIloveyou.

I won’t talk about the maybe’s. I won’t talk about the could-have-been’s, what-if’s, and I-wonder’s.

But I can still recite the love that made up every cell from the moment I fell for you. It could still pour out of my mouth like I was never broken. They might not be pieced back together for you, but they could be created again. Under new management, anyway.

And I will close my eyes and tilt my head to the skies and pray for a new love in my pulse. My tongue will twist in my mouth until it can finally make the phrase anew: I love you.

Every heartbeat I feel is just a ticking clock counting down until my world explodes in new color that makes my blood boil and my mind soothe. Something so conflicting and calming and chaotic that it will take my breath away until all I can gasp for is the air from that connection.

Da Duh. Da Duh. Da Duh.

The clock is just counting down.


I’m just… Me.

 

I can’t get it out of my head; everything I’ve ever said or done like it’s one big ink stain on my reality. Like I’m the only reason why there are fall backs and hindrances.

I swear I’m not a huge fuck-up but I see everything pointing back to me and even while I know it’s false that’s the only thing that sounds right. My head can shake in refusal and nonacceptance but it still presses further and further into my being like once it makes its way through, that’s it. It’s written in stone. It’s truth.

Everyone tries to twist my words and my actions, they try to twist what kind of person I am to fit their lives. Of course then when I can’t find it in me to let anyone in, it’s my fault and somehow I’m still the one fucked up.

These bonds people place on my wrists to theirs feel brittle while they look like diamond to everyone else. One jerk in the other direction and we’re both let free, but somehow they don’t see that.

I’m not the bad guy. But I’m also not the hero.

I wish everyone would understand that I am not their hero.

I am not a hero.


The Ache of Florescence

I haven’t been myself lately, kind of like trying to copy who I am from a blurry image. Parts of me feel like smoke and now I’m just waiting for a strong enough breeze to sweep me away.

There are parts of my head that I want to shut off, and there are parts of my heart I want to keep quiet. I can’t tell where this screaming is coming from but these tears keep threatening to spill from my eyes. It’s like there’s a tripped wire somewhere in me that has let something shift, when it shouldn’t.

It doesn’t feel like a cold friend. And this doesn’t have a sick comforting familiarity.

Something aches inside of me, something feels missing. I can’t put my finger on it but I feel the gray under my skin. Warm water doesn’t wash it away and neither does his hands.

I don’t know where I got lost but somehow I have no idea where I am. I’m lost even to myself.

I want to wake up and pretend this is all a dream. But it’s not, and there’s no warm bed I’ve forgotten to wake up in.


You are my broken pieces.

There’s a lonesome piece of myself still cold from your absence. I tell myself I’m okay now, I tell myself I’m fine.

Every cell I’m comprised of still feels the ache of missing and the ache of hurt; every cell still shivers with the memory of the cold.

My fingers can’t feel anything but you and everything else fees like water, or it feels like sand. My lips remember the imprint of yours and nothing else can sate them.

I can press myself further into him and close my eyes and repeat lies until they feel true but there’s a wide burden of you that’s still gaping and weeping. The stone in the center of my chest has no intention of budging or flexing and I can’t feel for anyone else what I could feel for you. I don’t know how to become pliable.

Your soul still lingers with mine and they dance in your memory.

I thought I was over you but it turns out the ghost of you left remnants in every crease I’ve ever been made out of.

There’s parts of something still holding on and I feel it cutting into the soft flesh and tearing me into pieces of myself.

Somehow I still miss you.

Somehow I can’t replace you in the heart of me that is made out of love.

Somehow I’m not letting myself let go of you.

Before you showed me what you were made out of, you were perfect for me. And I can’t seem to let that go.


Forgiveness is on the tip of my tongue – I have yet to speak it.

For so long I thought it was about me. I thought
the way I was, who I turned out to be
wasn’t what he hoped. Wasn’t what he wanted.

Now I’ve gone to talk to a stranger and he’s helped me
sort out my head from my heart and the chemicals
from who I am.

Yes, I’ve talked about you. Of course I talked about you.

It’s been brought to my attention,
after laying out the people in your life,
and mine, what the problem is.

Of course his help in the seat across from mine,
for one hour at a time, didn’t hurt.

It turns out you’ve never known what love was.
You didn’t know it wasn’t just in smiles,
and hugs and warm thoughts when you see me.

I’m sorry you never found out it was holding someone
when they’re sick and there’s no way to feel better.
I’m sorry you never found out it was caring about someone
even when they’re not in the same room as you,
or on the phone when you’ve finally had time
to pick it up.

For so long, I thought it was about me.

But it turns out, it was always about you.
It’s a misfortune that I depended on you,
and you just didn’t know how to be there.