You taught me about the 11:11 wish because I was yours for a moment in time, but now you’re all I can think of when the repeated digits blink on the clockface. It’s hard to think of anyone else when you’re the reason I know how to dream.
Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #217 // Grazia Curcuru
i’m so sick of writing about my heart as if it’s this beaten up, bloody thing. i’m so sick of it being something i’m ashamed to look at. i’m so sick of throwing it against the pavement, breaking it open for everyone to see, opening up my wounds for entertainment. i’m sick of my pain being an art museum of broken things. i’m sick of the only thing people knowing about me is how much i bleed.
because the truth is this: my heart, it’s still beating. and that’s beautiful, no matter what even my own self tries to tell me. isn’t it amazing how your heart keeps beating through every bruise? isn’t it amazing how no matter how much somebody takes from you, you still have more to give? isn’t it amazing? tell me it isn’t. tell me you think something else means more than the fact that i’m still living. the fact that if you’re reading this, you’re still living too, despite everything.
so no more sad poems. no more opening up old wounds. no more staring contests with the things that broke me. no more dwelling on every crack when i am still a whole, complete person. i’m so sick of giving myself a disclaimer: a “i’m hard to love,” an “i’m crazy,” because the truth is i’ve been hurt, but i’m still pretty kind, and that is truly amazing.
I’ve never been one to express my feelings to others. I have this constant fear of saying the wrong thing and so I’ve learned to hold back. Yes, not being able to truly be yourself is one of the worst kinds of pains, but in the end, it saves you from getting hurt and brought down, right?
So please keep reminding me that you love and accept me for who I am. I’m slowly conquering this fear, but I cannot do it on my own. // littlemissimaginary
I think that’s what scares me the most. When we speak, I lose sight of the things that hurt me. I focus on nothing but you because that’s all my mind will allow. The minute we stop talking, my mind fights my heart. I do my best to make sure that I don’t let my feelings get the upper hand, and if they do, I make sure you don’t know. Trust me, it’s better that you don’t know just how hopeful you make me. It hasn’t worked well in the past. There’s a chance that you can take this away from me, but I suppose I shouldn’t worry about that right now. Maybe the best thing to do is enjoy this peace while it lasts.
I wish that I could pin the moon to my blouse for courage. Pluck it from the sky and hold it against my breast and whisper the magic words: keep me safe, keep me safe, keep me safe. Until my mouth feels dry. How do you find a way of living that doesn’t rattle your bones? I open my mouth to talk about pain, but bees come out, instead
Zoë Lianne, “When you’re a lesbian with social anxiety, date the moon”