This is our riot act, our manifesto, our revolution: because the ones who did this know we are talking about their monstrous actions. It’s time for them to have the nightmares, for them to suffer for what happened, for them to fear being named by the same voices they silenced.
I hope they are forever haunted by these two words: “Me too”
I’m a perfectionist and yet, nothing in me is perfect. I still think the best solution to problems is crying, I still avoid confrontation and I still write my feelings instead of talking about them but I’m getting better and if I can do it, so can you.
The skin that you are in is beautiful. You don’t have to be lighter. You don’t have to be darker. You don’t have to lose your scars. You don’t need to hide your stretch marks. You don’t need to wear make up unless you like it. There is no addendum or asterisk to that statement. The skin you are in is beautiful. Period. End of.
it is that time of year again, where we all shed the last of our summer skin with the trees leaving ourselves bare, open, vulnerable in a way that places fear in our hearts; we call it letting go, growing old or growing up but maybe it isn’t change so much as it is honesty this deciduous me being the true me not as soft as I dreamed but bone bare for the world to see how lonely it is, shivering without its layers waiting for the new growth to come shelter it
I am done letting you grind my heart to powder to get high on the love I have for you, just to leave again searching for something better. I am not a habit for you to turn to on bad days, I am the healing you so desperately need and cannot see.
* that square peg into a round hole metaphor i totally reject. * for one, we’re people, not pegs, & nowhere near being square any way you view us; further, there is no such thing as a perfectly round hole in nature - it just doesn’t exist. * any space we’re destined to fit into or not hasn’t a definable shape in time or space * unless you count the time i tried to get next to you & you told me there’s not enough space in the world to fit between us, & i said “how do you know, have you measured it?” * then you said “you don’t have to get all scientific, using physics & shit…” * fine - then just say we’re not good together, & my peg won’t get anywhere near your hole however it’s shaped or something like that - that, i could accept, i guess; * i ain’t gotta like it, though. * 10/17 - lebuc -
LET’S NOT CALL IT BY IT’S NAME or talk about what happened in February, July, November, or any of the days in between. We’ll call it toxic, unhealthy, or codependent - still accurate, but less abrasive somehow; more amicable and allusive.
I know that somewhere “I’m sorry” doesn’t sound like “please don’t hurt me”, and in that place being alone doesn’t scare me. That place is not where I am but it is where I am heading and most of the time that is enough. Calling this by its name would be an admission that once upon a time you broke me and I am not broken any more.
So, forgive me for framing things the way I want to. I am not trying to let you off the hook or make it easier for you to live with my scars. This is just my way of saying I am not your victim anymore; and these days, what I say goes.
//WHEN MY THERAPIST SAYS THE “A” WORD AND I ALMOST FALL OFF MY CHAIR//
padded blankets on plain of prairie grass, eyes as wide as plated glass, heart beating, pulse berating me with each stochastic pass, inspecting every cloth for specks, dots, spots, obsessing over the food, the color, the place, and there she was, sitting and smiling, her face trying not to take in my nervousness, while all she did was be herself, beguiling, as I pour her a hearty amount of Merlot, taking it slow, bottle wobbling in my grasp, she laughs, runs her hands down my arm, lingering on a worn spot on my ring finger, looking at me thoughtfully, “Don’t be silly,” giving my muddled mind a moment to reflect, silencing the worry in me with three words.