“you never needed my help. go on, throw yourself to the comets.”
- thank you, artemisia. thank you.
(homage to the novel Blood Water Paint by Joy McCullough)
“when
our villains
win,
do not fret.
just
rewrite
the story.”
- mother knows best II.
III. the song
“
&
so
she did
what any
rational woman
would do—
ever so calmly,
she reached out
& she tore
the stars
apart.
i watched
you watching me
wane. now, you have
no fucking choice
other than to
watch me
- become full.
becoming
your
own
savior
sometimes
means
knowing
when
you
need to
ask for
help.
- therapy session no. 1.
i refuse
to
believe
you took
something
irreplaceable
from me
in
that
moment.
- i still have every part of myself.
I. when they say “no.”
II. when they can’t say “no.”
- they’re both assault.
you
don’t
get to say
it’s
my fault
for
staying.
it’s
his fault
for
making me
afraid to
stay
or go.
the
first person
who touched me
was not my
first.
- i’m deciding my firsts from now on.
&
i want to
take you to the bay
where i was raised
&
watch
the sky fade from
blue to orange to pink
&
show you
where i swam
as a child
&
i want to
rest my head
on your shoulder
when
i ask you if
we’ll see each other
in the life after this one
because
i know none of this
would happen in
this life
since
you
were the lesson
that made me realize
redemption
is not a thing
that washes up
on shore.
no—
not
in this life,
no.
- not in any life, lovely.
the
only way
i can
foresee
surviving
you
is by
finding
that place
between
forgiving
& forgetting,
if it even
exists.
- this is how i choose to douse my fire.
this is me
pressing
my finger
to the sand,
delicately
drawing
your name
there,
& then
stepping back
so i can
watch
you
as you’re
finally
carried away.
- goodbye.
i don’t write
what i write
to hurt you.
- i write what i write
to heal me.
an update for the girl i used to be:
we live in a tiny apartment near the sea now. it has a desk for us to write on. it has heat to warm us. it has food for us to eat. it has a friendly ghost. it has a caring spouse & a playful kitten who brightens all our days. we have everything we need & everything we never thought we could have. fighting your way here was well worth it. don’t give it all up yet.
the first night
in our new place,
i spilled
a glass of water
on the
kitchen floor.
the second night
in our new place,
i spilled
a glass of water
on the
living room rug.
jokingly,
i said to him,
“i guess
our home
is
blessed
with
good luck now.”
what i meant
to say is,
“i’m so sorry
i can’t touch anything
without
immediately
finding
a way to
tarnish
it
before it
tarnishes me.”
what i should
have said is,
“i’m sorry,
i’m sorry.”
- “i’m but a work in progress.”
he
immediately
lowers
his umbrella
when i say
i’ve never
been kissed
in the rain,
&
by
some
kind of
miracle,
his kiss
does not
feel like
a grenade.
- the good kind of drowning.
scene:
you,
grabbing
for my wrist,
locking eyes
with me over
your shoulder
while we run
for the last train
headed home
with hundreds
of faceless people
rushing up
behind us
so they won’t
have to
stand.
- i don’t mind standing if i’m standing next to you.
he exists.
therefore,
i know
for a fact
that
humanity
is not
dissolving
before
my
eyes.
when i was too frightened to take the plunge, you were the one who told me it was time to take a chance, that i was spending too many years reading about the grand adventures of fictional people & never trying to live them myself. nowadays, we may be strangers who only nod “hello” to each other across crowded rooms, but i’ll never forget what you did for me in that moment. thank you for seeing the potential in me, beca
use now i finally see all the possibilities that were lying dormant in me, too.
- for my childhood friend.
in one world, romeo doesn’t drink the poison. juliet doesn’t pierce herself. instead, they decide to drink wine until they fall asleep messily in each other’s arms. the next morning, they wake up hungover, nursing killer headaches as they take on the world as well as their families. everything turns out just fine.
- i believe in endless worlds.
in the next world, romeo & juliet end up together again. they have a grand wedding surrounded by their family & friends, who all have a hand on the hilt of their sword, but everything is okay because at least no one dies. on their wedding night, juliet is terrified to tell romeo that she wants to kiss him but she doesn’t want to sleep next to him. in the same world, romeo doesn’t hesitate a single second before he tells her that it’s okay, he understands. he will stay with her no matter what she wants or doesn’t want.
- he will stay by her side even if she never wants to sleep next to him.
in another world, romeo & juliet make it out alive, except they don’t end up together in the end. hold on, though, because it’s not a tragic ending. they eventually part ways, forever remaining the best of friends, travelling through eras we haven’t yet seen until romeo can hold hands with a boy & juliet can hold hands with a girl without fear hanging over their heads.
- i believe in endless worlds III.
i am magic
all the days i am
a woman
& i am magic
all the days i am
not.
- demigirl / demigoddess.
i
tucked
my story
into
the folds
of silence
in
order
to put
other
people
at ease.
- no more.
i
painted
my trauma
in shades of
crown gold
& marigold pink
to
make it
pretty
enough
to be enjoyed
by others.
- no more II.
for the first time in months, i wake up feeling okay. i don’t waste my morning setting alarm after alarm & turning back over, blinds & eyelids shut to the promise of the new day, to the quickly approaching afternoon.
i roll out, stretching my laced fingers toward the ceiling, the smallest of grins beginning to grow on my face.
maybe i can be happy, i think.
or maybe i can’t, i think.
i quickly shake the thought from my head, humming a wordless tune i picked up from an old music box in the attic. sometimes it’s necessary to shut down the little voice that tells me this is but a rare, short-lived moment before i become someone entirely unrecognizable from the person i woke up as.
in all reality, there’s a very good chance tonight won’t be okay.
but right now,
things are good.
- that’s all i need for now.
i’ve always fancied myself a mermaid of sorts. i must confess that i haven’t swam since long before i started punishing my body for all the things that were never its fault.
this whole time, i’ve been covering up these arms that embrace & these legs that carry because i was always petrified of the damage the lightning storm scars would cause. i imagined birds flocking to safety. i imagined deer sprinting back into the shelter of the wood. i imagined children rushing for their parents’ bedrooms.
yes, it’s true.
lightning can & does kill.
once, it crept through the window & took the baby girl i share generations of blood with.
i’ve also learned that lightning kills the thing that stops trees from bursting through the soil & giving life back to me.
- every day is an act of survival.
on one of my palms, my lifeline stops short. on the other palm, my lifeline dips precariously into my marked-up wrist. i’m not sure which one of them is telling the truth, & part of me never wants to know. the only thing i can do is learn to live with the idea that i will never be cured. i will always be in the process of healing.
- making the most of it.
i thought my world was coming to a crashing end, & maybe it did, in some manner of speaking. in the process, photographs fell off the wall, & i still find pieces of glass stuck in the sunken wooden stairs. small cracks formed in some parts of my foundation. in every room, if you place a glass marble in the middle of the floor, it will roll along where the floorboards tilt unevenly. some doors stick & some doors open all by themselves when you walk by them.
the house still stands, though.
it still stands.
- a home without character isn’t a home.
i fill
my plate
up
& then
i empty it
again.
these days,
it’s all for
me.
- i am my reason for recovery.
today,
i love the way
i look in
my sundress
& it’s not
because
someone else
convinced
me to.
- i am my reason for recovery II.
breathe.
charge my crystals.
collect seashells.
write a little each day.
take more bubble baths.
say “hello” to the fairies.
drink more spearmint tea.
re-read my favorite fairy tales.
let no one invalidate me.
give myself time.
- i vow to.
a victim
or a survivor?
a victim
or a survivor?
a victim
or a survivor?
- i have settled on both.
the
further along
i come,
the more
i’m
beginning
to
realize that
maybe—
just
maybe—
there is
such
a thing
as fate.
as destiny.
if
after
everything
i’m
still
breathing,
then
there must
be
a reason
even
if
i
haven’t
seen it
yet.
most stories
don’t have
a clear,
defined message.
they aren’t
supposed to.
we must
take
the good
with the bad
with the grey
&
decide
what
we want
to do
with it
all.
- i’m still alive & therefore so is hope.
the night
may fall,
but
i will
always
remain.
- i’m my own sunset.
the dawn
>
may break,
but
i will
always
reign.
- i’m my own sunrise.
for
our
assignment,
we had to
take ourselves
out on a date.
i went to
a flower shop
named
in the garden
& bought
myself
a
bouquet
of
wilting daisies
everyone else
turned down
&
i
attached
a love note
from myself
to read later.
i
went up
the street to
water witch coffee
& picked up
two danishes
only
i would be
eating,
&
before dinner,
no less.
i made
a pot of coffee
big enough for four
& i stood outside,
mug perched
in hand,
staring
into the thin,
winter-bare
forest
in my
backyard.
for
what,
i must admit
i’m not
entirely
certain.
i’m
no longer
searching
for reasons
or explanations
for the past.
i’m
only
searching
for breadcrumbs
leading to
more breadcrumbs
that will,
with any
luck,
eventually
lead me
down
the path
i’ve been looking
for
this whole
time.
- homeward.
“be
stronger
than the
villains.
be every
storybook
heroine
come to life.”
- mother knows best III.
IV. the surviving
“
a chorus of
the mermaid's voice returns in this one Page 3
