Late Night Ramblings

-1/27/17 –

My heart has been shattered into a thousand pieces and scattered.

Apart.

Sticking to the bottom of the worn-out converse, that led me out past my curfew.

Dancing with the melody of an old lullaby.

Swept away in the breeze from the limited lustful lovers that only lingered for a moment…

Stuck to the floor where I lie for days, when I forgot how to breathe anything other than his name.

Dripping down my bedroom walls nights when lying next to him was the biggest lie of intimacy. Fallacy. I never felt more isolated than in the arms of a lover.

Smothered.

A few pieces hung  by the tattered thread of a beloved shirt that once belonged to my mother… the colors have faded together just like the memories of her.

I’m forgetting.

The wounds will heal into tiny scars and their stories with them. Injuries long forgotten with the journey to level out into some sad excuse for

“Normal”

“Functioning”

“Okay”.

…I found a few more pieces in a box of crayons. 8 solid colors never felt more limitless when you are young enough to feel safe in your dreams.

When it is still separate from reality.

Where nothing can hurt you.

 

A few more pieces escape out of the window in a cloud of heavy, dank burnt herb.

Mamy, many more pieces lie in the countless beds, avoiding dripping sweat, mimicking moaning and counting ceiling tiles on my back.

Some were thrown out in bottles of bourbon.

…Some came back up after said bourbon… Off the Queensboro bridge as the cab driver cringed.

Some got lost in the Facebook newsfeed. Fighting the constant updates and climbing the social media ladder towards relevancy.

Some hid in the shadows of a selfie.

Others found themselves bouncing on the nooks and crannies of cellulite. On my thighs, my ass, my stomach. The years of demotivation had atrophied my muscles and added self loathing to my once tight frame. My disappointments jiggled with every step.

Still, one large piece clung on, as we lie back to back, silent. Angry. Hurt. She whispered scornful reminders of all the mistakes I had made. The ways I self sabotage, the patterns I am doomed to repeat.

She tore at my chest and clanged against my sternum, begging for validation. I tried to mend the many wrongs and fix the pieces, but just like now; my words betrayed me, and the single piece, all that was left, gripping to my ribcage like a desperate hiker clinging to a cliff…

…began to crumble against the bolder of my regret. Resentment. Anger.

My containment of truth.

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Winter’s Coming.

I’m already bored. I’ve become just “there”…

Something you’ve become used to, taken for granted.

Predictable.

It’s normal. It’s tasteless. It’s forced.

It’s disappointing.

I’m just “there”, sucking up the air by your said to make you feel less

on the outside.

I’m starving.


When they’ve forgotten the years I’ve littered Earth

You could always mark the time

By the string of men I’ve played and hurt.


They couldn’t be together if they had to be themselves.


I think you love me because I’m the only one left standing.

While your dreams were burning, they fled your shelter. Now I stand in the ashes of your foundation.

Believing in you wholeheartedly. Waiting for our next step. Loving you when you think there is nothing left to love.

It isn’t me you love… there just isn’t anyone else around.


She said to me, “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t believe in God.”

I told her I couldn’t be with someone who didn’t have Faith.


 She never felt loved, because she never believed she was worth loving.


I don’t love him. I don’t think I love anyone. But it felt nice to pretend for a night… that I could be one of these “nice” girls… with boyfriends, instagrams and families… Something precious, innocent and sweet. Something worth protecting.

I played my part well; the naive, the blameless, the victim, the pure… I covered my scares in a flowing white dress, I said words of love and affirmation with convincing tamber, as if fore the first time. I tightened as he entered me, telling him, “It’s been so long”, “I never do this” “No one has ever been this big, this good, this ___”. 

Meanwhile praying he hadn’t kept count of the Magnums in the drawer, or noticed a golden wrapper catching the moonlight in my trashcan.

Sometimes I feel like that trashcan.

Hey.

I cleaned today. I know you always pointed out what a mess this apartment was.

And I always brushed it off with some excuse. Blame.

But never myself.

I washed the sheets. Towels, Old t-shirts and oversized jackets.

Once.

Twice.

So they won’t smell like you anymore.

I changed the bedding, fluffed the pillows, flipped the mattress.

Tried to fill in the space you left behind.’till there was no evidence, no imprint of the side you once claimed as your own.

I washed all the dishes. Same meal for weeks now. T.V dinners, Ice Cream, Self sabotage, a side of depression.

I threw out the beer bottles and bourbon bottles in an attempt to drown out your voice… but my guilt is boyant, floating —just—-above—-the surface.

I took my first deep breath, lips surrounding the colorful opening of an old pipe. Take the edge off.

It’s an Rx, you know

….for the pain?

Everything tingles and my eyes only have to be half open. My life apathy now reflected outward.

I texted.

No answer.

I swept the floor, retracing and erasing footprints left behind as I helplessly trailed behind you.

You showed me tenderness, gratitude, beauty in the simple things. I never stood a chance.

Tired. Thirsty. I took a break, threw a jacket over my three-day worn pajamas, braced myself for the wind chill and walked a block and a half to Pete’s.

It was the first time I’d been outside all week. The sun was already down.

Good.

 

Fashion

We buy clothes, ’cause they’re cool.

10 years later, replace our wardrobe, to stay relevant.

20 years later, a hipster stumbles upon your acid wash jeans at a thrift shop.

It’s cool again.

Buy 20 year old clothes for twice the amount, because they’re cool.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.