via deitra- 24 going on 17(again)

i remember the time wayyyy the hell back when i used to be super into my writing. where i used to fill up notebook upon notebook of random poetry, and musings, and i thought that i'd never know more than i did when i was 17.

that every sense i had was so particularly unique and sublime. i thought. it's easy to be the center of your own universe when you don't really give a damn about anyone else.

i lost track of time back then, and realized one day that it had been 4 years since i had written anything, and that my whole life had changed. that the boy i wrote about through high school who was "so near, yet so far" was 14 hours away now, and raising someone else's baby. that i almost got married, and with the future husband (not-to-be), i lost 2 babies, and damn near my identity to keep him happy, and keep who i was from him.

i never wrote about any of the real stuff. about being pregnant, and then all of a sudden, not. and about being left behind the one person who knew me all over. and drifting further from the ones who tried to.

maybe writing was an easy way of holding on to such an intangibility. cos looking back through so many old notebooks, i remember exactly what it was to be smitten with mikey fleming. but forgetting how confused i was about marriage and a handful of hicks hating me. all the mistakes i could have saved myself from making if i had written it down and read what an ass i was.

so maybe i try and take the reigns again. and see if maybe in 5 years i can still remember how it feels to feel this.

via deitra- steal my shoes

my james bond left me, left me for med school in dc. thinking that filling his days with cadavers would somehow... do something for his head.
he left me, his radio playing some sad old song, or maybe it was new and upbeat. it just sounded sad to me, watching him drive away.
he hardly kissed me before he left. just a passionless brush of his lips past mine, wiping his mouth on me like i was his napkin. i did not even have the energy to protest.

i think about those last-minutes goodbye things now, trapped in some kind of in-between world, where i see myself as someone else, some random act of gossip. wondering what i could have done to make him stay. wondering if he’ll come back for me. or if he found someone there. how could he not? every girl wants a james bond.

it was like some bullshit story-tale, of a girl, passed over one too many times (that’s you). you are the girl, for all intensive purposes of this tale.

once upon a time, there was a girl (remember, you are “the girl”). you stare at a boy. he’s too good to be true. he does not know you. but you are friends of friends, twice removed. eventually, he learns your name. you become friends, of the first degree. this goes on for years. then, he picks you. and for one second, you feel lucky, that this enigma notices you . that he picks you. not the only one he picked. but you go un-chosen for so long, you just don’t care. you become willing to share a little. to not care that he speaks about the other girl when he’s with you. you don’t mind talking about her problems, about that poor confused girl. until you wonder, one day, if they’re talking about you that same way.
so you cut him off. you stop showing up for lunch, and you don’t take his calls.
then, you finally let go of the toxic anger. it’s taking too much of your strength to try and feel scorned.
you rebuild. you become closer than ever. with no ulterior motive.
the boy takes you all over the world with him. you meet his new girlfriend, who works for the german government. he takes you to a villa, somewhere in italy. it’s beautiful, and you share a bed, without waiting for something to happen. because neither of you want things that way anymore.
it becomes a comfortable thing, to be around the boy. because he knows all of you. every aspect of your personality. he knows “the tone”, and he can tell you why all of your boyfriends were dicks, and exactly why it would not work out. and you think about it and agree with him.

your mother asks why you and the boy are not together, and you tell her it’s just not “that way”. she shrugs and gives you a whatever. she never believes you.

you visit him with your new boyfriend (yes, you have one now.) they get along great. you almost start to feel left out. but eventually you and the boy fall in to the old swing of things. the three of you close the bar, as your boyfriend listens to you two talk about all the things you’ve done together.
when the time comes to leave, you forget who to go home with. your boyfriend tugs your arm, as you head off in the wrong direction. with the boy.

you start noticing all the things that your boyfriend does not do that the boy does. all the ways the boy would listen to you, where your boyfriend just let’s his eyes glaze over.
you start to ask yourself the question your mother has asked you all along” why AREN’T the girl and the boy together?!
you figure your getting uncomfortable that you are in a committed relationship for once. you forget about your feelings for the boy.

the boy gets anxious to travel. he asks you to go. you say of course (you need a vacation). he takes you somewhere warm with him. it’s the most fun you’ve had in a while.
you and the boy sit on the beach one night. and the boy says he’s tired of playing this game.
the boy wants you to be his.
you feel like you’ve swallowed a nine volt battery. your body feels electrified.
you tell him you need a little time.
but by the flight home, you’ve decided.

you get home, and say goodbye to your boyfriend. it hurts, but what comes next, you know will make it better.

you and the boy are together.
everyone wonders what took so long.
you and the boy find a cheap apartment in the city. it’s a hovel, but you never notice.
you’ve got what you need.

and it’s so good.

but the boy is so smart. and he has so much potential.
he gets restless doing the same old thing.
he decides he needs to do something more.
he starts to tutor kids.
and volunteer at clinics.
he loves it.
he wants more.

he applies to med school.
he does not tell you.
he gets accepted.
to a school that’s close.
but not close enough to commute.
he needs to move to washington dc.

he tells you on your birthday.
you tell him you are proud of him.
you smile and ask him when you two leave, that you need to give notice at work.
he tells you he needs to concentrate on him.
he tells you he needs to go by himself.

you try to calculate the probability of dying on your birthday.

he leaves three weeks later.
he packs up his old beat up car. the one he’s had since you’ve known him.
you stand by the curb, and you think how much a cliché you must look like.

he walks over to you. and he brushes his lips past yours.
like a napkin.

he says goodbye, and you can see that he’s excited to go.
to start over with something that’s just his.

you watch him drive away.

you decide to just let go. start it all over.
rent, work, and try to forget.

what can you do to make him stay?

via deitra- waste of space, waste of time, waste of paper

i'm looking through my moleskine at all the garbage that i write to try and pretend i can figure out how i feel.
all the words i hide behind like some psychological breakthrough, psychiatric evaluation,
trying to diagnose something i don't even know where to find, pretending to have these deep feelings when maybe i really don't feel anything-- no connection-- to anyone that i should.
why i can't write what i know. write the things i feel stupid saying.
write about the lies i've told, the lies i've endured.
maybe i deserve to be deceived.
topics for discussion, maybe...
why i can't believe anyone now.
why everyone is out to get me.
why paranoia has become my new religion.
(kneel at the altar, and think of 4 conspiracies for penance.)
why even write at all? no one reads it. not even me.
write to forget.
write to remember.
write to compartmentalize.
write for help that will never come.
write to be found out.
write to waste your life.
write to kill trees.
write to leave a falsified record of yourself.
so your grandkids can find it, dusty and old, yellowed and curled in the attic.
and think they know you.
but only learn the lie.

via lucia - fire inside her

i hate that i wish it wasn't you who was hurting me
because the one who loves you most should be allowed to hurt you the hardest
and yet i hope that i can brush them off, the things you've said
and recover a stronger person, one with more fire inside her.

i think the bottom line is that i started the fight
and it's the same fight replayed over and over again.
what i need to do is forge a new response,
where my hurts will heal and i won't make a sound.

that way when i see you, you won't look like a monster
and i'll know you're the one who is human and weak.
that way when you see me, i won't look like a monster;
i'll just look like a girl who is fierce and unmoved.

Via Matilda - With Surgical Precision

I hate seeing your band play the clubs.
I hate hearing your songs, which are about me, and how everything burst.
I hate seeing little girls, still in highschool, maybe even not there yet, humming along and moving their hips to the words you spared me in your songs.

I hate how you think all of this makes you worthy of something bigger, a greater love, a blind appreciation of all that is you.
In fact, I loathe you and every single fucking thing you stand for.

And I finally told you, too.
I removed you from my life, like a tumor.
With surgical precision.

While you were digesting the shock value of everything I think of you and see you as,
I was skipping the streets, the widest smile ever etched onto my face.
I was off the hinges with joy, more so than you ever brought me.
I bought a plane ticket.
I'd be going away, to a bigger city with cold pavements, where I wouldn't have to pass your apartment building whenever I wanted to buy a pack of smokes.
I was in heaven.

Yesterday I heard.
You're following me to My City.
Are there no other cities in the world to get lost in, to melt into, that you had to declare an invasion on mine?

Just as tumors are removed, lethal poisons are inserted and injected.
With surgical precision.

via lucia - lovecurse

eve now, in the early evening
after hearing your sweetheart words
through the phone receiver,
i wonder whether they are hollow

and i wish - maybe half heartedly -
that i could stop loving you

every limb, every atom in me
aches to be released from this
lovecurse
you are a drug i am tired of ingesting,
i am so fed up with this high
that it doesn't even feel good
anymore

all i want is to stop loving you.

via lucia - psychosis

i hate your smell because i love it.
i tried last night to envision some other body in my bed
like a child from the clouds
or a man from my past
but none of them could keep me safe the way you do
and none of them could inspire in me this type of affection.
and now, i feel like the face bilbo baggins makes
when he sees the thing he for so many years called his precious
and knows that it has aged him and made him vulnerable,
desperate.
i want to let go of all the pain that is aging me and nauseating me,
so that i can love you like you deserve.
more than that, i want to feel the wholeness i once took for granted
because i value it so much now that it is gone.
and if my body can, for just a few minutes, feel healthy again,
maybe i will breathe fresh air
and forget that i feel like i'm dying.
and if that doesn't work, then maybe i will bleed fresh blood
and feel alive again.