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fragment 11for being such a fighter,

i've never been worth
fighting
for.
funeral pyresif there is a bridge for your body
i am looking for it anyway,
somewhere i can lay my head
down for a while and dance
on the bricks later - stay
a while and tell me all the things
you swore you'd never
say to anyone. burn a few
things that were never really
mine to begin with, burn a few
things that were always
mine to begin with.
collect the ashes and
spread them in the deep
black sea, part (it
with) your hips and
let the tide
carry (you)
on being and belonging toi hate that to other people,
there is no
'me'. it is always
'you and z',
it is always 'us',
it is always 'we'.
not to say
that being with someone for so long
doesn't make them a part of you,
(because it does),
but it doesn't make you
the same person.
last time i checked,
i still have a cunt between my legs
& flowers in my hair, though
wilted & bloomed again into
something else entirely.
last time i checked i still sleep alone
most nights, and the earth doesn't crumble
beneath my feet and the sea and the moon
don't sway from their keep if i am seen
without him, and the bones
in my spine and the beat
in my heart do not
dissipate if i seem steady
as a girl belonging to no one
body mind & tongue
of her own.
muddy visioni. sometimes i see dates on things and i'll say,
"february twenty-sixth? oh, that wasn't very long ago at all,
wasn't that only a few days ago? what month is it anyway?"
and you'll look at me like i'm more lost than i'll ever know,
not even laughing because you know i'm serious.
"it's mid-april, you know that. don't you?"
"oh"
i'd say, look down or away or up at the sky because at least it was constant
with its even grey, clouds rolling around and threatening rain,
always threatening rain.
i can't remember the last time they were clear and blue,
in the same way i can't remember if march even happened
or if that was just a filler blank, meant to be played out later on.
ii. at any rate nothing is sticking and that scares me so fucking bad, worse
than it does that i've forgotten my own birthday because who needs birthdays
when there's nothing memorable about them? i mean do you remember
what you did on your eighth, ninth, fourteenth, seventeenth birthday?
fucking seventeen.
i feel more li
on bad habitsand how mine was always you.
well i'm here and now whati've got all this alcohol and nothing
to light on fire,
so i suppose
i'll just have to
drink it.
and i've got
all this gasoline and
nowhere to go,
so i suppose
i'll just have to
drink that,
too.
you're not allowed to turnit is tuesday morning and we
are littering the floor
with after-sex cigarettes,
you are running your hands
through your hair and giving me
that
look. there is the beat of the
drum and the hum and the
sigh and the morning kind is the best
kind, half-drunk with sleep
stealing teeth
from a shark and the sting
from a wasp; baby's breath
kissing the window
sills
the dew on
the glass and
the sinew in
your bones, not
to break the quiet
for anything you know and i
know, and we could keep
on pounding on the
walls and no-one would
give a damn:
not even me
not even me.
11.the internal oceans are more threatening
come winter
it makes them cold
and leaves her shaking
right to her core

its okay in summer
they're warm
and golden

but the icy blues
and stark whites
leave her shaken
and vulnerable

and scared you'll
slip back inside
trying to warm
but really only intending
to break
and burn
if you walk.when she snapped, it was clean and permanent and irreversible.
the colours and shapes of the world changed, and she could almost feel the spin on the world
and after 24 years she thought she would have become accustomed to it, but she
thinks it has only gotten worse.
there were kids on the street, playing war and making explosion sounds with their lips and tree branch
guns and one of them pointed theirs at her and she froze like a deer in headlights or a
scared child in a hold up. and as the boy became weirded out by her fear, he ran and
left her standing there. feet frozen and eyes far too wide for a fake gun.
and the rain seemed to stop just before the river rose enough to flood her
because the deepest end was only up to her breasts, and she didn't want to go
to the trouble of bending over. if it was meant to be, it would flood and spill
and reach over her head and she could just walk in.
walk in and not walk back out.
inadequateyou can try to preserve people
in stories, in books, in poetry,
in formaldehyde,
but it will not make them breathe
again. it will not make them the person they were
or those things they did;
it will not sound right
and it will not seem right,
 because
it isn't right. you miss
the details or at least the right ones:
people are not made of hearts and lungs and limbs
they are ankles and hands and tongues and eyelashes
they are fire and fury and friction and fear.
i cannot say that i miss you the way you want me to.
i can't. just can't.
and that is the difference between you and me:
you say what you think you're supposed to and i,
well,
i don't say much at all.
on trying too hardin little corners sits a girl
with a small mouth and big eyes and
a lot on her mind like how
ugly things are made out to be
beautiful and how
to mimic this.

she has
a lot of books,
minimal bookshelves,
most of them dog-eared but
unfinished. most of them
considered 'classics'
well-renowned & critically acclaimed
which makes her look smart,
she thinks, but mostly
they're boring and
who's to know if she's
read them or not?

there is dust on the windowsills
and she burns
incense because it smells
a bit like cigarettes
and that is close enough
without actually smoking
anything.

the scents & flavours
range from fairie d
dollarstore happy.this happiness feels fragile, like if i hold it too long it will break,
the way some things just do.
a dollarstore happy,
easy,
but temporary.

i like the weight of it on my skin though.
the way the fragile skin over my wrists has healed into soft tapeworms.
the way the sky seems bluer even when its grey.

i can feel my heartbeat in my fingertips.
my heart lives on the tip of my tongue where i keep swallowing it down
in the hope that someday it might stay down,
and i will be able to forget.

i will learn to forget the pulse in my wrists
and unlearn the butterflies that live under my ribcage.
i will call my heart the sea and sail it
instead
landlocked.i think she's decided that its winters fault she is still grounded in this
dead end city.
the cold snap has rendered her wings
covered by layers of survival
warmth
but she just see's them as useless
and keeping her stuck
when she'd rather be anywhere else
but here.
on stealing what's already stolenthe question is always,
"why is this happening to
me?" except
it could have been anyone,
you just
happened
to be in the right
place at the right
time, though not right
at all.

people are always losing
things, often bold enough
to lose
what never belonged
to them or anyone
but the lost
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lifeformslittle yellow wasp
sitting on my window and making
trails in the fog, how did you
get here?

could've let him out
(opened it up, pushed out the screen)
but drowning him gave closure that
he wouldn't be coming back
to sting me in my sleep through
whatever holes in the walls
he crawled out of.
pipedreamsfeeling anything for you
is like trying to grow a garden
in a half-emptied bottle
of cheap tequila,
it's only a good idea
because the rest is what fills
your stomach and stains
your liver and disorients your sticky
thoughts, honeydew heroin
of an idea
where does the good gobaby doll's been where I've been,
and it makes me ashamed to be a part
of this generation, another girl
much too young to be adding to
such a statistic, but all we are
is numbers, anymore.

please tell me
at least,
that you said yes
and meant it,
please tell me that you weren't drunk
off his liquor or high on
whatever he laces his bud
with, please tell me it was more choice
than just
going
with
it

please tell me
you've never woken up sick
as I feel just thinking about it

because fourteen is too young
to know what small is
and too young to see
what lust can do
to a man.
unattended packages may be damaged or destroyedyou've
slammed your knuckles in the door
of your father's cheap-shit car that sits
too low to the ground,
bottomed-out & banged up
pretty bad itself, just  trying to make it look
as if
you've finally found a source, a target
a direction to throw everything in
other than back at
yourself,

as if
it'll feel
different, this time

as if
there is much of a difference
between self-inflicted
contusions & lacerations
anyway
fragment 42"i care about you"

but so
what

when you care about
everybody
when lying and fucking become the same thingdead giveaways:
the way your bottom lip
twiches and the way you can't
sit still, the shifting of your eyes
and the guarded look behind them,
nervous ticks, stuttering, ums
and uhs, well- I just- I mean-
"spit
it
out
kid please",
and what about that
fucking
tapping?, wherever you feel
safe or secure or

maybe that's the opposite of
what you need. what you want
is to talk down the heavens with
the dance of your tongue and the
secrets you've been keeping
at the trembling of your lips
and the parting of your
thighs.

so much depends on
the difference between
letting it
go &
letting everything
go, and you never could,
talk anybody down,
I

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November 10, 2012
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it is a little strange

:iconvvolatile:

i am

s
  p
    i
   r
  a
 l
i
 n   g

and i am apologizing
because i never meant
to drag you down
with me
:iconvvolatile:
i've mostly given up on nano for the sake of my mental health so i'll mostly be back to posting things like this again





(c)
:icontravelgirlxx:
!travelgirlxx Jan 16, 2013
This is lovely.
Reply
:iconvvolatile:
=vvolatile Jan 16, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
thank you <3
Reply
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