Neta Nova

I can't keep doing this. Sooner or later the ice will start to chip and crack, then my whole foundation will collapse and ill drown into the icy waters below. Say your piece. Whatever it is just say it plainly. I can't keep living in constant doubt. I keep second guessing everything I do and I keep questioning everything you say. I've created this beautiful picture in my head and I see it in front of me, so close I can almost reach it. I could not speak out for the fear of losing you is too great. So just speak your truth and let me move on. Id rather face a thousand swords than be lost inside this labyrinth for another day. Stop toying with my heart, I beg you. This is a poem with many meanings but if you find a meaning here do something about it. I'm not gonna say a word any more. I fear confrontation after all.

"I made it to the forward deck, I blessed our remnant fleet. And then consented to being wrecked a thousand kisses deep" -Leonard Cohen

I could do so much better tf

I need to break out. If only my mind could get out of my fucking way, maybe then I'd be free.

And once again I feel unimportant. How is it that every small conversation I have with each passing stranger impacts my life, but I feel as though I leave no impact onto anyone. I love my friends as they are a part of me and I still sometimes feel unappreciated. I devote a special part of my life for the ones I love, I am loyal to them, I never aim to hurt them and if I do I resent myself for it. My heart aches when I'm not treated with an equally amount of tenderness. It pains me when their small actions indicate they do not share the same type of devotion for me. When they handle my feelings so casually. Or worse, when they say something hurtful and they don't even consider how that might hurt me. When I sacrifice parts of myself to please them so that I am reminded I am but a temporary face in their life. That one day I will be forgotten and I there is a chance the mark I have left on their heart will fade away. If I had left a mark in the first place. They might forget me but they will be with me forever.

Can't decide whether I want to fall asleep to "Goodnight mommy I love you" or "goodnight honey I love you"

"ma'am" "mlady" "little lady" "baby" "angel" "doll" "sweetie" I'm a fucking chud

If you aren't going to love me fully leave me alone

I tried to see something that's never been before. Me among a dole, flying harmoniously as one. Me along side my homeward dove, dancing till the end of love. I thought maybe our passions could conciliate the grim memory that is us. You thought some seeds and a bigger cage could liberate my soul, satisfy my needs and blind me to the open sky above. And so, I, utterly dismayed, endured the maltreatment with unfortunate acquiesce. You plucked my feathers one by one, stored them away without asking if I ever wanted them back. Stole my fortitude and beat me down relentlessly. Toyed with my kindness and manipulated it privily, until all that was left was a false sense of responsibility. Guilt. For the risk of displeasing you felt like the vile act of severing off your wings. No matter how much I tried, how long I stayed locked away and neglected my ruffled mind, none of it was enough for you. You still sought out momentary lust and scandal from other birds. Whilst I bled for you and me, waiting for some loving in return... You were spreading your love all over, so there was none left for me. Injustice. That's how I'd describe it. When a hunter would aim to shoot you down, you'd fly to me for protection. You'd demand my soothing acts of love. And I'd obviously provide it. But when the time was such for you to reciprocate, you were too "baldly wounded". You'd say I had made demands unbefitting of my station. You'd curse my name for reaching out but beg me to stay once I tried to flee. Threaten me with your own life. How unfair. My very existence your only lifeline. So I stayed, locked in our cage. For a long while. I put up with the mental torment, resisted your perversion clawing up my body and still remained to tend your self inflicted wounds. Well...you vulture, I want my feathers back. I'm flying freely now, in the midst of the endless sky above, but I'm missing an important part of me. You stole it from me. What that is I'm uncertain but I feel its absence. How am I meant flap my wings at other doves in such condition?

Was shaving my legs in the shower and accidentally made my upper thigh bleed a little. Now I sit in bed, reminded of the sting I felt back when I willingly cut my thighs. Fascinating how one little skin irritation can now cause so many suppressed memories to rush back to the surface. Even three years later I can still recall the tears filling my eyes as I let out my sorrow on my own body. Regardless, I am a new woman now and that version of myself is long gone, so now, that discomfort on my legs is only a happy little accident that will heal. If my thighs can heal so can my soul.