Blog by N

I want the parts of you you only show

To the corner of your bathroom mirror

I want the parts of your hand-grenade heart

That beat slowly with anger and fear

I want the parts of you you only show

To the birds outside your bedroom window

I want the teeth that you lost as a child

That you hide in a box under your pillow

I want your quiet, your screaming and thrashing

The salt on your lips and the hands that God gave you

And I want your violence, your silent sedation

Your moon eyes, your telescope, morbid fixation

And I want your pyro, your born-again virgin

Your hands on my insides, your fingertips crawling

And I want your Jesus, your suicide mission

Your lips on the microphone, soft disposition

And I want your parties, the shark in your water

The scrapes on your knees and the blood that spills over

And I want your zeroes, your polluted marrow

The sweat on your palms and your surveillance shadow

I want your secrets, your clementine fields

The ropes that you climb up, the parts that won't heal

I want your safe word, your passive resistance

The sickness you foster, your favorite addictions

And I want your nightmares, the ghost in your doorway

Your paralyzed sleep and your-

I want you, butterfly, I want you, sailor

friends who wore the mask of sisters,

a stepmother’s warmth,

a mom who expected the best,

a dad who promised to stay clean—

all slipped away, one by one.

A family’s substitute.

But family—

it isn’t shaped by how well I can bend, break, and heal,

how much of me I can sacrifice and still stand.

And yet, I thought if I could just give more,

be steady enough, balanced enough,

I could hold them all in place.

But I was never enough.

Not without bleeding myself dry,

not without feeling the emptiness grow.

The fear of their leaving carved out parts of me

that I couldn’t fill on my own.

But in the quiet that followed, something shifted.

Without the weight of always proving, always giving,

there’s finally space to be enough for myself,

a strange fullness found in the void they left behind,

as if for the first time, I can breathe without breaking,

I can be enough, just as I am.

my autumn playlist. // Tamino fall>>>>>brat summer