#extracold

i know that doesn’t mean much but when all you think about is dying, taking an action to stay safe is improvement.

then the thing masking my pain ended up becoming another painful thing

♡

it has been quiet here for a long, long time.

the wind here,

it cuts through me, chilling me deeply.

oh,

so deeply i almost forget that there was a time when i enjoyed this feeling,

reveled in it.

♡

the sun pours through a sliver of clear sky,

just for a moment,

before it slides away behind the clouds.

i remember when the sun would wake me in the morning,

and i know,

i enjoyed this, too.

but the sun has not woken me up in years,

and i am so often cold now, it is hard to remember ever being warm.

♡

in quiet moments,

i sometimes wonder if i should have been a faery,

think that maybe the universe made a mistake with me,

if only because i am more spite than love.

more malice than kindness.

i worry that people can tell how raw i am on the inside;

my taut skin cut open to reveal such fragile, fragile bones.

and here,

Write book after book about how I tired of tearing my limbs off to please you.

I've tried so terribly hard to keep my love inside my body,

and all this hurt locked in my chest,

and my selfish desires for freedom and being respected

tucked away deep inside me.

Just like how my shorts weep in my dresser drawer.

But my bones are breaking and from each crack pours a river

of everything I’ve ever wanted to say.

How I hate the way you’ve always treated me like I was a new house,

that needs to be kept clean and pristine,

and is owned by you.

How I see the earth doused in love like gasoline

and I want to light it on fire,

but I can tell all you want is to wipe it off.

How I think his hair looks exceptionally soft.

You never could’ve been forever.

You’ve had impermanence written on your forehead in blood since I met you,

and I was just too blind to see how it was growing redder with each day

and each step I took towards you.

Dripping down your face and pouring from your sink faucet nostrils.

I can’t worship evil like you do.

My feet grow upwards out of adoration and my head rests in clouds of compassion.

And you are not deserving of any of it.

And you never have been.

Your laugh sounds like the crack of a whip against my back,

and I don’t live in it anymore.

The sweet strawberry scent of angels billow around me,

and my head has never hurt so violently from contentment as it does right at this moment.

For once I’m suffocating my own self with love,

Pouring it down my nose and down my throat and into my eyes,

until it comes seeping back out my ears.

And for the first time in 17 years I feel entirely worthy.

My own care tastes as sweet as the ripest berry in the Garden of Eden,

and my own arms wrapped around my body are soft as lily petals.