#personal prose

Not to others but to a single man, A man with a heart, A man with plight.

A signatory man, Symbolic of will- Ander, Sound, Wrath, Strength, Muscle.

A man so unafraid of the world around him, His only weakness would be me.

A man who is unmoved by the thralls, The many vanities of the living world. A man who is inclined to needing me, to wanting me; I become his entire purpose.

Does such a man exist?

A love which isn’t transient, Something that enwraps me, Where it kills him when I am not in his presence. My pain would be his to suffice, And maybe it is depravity, this kind of love—

To crave so much it borders on ruin, To want without measure, To need as though the world itself were hollow without it.

But if such a man could exist, I would not call it sin, I would only call it home.

welcome to prettydarkimpulse🖤 — a curated mess of soft horrors, psychoanalytic spirals, and lipstick-stained self-reflection.

I’m a pretty mess in a velvet dress, triggered by eye contact and unresolved trauma, leaving rose petals, red flags, and repressed memories in my wake.💕

read me like a book you were warned about.

🕯️ posts on: dark academia • feminine rage • aesthetic breakdowns • femme psych theory • emotional hauntings • literature, love, and latent issues

📌 currently: dissociating in style

❥ mutuals = therapy

Family 

Biologically related, legally adopted, emotionally connected. 

Some are large and many, others small, not much.

Some may only have one that’s left, while others have lost more than just one.

Communication 

With just a ping of a notification or a handwritten letter slipped into a mailbox, one message can travel to receive another. 

Even so, effort does not guarantee a response. 

Most might be caught up with having to finish that report or project, working into the wee hours into the night.

For most, pressing a button to communicate with their family provides convenience, along with company at a physical distance 

For others, the agony of not being physically present burdens them, longing for the warmth of their arms around them, for a head to sit on top of theirs – a hug which soothes their soul. 

One can hope that one day, those relationships once made up of only digital communication may no longer be needed,

Where it can be replaced by presence, a cup of coffee, and many stories to tell.

For more works, check out my socials !

Wattpad : SloaneReeve

AO3: sloane_reeve

Tiktok : sloane.reeve

New Poem - Personal Prose Pt.7

In the restful darkness, the inbetween. The soft London glow creeps through a crack in the blind. From across the room, it looks at me Beckoning me to consider That looming pale rectangle And the distant pealing of church bells. Heard only by those inbetween And the quick mice that scurry from platform to doorstep. Covering their faces in the fog. Resisting the urge, my eyes closed Awaiting the…

I keep quiet a lot of the time because I wonder what it is to speak.

Ahh..

..to speak.

To Speak!

To Speak?

..oh.

& how to speak!?

& what would I say.

What would i speak for even?

& why?

How much of what's in me deserves to be mixed with what's in you?

With what's in the world?

Do I value it yet?

If not should it come out my mouth?

Perhaps not.

Yet some times it might still.

When if in speaking I am heard and you value it more than I did then it seem rather, that I am misheard.

Then, it seems to become a problem.

Then in speaking I am not truly heard for what I feel or think has not been said yet though still I have spoken.

Then it becomes apparent that what I have said should not have been said.

What I feel and think has not be heard all that has been heard is what I have said.

So, I am at a loss, grasping at how to speak.

For if I have not yet decided on how to live then how could I know how to speak?

If I have not yet decided on how to be or how to move through the world then how could I know how to speak?

So you see to speak has always been a problem.

To speak..

..and how to speak.

Then to learn about languages, even more!

To know, that with these other words come another way of mind.

So then to speak on what I feel, this might not be easier said in my native tongue than it would be in another's.

Again, so how would I know how to speak if I were to know something like this?

Then it would seem that I'd not yet know even how to think and in feeling I may be mature but with thinking or in speaking I would come across an infant in the conveying of these emotions.

It makes me wonder again how to speak at all or why even.

Should I speak at all?

But to not speak would be worse.

All that remains without speech is confusion and the actions that come from this confusion that arises from our lack of speech.

&

Then to be heard!

How to be heard?

How could you be heard if you didn't know how to speak or to speak, how would you ever be heard?

Yet if i were talking that whole time aiming to be heard yet not knowing how to speak?

Well, then i wouldn't be heard.

Though i would still be making noise!

Loud specific noise that causes loud specific reactions.

Like Poseidon some how swimming against the waves in a storm, thrashing against himself.

I would be lost in the knowing of that noise.

That i did this.

That this is me echoing and flowing around me.

It would be like walking through the corridor's of a house that is made up of the echoes of your own words..

.. you can hear them in the walls, in the creaky floor boards.

This is it, this is me.

Then how to speak becomes more of a problem.

Knowing like god knows, that this world is made up of the word.

You understand the depth of what It is to speak now, from this knowing.

How important it is to speak.

To know how to speak, to know TO speak..

..and when to speak.

As I sit here and write this, I know there’s a lot of things you tell me every time I call you. 

That you love me, that I’m precious and darling and special to you. And there’s things I tell you. I tell you that I love you, that you don’t have to worry, that you’re one of the best people in my life. You call on my birthday and tell me about how you and Nana were teaching the day I was born and you both left the school early to come see me even though I was ten hours away. You tell me about how I opened a truck door on a moving highway and nearly gave you a heart attack. 

I also know there’s a lot of things that you don’t tell me. That you’re not going to be here forever. That the cancer is terminal and you probably won’t see me become an archaeologist, or a blushing bride, or a mother. And I know that you don’t want me to worry, and that’s your way of doing it. 

And there’s stuff I don’t tell you either. I haven’t told you that I’m gay, that I like girls. I haven’t told you this because I’m scared. I know honesty is important to you but I just can’t say the words, so I change them, just a bit. 

I’m celibate

I’m focusing on school. 

I’m not ready to date yet. 

I can’t say the words yet not because I think you’ll love me any less, but because I don’t want you to have to think that I didn’t love you enough to tell you. I don’t want to push you away because every moment we have left is precious. I don’t want you to ask mom if she knew and create a wedge there. But I don’t want to leave you in the dark anymore. 

Because I love you.

Because you’re dear to me. 

Because you’re one of the people that shaped me to be who I am.

I want you to know and love all of me because even though you might not see me as a bride, or as an archaeologist, or a mother, I want you to know that I’m going to be okay. That I’m complete and at peace with who I am. I want you to know that I’m going to live and love even if you’re not here to help me with it. 

Love, 

it’s always been “you’re chinese you must be good at math !!!” or “do you eat dogs ??” or “did your cousin make your phone ???” but never once in my life my whiteness has never been stereotyped…..

growing up mixed as white and a person of color is very hard experience because you’re indoctrinated in thinking that it’s normal to disregard your non-whiteness because of your actual whiteness like sometimes i catch myself enabling chinese stereotypes