really enjoying my new haircut :P

every time this happens i feel like my stomach is gonna fall though my feet. knowing there’s an impending argument with you feels like the world is ending. i wish i could have a moment of clarity, of understanding. i am somehow always wrong, it’s honestly something that should be kept track of in a records book somewhere, cause ive at least got the state record. i hate feeling like this i hate knowing that you’re waiting at home to discipline me. i’ve said this before and i will probably never say it to you again but it does fill me with the dread of my childhood bedroom. knowing that no matter what i will fall short that i will be wrong for the rest of my life. that whatever it is i did wrong this time i’ve probably done it before.

a song that made my ex cry his eyes out like a child. the same way i did on february 13th 2024, before my life ended for a week, and was resurrected by a friend who turned around and did the same. but my sob stories are not the story of now or then.

this song is vulnerable in a way that feels like radical freedom or acceptance or something my therapist would tell me to embrace before the fleeting nature of it disappears forever. in february of 2024 i think was the first time i was able to stand up and say no i don’t deserve this , just to fall back into the ‘yeah okay’ of it all shortly afterward.

forgot what i was upset about. i love this song. old tarot spread from before i moved. i miss being able to practice as freely as i want. i’m scared of being the wrong kind of person for you. i’m scared im going to do something wrong so i don’t do anything at all. do you understand what that’s like? i have a feeling not. and im jealous. i’m jealous of your popular childhood and your caring and kind mother but to say you wouldn’t understand is incorrect. but to say you don’t care to understand me? might be

The eternal feminine reached out a draping hand to me,

it was unbothered to be made from silk and sex, so I was too.

Languished hairs covering my forearms rose and saluted

before spinning around and reclaiming my skin like a comfort seeking child

Its voice was raspy, bothered by eternal conversation, I'm sure mine would be too,

but the rasp collapsed on itself in regular intervals, speaking words like an engine

to provoke a jumpstart of my loose cables and reword my mistyped GPS destinations.

I could shake in dread for hours knowing that my enduring fingers only make it so far.

In an impassioned surge of mistrust for the ever-growing hands placed before me,

I sought to combine mine with theirs in a dance that modestly resembled a handshake,

but my sinew jumped for joy, rushing sweat and blood drained from my widening pores

and poured like heaven weeping to the infinite ultimatum of oppressed or oppressor.

Rainclouds began to sting like nestled vines, every inch of blue built pyramids of ice

for me to lick down to needles, sharpened just enough for skin to unzip like a sickly, thick overcoat,

reintroducing my heart to my stomach, my brain to my chest, my everything to your forest floor,