if only she would have yelled at me for being too tired;
gotten pissed that i was constantly late for things;
snapped at me for chastising my self-image;
became irate that i didn't cook more;
if only she hated me for how much i daydreamed;
if only she withdrew from me when my room looked like shit;
got fed up with me not giving her more gifts;
shoved me away when i gave her one-too-many hugs;
got annoyed at me for talking about sci-fi and romance movies too much;
if only she had called me a pussy;
if only she accused me of lying when i told her i was sexually assaulted;
was condescending to my friends;
disliked my family;
got tired of seeing my face at sunrise every morning;
if only she called me an idiot for my occasional mental lapses;
if only i complained about shit too much;
yelled at her when it was uncalled for;
just downright ignored her;
failed to become so damn entranced by her smile;
if only i didn't adore our reflection in the mirror whenever we embraced;
-------
i can still feel cupid's arrow ripping my flesh as it's slowly being removed -- but secretly i hope part of it breaks off and stays hidden, nestled in the crevice of my chest until i'm laid to rest...
Monday, January 29, 2018
Saturday, January 13, 2018
brunch
we're sitting across from each other at a diner. her eyes look up at me. there are tears in mine.
"it just reminded me that my friendships with them are deeper than i know; that people actually care for me. it's so easy to suppress that awareness, and to be self-destructive and do that when i feel the way i did. i went back there for the fist time the other day and she practically tackled me as soon as i entered. then i went to pick up my meds -- he was almost brought to tears. they'd MISSED me. i didn't know anyone could actually-- i mean i don't have to explain it to you. we've had a year and a half..."
i'm visibly emotive, not caring who sees my bewildered face. the archaic colloquialism "men aren't supposed to cry in public" flashes through my head, but i don't give a shit.
she reaches for my hand. we're always holding hands when we're here, and i love it. one or both of us is always crying here. if the staff gets annoyed every time they see us walk through these doors, then they're pretty damn adept at concealing it.
"...almost 2. and yeah, they do. do you know how EASY it is to love you?"
her touch is perfect. it always has been. i can't hold back, but i also can't make a sound. i can't make eye contact. i bite my lip.
her eyes are still on me, brows still partially raised.
"you almost died. it got so bad that you lied to me. you've never lied to me before. AND YOU ALMOST DIED. so when you told me you had one the other day... i was scared. i didn't know how to handle that feeling. and i know you can take care of yourself, but you weren't, and i was just..."
i'd known, because i saw it on her face that night. it's around 1pm, so 41 hours ago, almost exactly. i've always been able to read people fairly easily, but not as easily as her. all the oxytocin and prolactin flowing through me for the past 2 years ensured that.
i'm finally able to meet her gaze, my cheeks now dry.
"i just remembered something i wanted to tell you, but i can't right now. i'm too--"
i flail my hands, then point to my face. she understands.
-------
the lights i have strung up in my room always remind me of looking up at the stars for some reason, even though all we see are sparkles of white. for me, it's... ambiance. it turns my anxieties into apparitions. it sends loud noises, crowded people and lost personal space into a lockbox.
after the sun goes down, amalgamations of indigo and amber are what i live for. they're the buzzing of streetlamps, the warmth of a night sky.
they're... solace.
"it just reminded me that my friendships with them are deeper than i know; that people actually care for me. it's so easy to suppress that awareness, and to be self-destructive and do that when i feel the way i did. i went back there for the fist time the other day and she practically tackled me as soon as i entered. then i went to pick up my meds -- he was almost brought to tears. they'd MISSED me. i didn't know anyone could actually-- i mean i don't have to explain it to you. we've had a year and a half..."
i'm visibly emotive, not caring who sees my bewildered face. the archaic colloquialism "men aren't supposed to cry in public" flashes through my head, but i don't give a shit.
she reaches for my hand. we're always holding hands when we're here, and i love it. one or both of us is always crying here. if the staff gets annoyed every time they see us walk through these doors, then they're pretty damn adept at concealing it.
"...almost 2. and yeah, they do. do you know how EASY it is to love you?"
her touch is perfect. it always has been. i can't hold back, but i also can't make a sound. i can't make eye contact. i bite my lip.
her eyes are still on me, brows still partially raised.
"you almost died. it got so bad that you lied to me. you've never lied to me before. AND YOU ALMOST DIED. so when you told me you had one the other day... i was scared. i didn't know how to handle that feeling. and i know you can take care of yourself, but you weren't, and i was just..."
i'd known, because i saw it on her face that night. it's around 1pm, so 41 hours ago, almost exactly. i've always been able to read people fairly easily, but not as easily as her. all the oxytocin and prolactin flowing through me for the past 2 years ensured that.
i'm finally able to meet her gaze, my cheeks now dry.
"i just remembered something i wanted to tell you, but i can't right now. i'm too--"
i flail my hands, then point to my face. she understands.
-------
the lights i have strung up in my room always remind me of looking up at the stars for some reason, even though all we see are sparkles of white. for me, it's... ambiance. it turns my anxieties into apparitions. it sends loud noises, crowded people and lost personal space into a lockbox.
after the sun goes down, amalgamations of indigo and amber are what i live for. they're the buzzing of streetlamps, the warmth of a night sky.
they're... solace.
Saturday, January 6, 2018
thrive (unedited)
there's an internal struggle
a massive tug of war and i'm at the from lines of battle
even though i'm a lover
rebuttals seem irrelevant, asking questions seems irreverent
straight up blasphemy
i know i'm a whack ass nigga
a dude who's not in on the latest fashions
and i don't just mean clothing
go ahead and cringe when you see me miss a fastball at the bottom of the last inning
3 balls, 2 strikes
no, i'm not cool --
but it's cool
and fuck the 27 club
i'm opting not to join
and that's my final decision
i got close a few times over this past year
fears lurking above the surface
gone through a breakup and a hold up within a month of each other
27 days
but it's all love
at the end of the day my blood is still red
and my skin lets the sun seep in
the result is still a heart beating, nestled within a beautiful coat of melanin
in many different ways
change
is inevitable
it's The Universe's only constant
it's only desire
ardently so
have you even heard of what mental illnesses i suffer from?
uttering the word bipolar might as well be a stutter
ptsd, a bitch
anxiety, a precipitator of soul-deep itches
ocd leaves me riddled with tics
but all this shit doesn't define me
i defy it
despite all this, i survive
this nigga right here will thrive
a massive tug of war and i'm at the from lines of battle
even though i'm a lover
rebuttals seem irrelevant, asking questions seems irreverent
straight up blasphemy
i know i'm a whack ass nigga
a dude who's not in on the latest fashions
and i don't just mean clothing
go ahead and cringe when you see me miss a fastball at the bottom of the last inning
3 balls, 2 strikes
no, i'm not cool --
but it's cool
and fuck the 27 club
i'm opting not to join
and that's my final decision
i got close a few times over this past year
fears lurking above the surface
gone through a breakup and a hold up within a month of each other
27 days
but it's all love
at the end of the day my blood is still red
and my skin lets the sun seep in
the result is still a heart beating, nestled within a beautiful coat of melanin
in many different ways
change
is inevitable
it's The Universe's only constant
it's only desire
ardently so
have you even heard of what mental illnesses i suffer from?
uttering the word bipolar might as well be a stutter
ptsd, a bitch
anxiety, a precipitator of soul-deep itches
ocd leaves me riddled with tics
but all this shit doesn't define me
i defy it
despite all this, i survive
this nigga right here will thrive
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