I use them as distractions, these men with hands that don’t know how to save bleeding hearts. Not that they are meant to be heroes but don’t they ever get tired of touching? of reaching for parts that don’t belong to them? Are they not tired of playing with fire?
Always outstretched reaching for my parts, like they are on loan or unwanted or unbecoming, need to be put back into place, just not quite right. Entitled f*#&s, I’m angry and i’m trying not to blame all of you, i’m trying to understand you but it gets boring making up excuses for you. I smiled too much with him, laughed a bit to hard, I wore the wrong skirt around him, I was nice, maybe too nice. I am a woman with breasts and ass and apparently these don’t belong to me because I am always on display for their visual fix and their hands are anointed by the holiest of holy, they absolutely have to touch me. To bless me, to fix me. Am I that broken? what do they think of when they see me? I wonder what goes on in their minds… I wouldn’t want to place myself in their shoes, what horrors must live there. I have enough of my own.
Letter To Louisa
(Open on your 19th birthday)
I want to tell you but how do I begin? Where do I begin to explain that I wasn’t enough for myself? How do I sit here and tell you that I couldn’t’ protect myself and God knows I tried. I tried and sometimes trying isn’t enough, when that happens nothing seems enough. If life is indeed just one big box of memories we are trying to remember and this is all we have in every single lifetime in every single dimension. If this is a continuous loop and we are bound to experience the same things no matter which path we choose. with all the love I have in me for you, for us. Take this as your last year. Live it, love it, do all the things you can, do them fast and hard, be unafraid and completely unlimited. Just live. Until the next September rolls buy. Gather all the blue pills from the story your grandmother told you about. Open the bottle of wine you are saving for your graduation and on the 9th day, don’t sleep. Spend the day getting drunk and popping sleeping pills. The days after 20 are dark. It’s selfish of me to ask you this, but save us. Save yourself.
Somewhere between the 5th of December and the 25th January my life changed. You may not have seen it but it did, and it really doesn’t matter to you but I keep sinking deeper, these feelings are heavy and I need to say something. I need to find a way to breathe lighter but I cant keep myself safe long enough to be okay. I want to unload these heavy bags but what are safe spaces when the people who are to protect you hurt you?