Teaching Summer to BreatheSummer will always remind me of hot, sweltering nights spent drinking sangria, through the dripping fairy lights of your bedroom window. A sticky, starry sky looked back at us, the glow of the moon almost golden in the heat. Fourteen meant we weren't growing up fast enough and a liquor cabinet key seemed to hold the answer to that problem.You taught me how to drink that night.(You also showed me how beautiful it was to just hold your breath till your head spins and reality seems like it is going to fade further and further away.)-Six summers ago I met a boy who liked to tell me how much like summer I was. He was big boned and thin skinned and the first time I told him he wasn't mine to keep, he left handprints on my skin that reminded you of a canvas covered in autumn leaves that you saw in New York. Then you proceeded to break every single window in his house (Yes, even the one in the attic he loved so much.)You taught me how to smile through heartbreak that night.(You
MouthfulsYou take mouthfuls of meHuge, selfish as they areLeaving morsels of me behindTeeth my words and chew up my heartBite through my spine with shark like jawsI am used, you explain, damaged,Dirty.Dirty for existing.Dirty for loving you.I ask you why you like to hurt me."I love you most when you ache on the inside."I have never hated myself more.
My Name is Hollow.Hello.My name is Hollow.I live inside your soul.Under the layers and layers of skin,and tissue and muscle...all the way down where nothingand everything survives.(I wish I knew before I trusted youThat lying is second nature to onewith as many regrets as you.)My name is Hollow.I live inside you now,because you gave me the powerin all your virtuous beliefthat the world was goodto survive your strength...(I hoped to God you wouldn'tlie or steal or break what is alreadya thousand pieces of a broken soul.)My name is Hollow.You let me in when sexbegan to feel like an ache.But the pain felt better thandealing with the hurtinside your head, your heart...(This was always a world for thosethat were harder than meStrength is sometimes a very relative thing.)My name is Hollow.I am the jagged lines you drawall along your skin,your muscles, your bones...The sharp edge of a knife,the scarlet drops of remorse.(Here's a question now for your
Lost NovemberI am lost November,with the breath of winterat the hairline of its neck.I am the blood orange thatsours a little too soon.A thirty day intuitionto a season of good will.A blip on the side ofthe road that melts easilyout of sight, out of mind.An unremembered instanceon a torn index pageof a forgotten, spineless book.I am lost November.Remember me the instancewhen you feel unremembered too.
Sea of Liesi.My father never read me the story of Icarus. I found it for myself. I suppose he did not want me to know what it was like to almost touch the stars. But it was only after I had read the story did I even try to reach so far. It is a little like falling in love...and then drowning in the sea.(I would be lying if I said the fall didn't break everything I had once believed was solid.)ii.My science teacher knew well that I was a dreamer. When I told her I believed fairytales were as real as love is, I could see the disapproval and disappointment in her eyes. I suppose thats why in her classroom, when I was asked what the greatest force in the universe was, I answered love. I suppose thats why she laughed and reminded me that love was as much a fairytale as the fairytales I believed in.(She was wrong. Love exists...its just been broken into a million little pieces, set afloat in a sea of heartbreak.)iii.My mother didn't want to speak about t
Forever NeverlandGrace disliked Tinkerbell. She disliked her because she had wings and she could fly whereas Grace stayed on the ground, catching fireflies. The fireflies, in turn, made it easy because they knew she would let them go. She would stare at their radiant light in awe and try to understand how something so little could shine so very bright.She tried to pretend the bread she had in the mornings was ice cream flavoured, and even imagined her little brother had never been taken from them but had been enthralled and forever lost in Neverland. When she tried to explain this to her mother, her mother would look away quietly, and sometimes, rise with a quiet shudder...and leave the room.For a little girl who had the hope of the world resting quite easily on her head as a crown, she knew. She knew that one day, he would come for her and maybe, maybe they could be together again like they were in her dreams.As she grew older, she slept on a bed of green, with a desk of wood and a massive window t
A Little Bit of WonderlandHer name was Alyssa, and when she was nine, her mother built her Wonderland. After being raised on a healthy diet of Charles Dickens, Enid Blyton and J.M. Barrie, it seemed like the natural course of action. She created it out of paper, each scene indispensably, indisputably perfect in its imperfection.And she did it because Alyssa was terrified of the idea of falling through a rabbit hole, into a place that allows magic only when you are confused. Mothers do the most impractical, exhausting things to show how much they love their children. It seemed a pity that it was this very effort that kept Alyssa up all night, staring at the paper people like they were coming to get her.(If Alyssa’s mother knew, she would have spent all her time trying to explain to the little girl that it wasn’t just paper people she should be afraid of.)-God appeared to have a sense of humour when little Alice became Alyssa’s best friend. She lives across the street, her hair always
infinite/opposite.being an adult means knowingthat there are things much scarierthan spiders, or snakes, or clowns.the ocean, for one.losing your parents.empty tequila bottles.unanswered questions.waking up, still reachingfor someone who left youa long time ago.--i live like there’s an end for mebecause there is.look,plants will wilt.forests will burn down.eventually, even the stars will burn out.people will come to us.they will touch us. they will hurt us.they may keep us. they may not.but i never hold on too tightbecause when it’s time, my time,i’ll only be letting go.--the heart has valvesthat constantly open and closegiving love, taking love.and my best adviceis to be selfish.know when you’ve had enough.know when you deserve better.close the valves andkeep some love for yourself.know that you are perfecteven if you eat that second cheeseburgerbecause there’s magic in this world.we’re proof of it.--apeirophobiais fear o
binge eatingi have a buildupof black holessuffocating my arteries,having swallowed downthe bitter taste of too manygirls with galaxies travelingthe length of their spines.i ate them in mouthfuls,gaping & sad like a bingereaching for the skies-unable to hold them all in.i don’t think the universeis as vast& wondrousas it used to be,thrivingbetween theintercostal spacesof my ribs;i am hungry.& with a collectionof moon sighsas a reminderin my pockets,i will just have to learnhow to calm this swollenindigo pulse while eating.
ShoutShout.Shout so your voice is heardShout above those trying to bring you downShout when you're with friendsShout to protect the ones you loveShout and show your true selfShout cheers and try hardShout until your lungs give outShout until you have no angerShout until you feel no fearShout while living each day to it's fullestShout when the seasons changeShout when you feel freeWhisper.Whisper your love of those moments held dear
Have you ever read "The unwanted"
It's a book series where creativity,
is a death sentence.