glory! : i could maybe try to crawl back home, i lack the muscle and a few bones are missing

washer

Goodnight my love Remember me as you fall to sleep Fill your pockets with the dust and the memories That rises from the shoes on my feet I won't be back here Though we may meet again I know it's dark outside Don't be afraid Everytime I ever cried from fear Was just a mistake that I made Wash yourself in your tears And build your church On the strength of your faith Please Listen to me Don't let go Don't let this desperate moonlight leave me With your empty pillow Promise me the sun will rise again I too am tired now Embracing thoughts of tonight's dreamless sleep My head is empty My toes are warm I am safe from harm...

Wednesday, January 3, 2024

i could maybe try to crawl back home, i lack the muscle and a few bones are missing

went on a hedonistic cruise when i was sixteen. a cabaret of lights and bones. i got ill from an unknown, strange disease. made me putrid, necrosis on my thighs, arms, face, waist like a tar rash. i hid away but it was found. i was sent away, i had to leave, they made me walk a plank, be pushed out to sea to swim to wherever i belonged. when i come back home, the keys had been changed by force. when i knocked the doot down i found my home had been robbed. distraught and still riding the high, i tried making a list of the things stolen from me. id done what i could to track down my posessions. i wasnt able to until i sobered up. my family heirlooms, gifts from friends, my makeup, my paintings, my bed and my books. all gone.

my money was gone, my youth was blackened. i tried tor recall where everything went, i tried to remember who took my things even though i knew i wasnt there when i was violated.

i was, i feel it in my body. i can feel it through the walls. i just dont remember.

i lost my mom, my dad. i want my mom. i call to her but she wont respond anymore. someone is under the dirt. six feet of gravel, less even, maybe its not gravel but dirt. i dont know who is under the earth, likely me. i feel tingles. it has started eating my protein, my neglect, my bones. chewing on my softly. i feel it.

hated for my time away, wouldnt call it that. i wanted to be back so bad but now that i an not beautiful and young, i cant be admitted. i want it so bad it makes me black and humid inside. it makes me feel dead. makes me wish for the real thing.

no beauty could save me. it would make me worse.

i did what i could to tame my ugliness, i did what i could to lure beauty, lather it on my skin hoping it would get absorbed. it did not. i tried surrounding myself with quiet, peaceful, beautiful things. it only made the contrast more painful.

i did it all and it wouldnt work for me, nothing couldve saved me.

i am not from here. the world wont accept me and i wont accept it. too rough and in too soft, my flesh is too soft, i scar so easily. i heal too quick. i jump back fast. im lathering my skin with rose oil and growing my hair and painting my nails, waiting to die.

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sylvia plath, the bell jar

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

Psalm 18: 6-11

In my distress I called upon the Lord, And cried out to my God; He heard my voice from His temple, And my cry came before Him, even to His ears. Then the earth shook and trembled; The foundations of the hills also quaked and were shaken, Because He was angry. Smoke went up from His nostrils, And devouring fire from His mouth; Coals were kindled by it. He bowed the heavens also, and came down With darkness under His feet. And He rode upon a cherub, and flew; He flew upon the wings of the wind. He made darkness His secret place; His canopy around Him was dark waters And thick clouds of the skies.