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I wrote this a while ago when I thought we could all use something a little less heavy and meant to post it here but then I didn't, so here it is now:
We should all keep a secret diary
in which to deposit our stupidest thoughts
and lamest jokes that no one else will laugh at
you know, the ones that follow no reasonable logic
and reference 3 different fandoms
and a good handful of inside jokes
We all need a secret diary
inside a well-worn leather cover
or a very private online document
or maybe in the margins of our most boring notebook
whatever suits us best
It's all right to have a secret diary
it's not silly as long as no one finds out
and they better not find out
'cause if they do we'll be in trouble, won't we
people might find out who we really are
what a scandal!
no no we can't have that
So let's hold on to our secret diaries
don't let go of who we've learned to be
or who we've just stumbled into becoming
or who we've run away from but ended up as anyway
because it's not just any old person who can see us all the way through
so we'd better look good and hard ourselves
every word against my abusers character is still shards of broken glass within my throat
hot wet blood slick and thick drip into pages of books i'm trying to put down, set to rest, put to bed,
i am kin with the alien spacecraft hovering, dull and strange, pockmarked with memories of another world, marred with bullet holes,
clouds gather at the edge of my vision, inside my greedy thankless throat they precipitate needlessly, desperately
plastic keepsakes, gifts, tear me open at the seam, click against my bones foreign and slick in my bloodstream
my thoughts are junk mail tossed aside but relentless and needy
i feel strange and sick and I would like to leave, now, please
we are the goon squad & we're coming to town
So this was really spontaneous . . .
When I climbed the staircase
up my spine
I hoped to reach my brain
but the road was littered with so many
other people's thoughts
I got lost
but that's alright
it's beautiful here
words and music
people singing and arguing
my brain I think
would be far too lonely
here, in these heavy, yellow-bellied clouds
swelled with the storm, pleased by the weight
unraveled & mouthy comes thunder
where spindle-weak fences pin down the hills
& the hills let them, & the winds scream praises, &
the barbed wires rename themselves please
small suns dot the gaps between lightning fingers
& the sky sobs yellow-green, like the stomach of a frog
here, under these dripping prayers, sweetgrass laid limp
over itself and dew-shining, i ride my bike to the end of the sidewalk
& that, where the rain peels itself up from the concrete
humid for the sunlight, greek iris in prosper
& that, where i stop propped on one foot
that is what love tastes like
everyone else gave up on me
it seems that there's no merit to life
throw my ashes
off mt. fuji in
because if i can't see
the cherry blossoms
i might as well
i don't want a funeral
i don't want to be remembered
but don't worry
the raven queen will
treat me well
The symbolism of regret
It hangs around you.
What is guilt? It asks.
“It’s you.” I reply.
“It’s The constant reminders in
Small things like windows.
And folded pieces of paper you throw at the wall.
You see their face everywhere.
You can’t ever touch it.
Or speak to it.
It’s too far away and leaves you
reaching for the mirage.
It is the clock on the wall.
No one can ever fix.
Because when he died it stopped.
And he was the only one who knew
How to fix it.”