i told fear

I told fear
to get out of here.

There’s no fear in my bones,
in my hair,
in my heart.

There’s no fear anywhere -
I broke it apart. 

Rainy

Too much to say & nothing. & My mind has been far from crazy which makes for little to no desire to write. Who woulda thunk? … But really - knowing that I’ve got this little girl in my belly, who could potentially be born ANY DAY NOW (though I’m not due for another month, but still.) Knowing that I’m going to be a mother, it rearranges the priorities immensely. There’s just no time for crazy (or at least, that self-involved, fucking narcissistic, utterly selfish, living-in-my-head sort of crazy.) Knowing that I’m going to be a mother, for the first time in my life, gives me an (almost) proper sense of reality which I don’t believe I have ever truly had before.

It’s always been birdlings & little girl delusions. (To put it plainly because I’m always so ridiculously vague - I’ve always been stuck in the mindset of a scared little girl. In an imaginary world. Invisible friends and all. Living fictional scenarios. Because the real world, reality, has just always been too effing scary.) Well, now that I’m going to be responsible for a REAL ACTUAL little girl, I can no longer be her. I can no longer be afraid. I have to be brave for my daughter. Even if I’m mostly faking it. But honestly, I really don’t feel afraid at the moment. I feel grateful and empowered and filled with a real, heart-bursting joy that isn’t fictional. It truly exists somewhere other than my mind & on paper. My life is, for once, more than smudged ink and hazy ambitions. Head in the clouds. No, not really. I’m finally tall enough to grab a chunk of cumulus with my bare fucking hands.

And I’m so grateful. Did I mention that already? It’s so very true.

my teeth hurt

Paint the scene. Don’t be me. Write the Great American Novel. Learn to write cursive better. Know that the dots are connecting. Know that you should never feel terrified.

Know that a thousand birds will pummel into your chest (breaking your heart/fall) if you dare attempt to jump ship. Know that nothing has to be cohesive right now. (The dots connect. The dots connect. The dots connect.) 

Invisible God-hands,  made up of cumulus universes, spitfire stars, atomic autonomy - putting together your life-puzzle pieces. Celestials play this game. 

Know that you made it through a page. You made it through the rage. Just connect the dots less messily. 

Oh, the Radio of Omniscience, detuned half the time. Losing signals every day. 

My teeth hurt. And this is distracting me well enough. And not well at all. 

My crazy-lady cursive. I am a mess at the moment. (Only physically, thank God.) Mental and physical breakdowns never happen at the same time.

Flicker, my candle. And burn out tonight.

so what would you start saying if you weren’t afraid?

My problem is that I’m always trying to say what I think everyone wants to hear. I wonder why I’m so afraid of being misunderstood, or being disliked? No, really? What have I got to lose? I’ve always wanted to be more science-minded. (Not necessarily for the right reasons, though. I just sort of romanticise brainy, logical, science genius girls.) If I were to look at things with more of a science-mind, I’d realise that everything boils down to statistics. The statistics are on my side. It would be in my favour to take more risks, stop anticipating “perfect” answers, and start offending people.

transcribed from my paper journal

March 20th, 2011, I reckon.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so torn between worlds. It’s so safe inside my water-bubble mind. Ophelia oceans. It’s always an ocean. Torn between the sky and the sea. I don’t know which creature I’m meant to rightly be. A mermaid-thing or a birdling? Do I even have to choose? Do I?

Nesting eggs. The Russian dolls inside of me. 

* * *

I can’t write like a normal person. Always vague poem lines. Metaphors for mental sores. Locked doors that you can’t get behind.

& This shalln’t be the first time that I describe my reality as “hazy.” Who could even say what is actually real? “I think I made you up inside my head.”

Perpetual motion machine.

“I

want

to

be

someone

else

or

I’ll 

explode.”

***

I’ve been more afraid now than I’ve ever been in my life. & It’s not even because of the [omitted text]. But just in general. I am afraid all of the time. Are we all filled with fear, I wonder? We just expend the energy in different ways. Well, I need a new fucking way.

I cry and I feel so weak. So weak. So weak.

How does one speak up? SPEAK UP. How does one have a commanding tone? How does one become anything, but a fragile forest creature crushed by highway tires?

My anger takes the form of tears. I am angry about so many things. Anger weakens me. Staked into dust.

I think that everyone can see that I want to be saved.

I’m always thrown off-kilter.

“Go and burst my tiny bubble. Blow me off without a care. But I am sleeping where I want to.”

untitled #16 of 28

The splintered bridge I cross,
back and forth.
You’d be amazed at my dexterity.
Tip-toeing over breaking boards.
You’d be amazed by the line between
delusion and reality,
so easily traversed.

The river below my feet,
Cursed by its need to circulate the earth.
Dripping with molecules,
and more alive than I’ll ever be. 

An Ophelia-girl, sinking

I jumped ship
the day I was able to reach
the cumulus clouds with my fingertips.

Sun-warmed floorboards under my feet.
The splinter-bread sopping up my half of the ocean.

When you’re a sea-hermit girl,
You tend to get these notions.
You start to create these worlds.
Skinned-knees bent,
Toes halfway dipped into brackish emotions.

Singing songs of summer and pain.
Grasping wildly for things you can’t touch.

When you see slices of the sky
through strands of hair and seaweed
over your eyes,
You start to develop these lies.
You start to think that the universe belongs to you.
When human beings don’t understand,
but the ocean waves do.

(I jumped ship -
I tried my best.
Only gravity beneath my feet,
A thousand birds pummeled into my chest,
Breaking my heart/fall.) 

razorblade skies & desert lullabies

Could not orate a speech to save her life.
Nervous bird-girl, blushing anxiety-wife.
Can’t convey beauty through her crackling throat.
Sopping sea of thrashing mouth-words.

—————————————————————- 

02.26.11
A journal-ish thing? I don’t know. Who knows what’s gonna happen. My molecules are a-shiftin’ once again. Those ever-permeable things that I hate. “Stop trying to change me. I don’t even know who I am.” So afraid of letting go completely. Living in such close-quarters with another human being (one I love so immensely & want to impress) makes me tense. I don’t know who to be. Don’t know what is me. Am I able to get away with ridiculous things? I really love loneliness, even though it’s often maddening. Everything has so many meanings. It’s hard to decide what’s most proper and perfect.

***********

Naive little-girl me created some amazing things. 12 13 14 me. & Adult me that had no idea that I was no longer a teenage girl. Ha. She did amazing things. We’ve been to so many worlds. “All that you suffer is all that you are.” Nostalgia always pinches these imprints into my heart. Variably indented. Temporarily changed.

—————————————————————- 

insectling

It’s an insect-thing with butterfly wings.
Slunking down towards my ribcage,
Then fluttering up into my throat. 

Little-girl thoughts rule my mind, mostly.
“Two little witches - 
One in the red coat.
One in the violet coat.”

Insect-thing digs her wing under my tongue.
(Always afraid of choking.
Always afraid of the words that I say.)

Little-girl actions rule my life, most days.
Running to my bedroom to cry
& create delusions.

Those times when reality becomes an illusion,
Butterfly-winged insect-thing slips past my teeth,
and flies out of my mouth.