Another day to be a writer


I will write about kindness.

I will write about love

I will write about death

I will write about the sun

And the moon

I might write about every individual star

I will write about pain

I will drag knives over your lungs just hard enough to scrape them.

I will take the air from you

I will take your tear- streaked cheeks and tell you

Absolute truths

The ones that have been kept from you

I will write about failure

And what it means to try again. Selfishly.

I will write about the things you forgot

Things that brought you joy

Do you remember joy?

The real kind

I will write about cold fingers

Yours and his

I will write about silk and satin and

how your skin

wasn’t placed on your body

to please anyone on this earth.

I will write about regret

How bitter it tastes at the back of your throat

I will write about the lies you told

The excuses you made

The promises you broke without blinking

I will write about nature

And how we’re are being lied to:

nature is unnatural

I will write about lips

The kinds of kisses you should be receiving

I will write about anger

Steel wool on the ends of your lashes

Scratchy eyes

Red vision

Burning skin

I will write about calamity

And how we know nothing of it at all.

I will write about consistency

I will write about persistency

I will write about specificity

I will make you uncomfortable

Sweaty

Guilty

I will write about tranquility

And how to achieve it

I will write about being enough being happy being secure

being unapologetic in those things

 

 

 

 

 

The edges of the night are frayed, torn by whispered confessions.


I didn’t see this coming. 

There’s this lyric. 

From this band, Arctic Monkeys, that I adore. 


And I feel like its relevance lies in the fact that, mere hours ago, I experienced it. Saying things I never thought I’d say out loud to a person I never thought I’d say them to. 

There are certain moments in your life, that will fit together like a stained glass. The cold, cloudy morning might be a full grey, capturing your reluctance to get out of bed. And then there are moments, unanticipated & indescribable. (I love how writers say that, LIKE THEIR ENTIRE PURPOSE IS NOT TO DESCRIBE THINGS AND MAKE YOU FEEL THINGS) that might be a stormy lilac. (Because of its unprecedented nature)  


(If I were to caption this I would say something like let me breathe in your galaxy OR  she held the universe on the tip of her tongue

Anyway. 

It’s difficult. This “life” thing. And I don’t want to feel like it’s difficult because I also have this idea that we complicate matters  for ourselves (90% of the time in my case) 

So when you come across an individual that might somehow, make it easier. You can see how you might get a little excited. 

And yes it’s completely normal to talk to your friends about your issues. (Although bear in mind that I converse with this particular friend less than 10 times a year- Probs)  Thats not the pinnacle of this discussion. It’s the hour. (2am) it’s the cover of darkness that makes you feel less vulnerable when revealing your inner most fears and secrets and thoughts. 

It was dark & warm and there were my problems, lining the walls of the shadows. And there were her problems, coming through the speaker on my phone. 
And there was our collective pain. And it was ohkay. (Yes. I spell it the way I say it: ohkay. Creative license. It’s a real thing.) more than ohkay it was. 

Liberating.