"poeticide".

Am i not family, mom ?

Why do i always feel like i am an outsider in my own home ?

Why do you assume i dont need that love ?

Why do you assume i dont need to be protected ?

Why do you insist on making me stronger ?

It hurts to watch.

To watch my family from afar.

a beautiful broken promise.

Promise.

The word is forced to contain secrets.

But, what if?

what if a person runs out of promises?

when there are too many to keep and there is too much inside?

when all the promises she broke hurts her?

when each and every promise she broke, haunts her, every night, till the end ?

when the broken promises, like broken glass, tears her apart from inside?

until she bleeds. bleeds to death.

too tired to make another promise.

Anne Sexton, The Awful Rowing Toward God; from 'Is It True?'

TEXT ID: Occasionally the devil has crawled in and out of me,

Untitled 15/7/24

Writing and rewriting the same lines,

Over and over again,

Thinking, That’s awful, this is awful, why can’t you write something good for once.

For once? Something good for once?

If it’s as awful as you’re saying it is,

Why do(es) literally everybody you know who you show it to,

And even people you “know” superficially via social media and one shared interest,

Praise it constantly?

And why do even the most unpolished of first drafts receive that same praise?

Maybe you’re actually a decent author & poet?

Ever think of that?

-oaks

[FYI; For Your Eyes Only]

Good morning. I’m back home. I’m taking in my rolls today, in case you want to keep avoiding me. Message received I guess, not real friends. Just unfollow me, all three. It’s weird, the flipping, but I’m not tripping. I’m busy. No hard feelings. Take care of yourself, bee. I’ll try to take care of me.

- Living

“Sometimes you have to forget what you feel, and remember what you deserve.”

— Unknown

pieces of me,

here and there

in these little stories

awaiting to be seen

by no one other than

it's own monsters.

How fucked up are you ?

So much that i ask ai if what i went through was enough to be this tramatized.

Love Between Lines

-

Growing up,

I found getting lost in books

Was the best way to survive.

All sorts of stories,

Where someone is saved,

And happily ever after is never explained.

Paper cuts and the smell of cigarettes,

Separating fact from fiction.

I think now on how you grew up,

Parallel alongside me.

How I'd come to accept that while books

Imitated life,

There would be no savior,

No happily ever after for someone

Like me.

You existed outside of my realm of knowledge,

A lightning strike for a smile

And beautiful-

Like the heroes from the storybooks.

Do you like mint with chocolate?

I had asked,

And you hesitated with lightning.

Honesty, honesty, honesty.

Such simple questions to unravel my worldview,

To find there was a story being written about me all along-

Just within you.

Depends on the context,

You laughed.

But yes, I do.

I do too.

I do too.

x