Contradictory55

the pain comes belatedly thunder long after the lightning has struck the earth a boom resounding in my ears an ache in the back of my teeth an understanding, so late, too late, of pain. what does it feel like? how can i imagine what it could possibly feel like? how could i possibly judge a choice i have never had to make, will never have to make, because how i was grown, the experiences that shaped who i am, every part of me is so different from who she is how could i possibly relate? and yet and yet and yet it resounds. It booms in my chest with an impossible resonance that shouldn't exist and yet does. I resonate I hear her whispers in my ears I feel her screams in my throat My jaws ache because Her pain is not silent, not stifled, not unheard. And his pain, so different, such painful beauty, A reminder that to be untouched does not mean He does not understand darkness, His scars a physical symbol of mental strain, Redefine the meaning of strength - They resonate. They

The horizon's just a line the end of our visibility the lake showing us half of a whole because seeing the whole picture isn't possible because we cannot have all the facts we have bits and pieces making us want to get a pinboard and a skein of red yarn pretending we have enough to make something complete. We're on this Earth because it's the only place we can be and sometimes that's a scary thought because if there's no Author then we are in the middle of a story without an ending constant change but inconsistent growth backsliding and slipping like history doesn't exist and nothing can be a fact. The world is covered in gasoline and we have our gaslighters lying in wait and lying like control over another person means they're in control of themselves and yet at the end of the day, every day, that's all we have left: our selves. There are endless possibilities of our selves existing as pieces and memories in other people and yet we think that we cannot be both, all, every moment we

i am vibrating finding an outlet i've already found writing eulogies for people still living feeling hands and feet are bound i am not enough. breathing but it's like i can't take a breath everything hits all at once all the time waiting for what feels like death sleepless nights i climb wanting to crawl out of skin feeling tight feeling like i just might break. my fingertips used to fly now they lie lay down waiting for something new instead receiving something blue there is rhythm and rhyme running out of time patience is just another word and i'm so tired of waiting cut the cord let me start changing before i become chained. words used to flow out of me unstoppable vibrations my fingers felt like they were dancing and i lost myself in this not stopping to think not stopping at all not stopping. i am grounded in the worst way possible a chip on my shoulder covered by a burden i am not able to set down i don't want to set it down because that makes the eulogy real and i am not

We live life like it's a race who's the first to drink, drive, do both at the same time who gets knocked up, knocked down, knocked sideways like we all began at the same starting line. We didn't. I, we, are in the middle of writing our own stories trying to reach an end goal like it's a finish line but life doesn't end after the goal is reached. There's no finish line we can cross because life isn't a race towards the end, it's a journey without a destination, a book without a conclusion, a walk in a park that can turn into an obstacle course without warning. We will leap, jump hoops, fall flat on our face and end up bruised, battered, and bloody but still breathing. Our hearts will keep beating as they break, tomorrow will become today even when the days become meaningless and Friday starts to feel like Monday, a vicious cycle that becomes more like a hole we are digging into with every hour, every minute passing by with a background refrain of "why am I doing this? Why am I

I knew he would catch up to me soon. The shoes, while gorgeous and sturdy, were heeled and I could feel myself stumble. I had to make myself stop and take them off at the start of the steps, and ran up them into the ballroom. "Wait!" I was so tempted to. Grabbing at my skirts, so lovely but so heavy, I was racing through the ballroom. People got out of my way more out of surprise than politeness. Who would ever run away from a prince? If only they knew I was no princess. Then, perhaps, they might understand and would run away too. Right at the door, I had to look back. A glance over my shoulder and there he was. It was a moment to burn into my memories, his hand outstretched, the entire crowd looking at him then, almost as one, at me. A smile at the guard and it felt like a moment later, I was in the carriage, escaping. I could hear a clatter of hooves and carriage wheels behind me - my prince was giving chase. No, not my prince. A prince, chasing someone who was a one night

i can't face a blankness without a spark it's the spark of nonsense made into words some call it imagination i call it muse it begins as an itch, something unbearable and unknowable just a need to throw words onto a page because if i could be made of ink and paper i would feel more whole than i do made out of flesh and blood and bone the only thing i would fear is the non-metaphorical spark because rips and tears can be taped back together but ashes would be the end of me i'm not a phoenix rising, no reincarnation awaits my death and so i live in bone and flesh and blood pouring out my reality into these words a little piece of my soul to remain known when i have burned away.

i want to remember how it feels to fly because there's a reason it's called "flights of fancy" i want to remember the feeling of my fingers moving fast keeping up with the words spilling from my mind onto a page this is my paintbrush and canvas other people can speak through images capturing a thousand words in a single brushstroke but i need a thousand letters just to say a simple message verbosity is my strong suit and concise is just another word to add to a growing list, a vocabulary made like a thesaurus with definitions changing with connotation sarcasm and wit and metaphor giving rise to the meaning of meaning and the wealth of words. i'm losing touch with myself so this is my message to her: this is home. This is heart. This is the part of you that nobody touches and nobody takes, this is opinion, emotion, rational deliberation and irrational devotion these are the words you would not speak aloud because out loud this is senseless. But on this page is meaning. In these

i'm so stressed i'm vibrating with tension ready to be plucked and release a high-pitched note this is not butterfly nerves but nausea holding back every word i cannot say words i don't even know what they are but they are stuck in some kind of distinctive ball shape or perhaps it is nothing more than these vitamins i consume in an attempt to delay the inevitable wondering is it worth it to wear a mask when we no longer look each other in the eyes there is no other way to tell if there is a smile we are apart and not together and yet together we stand as we are isolated no man is an island and so we are all glad that this is happening now that we have the technology to connect but this is so much less than what we could have. I crave the feeling of a hand holding mine, a hug surrounding me with warmth, holding so tight it is as though I can never escape nor do I wish to. We need no reminders of what I am writing about, not at this time, but yet posterity deems I should tell the

Many view me as an object of pity because I lost both my biological parents at a young age. First my mother when I was just a child, and then my father after I had entered my teen years. But he remarried a woman with two daughters of her own before he passed, so you see, I have never been on my own. And it would be wrong of me to complain for she maintains a roof over my head, food and clothes to keep me healthy and warm. My step-mother says I should do the chores to earn my keep; the laundry, the cooking, mending tears in my step-sister and step-mother's clothes. These are not difficult tasks and help to fill my days with useful work. I have friends too, the birds and mice who live in the house keep me company. My life may not be perfect but in my attic room, I can awaken to each new day with a song. ~*~*~ There has been a most marvelous announcement. The king of our land is holding a ball tonight and all eligible females have been invited. Everybody knows that the prince will