what right do you have to ask anything of me?
after all the ways you disappointed me still dig themselves into the small of my back. small black lines that i once wasted joy on when i had no joy to waste. you knew this, and you did it anyway.
so who are you
expecting anything from me?
just fyi i have a pineapple print hair band so be jel ✌🍍
don’t act like you’re not impressed.
grips my hips and presses its fingers
thick and wide
spreading me thick and wide
until i am so far apart that i am unrecognisable,
unable to think of anything
sarahasnoh asked: So I kind of freak out every time I see your name in my activity feed because you're a celebrity goddess in my head. Anyway, I hope you're doing ok in this journey of life, love :)
you are also celebrity unicorn honey status in my head. so: mutual admiration club. x
in seven days im going to meet my father’s girlfriend.
she’s been around for almost two years, and i’ve successfully avoided her in every real way until now. i have also successfully avoided calling her my father’s anything, because it is so much harder than anyone realises to think about him and her. to think about the implications of the tiny little possessive apostrophe. to think about someone else belonging to him.
i don’t talk about this much, because i know some well meaning but ultimately ignorant asshole is going to put their two cents in about how much my dad deserves happiness. maybe draw a parallel about when their parents split, and how good it was to see either one moving on. about how my father choosing to spend his holiday with this woman and her thirteen year old son is his choice. because yes, it is his choice. it is his choice. knowing that we don’t have another home to turn to. we don’t have another parent. we don’t have the close knit circle of each other anymore. and it may sound stupid and trite from an almost-thirty-year old, but my family always belonged to me. and now part of it belongs to someone else. losing my mother was hard enough. and slowly losing parts of my father is like nails on a chalkboard.
i know that my father got lonely quicker than i could understand. memories were not enough. i saw it like a betrayal, like he replaced her too soon. but after a while, after i spat the words are you really that pathetic and lonely that you need someone else? like caustic soda in his face, after he simply answered yes, that i realised he was not leaving my mother’s memory or just replacing her body. he just wanted a companion. i cannot begrudge him that.
i guess that all of this comes down to memory. to reverence. i never wanted my mother to die. i have tried to keep her as alive as possible. not meeting my father’s girlfriend has been a way to ward off reality. to stay in that purgatory of time, where maybe grief isn’t as thick.
in seven days i will no longer have the luxury of not knowing any better. the reality of another woman where we all wish my mother still was will be undeniable.
time does not make death easier. time simply creates rabbit warrens within us, for our hearts to follow blindly, for us to discover new pain at what you thought was the last turn.
please forgive me for the last three years, please forgive me. i have been struggling without her and i still don’t know when that will end. please forgive me. i haven’t asked any of you to understand any of this because i just assumed you wouldn’t. so i buried it within me and let my grief foster bad blood. forgive me. i didn’t know how to ask for it, so i hated you for not offering it to me regardless. i miss the friends that i have lost, and i miss the joy i used to swallow. please forgive me. for all of this.
i have so little to say about this mountain i am struggling to move. what is there to say really? it’s all just white noise gathering against my ribs. cancelling out days and nights.
in a few minutes he will walk back up our stairs and hand me my coffee in a paper cup.
i really owe it to us both to smile more often. i owe this to us both.
—Charles Bukowski (via stfumadison)