cariiad-blog

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I am less the blossom than I am the gnarls that tether me – these petals you see, soft and yellow will fall to lay on my dark roots. I am less the blooming rose than I am the tendrils that stretch much faster – if I open my bud to you, it will be nothing to my legs underneath. you water me and croon to me in order to see my shy little face but when winter withers me tough you forget that my warmth will renew. you exalt me for what you see and try to snatch me from my place but you’ll never pull hard enough to rip these roots as tall as you

i will not be plucked n.h. // 1.23.19

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I’ve discovered remarkable treatments among her lipstick trademarks the trash scattered on my floor the pyre for these, our salem witch orgasms we make a treaty for humanity between moans made with love and anxiety we hold and heap and help the world and just ourselves the fragility of our memories after this night are no match for these hidden explosives but best believe that storage is easy between these legs and sheets

lost together and found n.h. // 2.27.19

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I am a neat little train. I have an even set of cars, and I travel on a nice, straight track. I stop, pick up, continue and I take people where they need to go. I am a neat little train and something in my peripheral lurches me forward – it seems that I stepped on the gas instead of the brake but please wait while I right this – I am a neat little train and I can’t seem to find the brake and I don’t think I can slow us down I’m sorry please wait while I try to fix this I will fix this I will keep us safe and I will get us back to our normal speed and this neat little train can’t slow down and I can’t slow down and I can’t slow down I think I’m going to crash I’m sorry I think I’m going to crash I’m sorry I think I’m going to –

For your safety, please stay behind the yellow line n.h. // 1.23.19

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My father gave me three rules before he walked out the door for good, bag slung over his shoulder and a hint of regret masking his usually bright eyes. “One, never ask a question you ain’t ready to know the answer to, son. The hurt that follows that may just be more than you can bear,” his gruff voice reminds me of wood, the trees at the end of the street that no one seems to play in. It scratches at my ears, a bit of crackle I know to love, like the burst of a growl in a bonfire when the flames spit sparks into the sky. “Two, respect your mother, and the rest of the women in your life. You may not end up lovin’ one of them, but you sure as hell are going to have to listen to one. It won’t do you any good to get on their bad side,” his eyebrows knit together, thick hairs coming together like the bushes do at the end of the garden, too thick for me to see through to the little hole with the animals Ma hates in it. They’ve always been heavy on his face, making it hard for me to see his eyes but now they’re raised enough for me to see through. I can see the animal Ma hates inside, and I shiver in its gaze. “Three, son, and now here’s where you’re gonna have to listen real hard,” his voice catches and it startles me. My father’s never been one for emotion, the steely man always towering above me in some god-like, invincible fashion, but now he seems so small. Small, like me, who’s hand can’t even fill the palm of his. “Son, you gotta say the damn thing. Whatever it is, whatever you get eatin’ away at you, don’t let it whittle holes through you until the wind’s chillin’ you to your bones. You ain’t gonna lose nothing tellin’ someone how you feel, and if you do, hell, they ain’t worth a dime of your time. You’re better when you’re loud son, not lying down taking what the world spits at you.” His mouth is set, the hairs around his lips quivering with some emotion I can’t understand yet, but I know to take seriously. I reach out, my hands only little, to try and touch those hairs, the coarse hairs that have scratched me during embraces all my life. I realize now what’s happening, what the pack means and the rules he won’t be able to teach me later. Tears well in my eyes, my mouth opening to form a little O as I try to keep him from going. I cry out for him, try to grasp at the rough cloth at his calve or wrap myself around his thick ankle but he shakes me off. A gentle giant, I’m no match for his grip and he deposits me on the floor without a word. I’m left sitting there, on my ass, looking up at my father and begging him not to leave. In the end, I’m only little though, and no amount of tears or outstretched hands could keep him from walking out that door, down the walk and out of my sight. I don’t stop looking for hours, not until Ma comes running and drags me away from the door, slamming it shut behind her as she clutches me in her arms.

life lessons hit me early, when I wasn’t ready to learn them 7/27/2017

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I have not yet reached my eighteenth year. in the eyes of the law, I am a child. in the eyes of my father, I am a baby. in the eyes of everyone around me, I’m young. and yet I feel so terribly old, so absolutely old. worn, like I’m a fabric that’s seen better days. heavy, like my bones just can’t move as fast. tired, like I’ve lived centuries in my lifetime. I sit here, at 3:47 in the morning, and I’m done. I feel like I’ve lived my life, roll the end credits.

everything is so incredibly hard n.h. // 10.23.16

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'whap' → it burns more than the wax job you say I look better with...        'whap' → it hurts more than the toe I stubbed running up the                         stairs away from you...            'whap' → it stings more than the ache in my belly when you                              leave me with no appetite...                 'whap' → it aches more than the hole in my chest seeing a                                   happier family gives me...                       'whap' → it scars more than the lines on my heart and on                                        the skin of my breast...  'whap' your hands fall together, with each sharp word you throw at me. your knives find their mark, and i'm riddle with holes once again. 'whap' you take your aim, hands slapping together, and i fall once more. 'whap' go your hands, and i fall without a single touch from you. (not physically, at least)

can i even call you abusive if your hands never touched my cheek, but your words wounded my heart? n.h. // 10.23.16

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in the face of the stars and his unsure gaze, it all comes down to this: she's never loved anyone more, and she's never been more afraid.

things are right again but when will they go wrong? // n. h.

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all I want is someone with a soft voice and a kind heart.

don't compromise, ever. n.h. // 3.24.16

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I like clutter. I keep clutter on my floor of my bedroom, in the sink of my kitchen, the corners of my mind. I don't mind the mess. Mess to me isn't bad, it's not unclean, it's loved. It's lived in. My cluttered bedroom floor means I love my room, means I feel comfortable in this space. My cluttered kitchen sink shows my guests I eat, shows them that I take time to care for my body and my soul. I keep my mind cluttered because having thoughts in reserve keeps me from going back to the thoughts I bury, my cluttered mind keeps me busy in the most needed way. So yes, I'm a messy person, but I'm healthy, and I am making it work in the best way I know how.

to the people who complain about my home n.h. // 3.21.16

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she sits at the kitchen table with a single light on overhead, the night enveloping her house in its starry embrace. it’s quiet, the little ones in bed and he’s not back yet, leaving her to do this on her own. the array of papers in front of her bleed together, their print laughing at her and merging together or flip turn upside down. the numbers, the debts, they bulge out of the page and she runs a hand over her face, willing the tears not to come. oh where is he? they usually did this kind of thing together, she would balance the numbers and he would keep her from getting overwhelmed. they were a team, but now he comes back in the late hours of the night, barely looking at her and she takes every grunted response as a blow to the chest. why is he pulling away from her, what has gone wrong? forget the bills, she can’t focus on them now. she lets her head fall into her hands as the first tear falls. solitude shields her, comforts her and lets her know that for now, it’s okay to cry. she cries for him, who he used to be, and she wishes he would come back to her despite him not being missing. the door opens and he steps in, making her quickly wipe away the tears and plaster a smile on her face. ‘How was your day?’ she asks, standing to walk towards him. He smiles slightly but walks up the stairs to their room, grunting ‘good’ in reply with nothing else. and as he leaves her in the solitude of the foyer, she feels her heart break more firmly in two as she watches the man she loves slip even further away from her.

excerpt from a book I’ll never write n.h. 11/6/15 (via cariiad)

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and sometimes, even after we’ve convinced ourselves that everything is fine and we’re content, there comes a time at the end of the day where every breath pulls your ragged chest apart and makes your feet drag behind you. when we reach that point there’s really nothing we can do besides accept that sometimes, we’re going to be sad, and sometime’s we’re not fine, and that that’s okay. just breathe, despite the pain, and wait for the blessed cool of sunrise tomorrow.

November 10, 2015 // n.h. (via cariiad)

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there is so much that could be lost, once you are in love. before you stand with the world in your palm and a glint in your eyes, but once that softness envelops your heart you’re changed forever. suddenly it seems the world you once held is burning you alive and everything you hold dear is being yanked from your arms. love makes everything precious, that is a beautiful thing, but love makes it so much easier to be hurt. love does not come with a warrantee or a guarantee. it does not come with a full refund, get your money back. you can lose everything for the sake of the high. it’s the worlds most dangerous gamble, and we’re all addicted to the game.

- November 11, 2015 // n.h. (via cariiad)

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there's nothing lonelier than having felt perfection only to end up thrown away in the shadows of the sun. I am more alone now than I was before and the cruelty of it all is not how he left me, or decided to tear my heart apart, but how I am alone and I can't remember how to live in the silence of an afternoon or the cool sheets of an empty bed. the cruelty lies in the fact that I learned to love him, and I forgot how to live without him.

I can still feel his lips on my forehead n.h. // 3.11.16

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you are the sunrise I’d wake up early to see, you are the sunset I’d stay up forever to watch. let me, oh god, if I could have just one thing, let it be to start and end my day with you. then I can be truly content.

our love is true n.h. 10/20/15 (via cariiad)

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both of these are me...

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I am beautiful, no matter how many ways you try to tell me I'm not. I'm beautiful, and I will be beautiful and marvelous and lovely. without you.