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[feralchangkyun]

I was wondering if you knew any tender poems about friendship? if not, that's totally cool!! :)

“[First full moon of a new and final decade]” by June Jordan

“Poem Read At Joan Mitchell’s” by Frank O’Hara

“Ode to Elliott Smith, Ending in the First Snowfall of 2003” by Hanif Abdurraqib (he once said that Frank O’Hara’s friendship poems/the way he casually mentioned his friends by name in his poems was something that meant a lot to him and I love how you can see in this poem that he did the same)

“The Orange” by Wendy Cope

“Scrambled Eggs and Whiskey” by Hayden Carruths

“acknowledgements” by Danez Smith

(if you’ve noticed that in all these poems there’s a deliberate use of their friends’ names and specific references it’s because it’s something I find very heartwarming. they’re not writing poems about something meant to be relatable they’re just writing because they love their friends and that makes me ! inside)

“To All My Friends” by May Yang

“For Tom Shaw S.S.J.E. (1945–2014)” by Mary Oliver

[feralchangkyun]

I love when people are nice to me. maybe i wont kill myself after all

[feralchangkyun]

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[ D O W N L O A D ]

[feralchangkyun]

high school best friend

It's realizing you're no longer here that becomes the most difficult thing. I've lost sense of direction, rage fills in and it's become most difficult to think in clear conscious. Or has it become difficult to think when there's nothing to think of at all? It doesn't matter. You're nkt here and I'm fucking stuck in 2014 trying to make sense of it all. Or was it 2013? How easily you could slip through. I haven't known you ten years and ten years is a lot to me. Even after our paths parted, I thought of you. From the way you talked about some member from the 1975 to the way you kissed our friend in the dormitory. It was a strange love triangle then. I keep the names of all my friends tucked into the pocket of my jeans in crumpled paper. Unfortunate to say that it becomes less over the years, I've bought more flowers than I've bought more champagne. I've worn black more than I've worn color. It becomes tiresome. It's as if it remains a chore. I don't want it to be a chore. There's a haunting realization there is no revive button, no restart Gameover becomes a blackscreen for you to stare at your reflection to remember how fortunate you are to have made it this far. I know guilt consumes you, how selfish it seems to be living the ages your kin never have gotten the chance to make it to. I've changed me/I to you to feel less guilt, I'm uncertain how that itself would help in any form. There's still the heart ready to render in translation to the English language, even then there aren't enough syllables to pour my grief into you.

[feralchangkyun]

imaginary friend

𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚'𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 // 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 there's something beyond this, whatever this is. does space overlap the existence of human life? it's almost haunting how she sees me as her savior. as a hand that would strike anyone at fault. there's a space between us. i've begged my own mouth to bleed out words through paper so that she has something to remember me by. she calls me her imaginary friend. the boy with horns who stands at her bedside. i fear one day she'll forget me, athazagoraphobia is a funny word for something extremely painful. she says i keep her safe. i keep her warm. the fire that turns to nothing but smolder is ignited again, i would rip my ribs one by one and turn them into pieces of wood for her. there isn't a need to be alive if there's nothing left for me to live if she isn't. her father warned her not to mention my name again, fearing the worst would come from the sea and swallow him up. i think he's foolish. a fragile spine. the bane of everyone's existence. her mother remains silent, the slightest raise of one's hand causes flounce. her reaction seems to have melted into her, becoming a second hand nature. nothing to be prideful of. misery floods a home once filled with great memories, now waters rise to the lines agains the edge of walls. i'll save her this. what do we do now? the years are coming and the end of leviathan is near. she'll soon forget me. i'm sorry i couldn't save you.

[feralchangkyun]

sabotage myself

𝙨𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙞 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙞 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞 '𝙢 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙙 i never thought i would reach the surface, the deep gasp for air as my body comes to a panic. it's cold. i can't feel anything but i feel everything. saltwater burns my eyes and it makes my throat dry. it's what i deserve. it's what i am best for, to be left. to be alone. i've shut more people out than i've let them in, do you think i'm protecting myself this way? the pit of my belly is filled with water, it's a pain which is not familiar with fleeting. is this a forever feeling? maybe it's permanent. maybe it's prominent. who knows anymore. envy is etched into my skin, i bet you could taste its bitterness too. i've washed myself so many times, trying to get it off of me. but it's only burned into the layers of my skin, exposing my flesh. the boiling point of sugar water is hotter than boiling water itself. it's stuck thicker at the skin. it's what i need. it's what i deserve. you know, for the first time in years i saw a smile pressed on my face, formed from the outside of my interests. but it's got a mind of it's own, proving to me that there is better. why do i kill me constantly?

[feralchangkyun]

fight

大正 - November 19, 1912 - Tokyo, Japan “No matter how you suffer, bear it in silence…” - Sabito I’ve been foolish lately. Pain making home in my face meshing itself onto my features, as though it’s a prominent look in defeat, he knows my weakness more than I do, he knows when to strike by hand or words. He knows me completely. We stare at each other, the silence blanketing between us like light snowfall reaching the Earth. This is what serenity is for its brief moment. He is peace and he is destruction in one. I've forgotten what it means to be weak, to be vulnerable in the presence of someone else. My life up to this has led up to this moment, I've trained and fought. I've endured more than what I could. For what? What is survival but trying to live for another tragedy waiting to happen? He’s nothing human, not in scent or physicality. Though to each touch, each motion and movement, the way he holds his arrow so carefully he’s trained well. If anything, he’s of another space on the same soil we share. He's something beyond this world. Who is he? He isn't a demon of any sort. Hes no one I know, no one I knew. Yet another stranger Lucifer has set me to strike. I've forgotten what the warmth of home is like. I've forgotten everything I knew except survival. Exiled into a world to aid the side of humans. A demon. “And what? And then what?” A crack in my own voice forms, as a rush of frustration delivered in tears escapes through the build façade to keep anyone else out. It’s impossible to hold any emotion, to hide my vulnerability. And this is my defeat in it all. It's hard to know who is trustworthy. Who sides with you. How will I know? “You’ll know in instinct."

[feralchangkyun]

i’ve got a lover now

dear henry,

i'm sorry i haven't written to you sooner or haven't written at all, it feels like it's been years since i've last written to you. despite it only ever being a few weeks. sometimes i run out of things to say or i don't know what to say at all anymore. i think it might be one of those times. nothing poetic or anything for this moment. nothing sad. maybe. we'll see further along this letter.

as you could probably tell i've met someone, and from that someone stemmed something which has made me inexplicably happy. someone who is patient with me, it's crazy to imagine how someone in such little time could be your entire world with just the start of the slightest conversation. it's been amazing from

here on out with him. his name is sunny, cute isn't it? at least to me it is, well there's more to his name but it's what he gives.. warmth. i haven't felt so warm with anyone like this in a long time.

there are most days i want to remain in bed with the lights out and door locked, my anxiety has gotten the worst of me lately. i wasn't aware there were foods your body could crave when your stress levels are high. writing isn't going through way i want it to. vlogging and streaming become harder when there's so set interest or goal for any of it. sometimes i'm tired of trying to even be.

he changed that quite a bit. the other day he dragged me out of the room and took me to an arcade. i think it's the most fun i've had in a while. (this letter is silly because it isn't as formally written as the others, i'm sorry.) i didn't know what tickets to machines were, i've got my ass beat at one game. could you imagine defeating the undefeated? it was an experience.

maybe this letter was to share the brief happiness, maybe it's something we could look back on and realize things do get better or won't be so bad. i've got streaming to do, i'll talk to you soon. 

[feralchangkyun]

cicada are kinder than you

there’s a gun in my mouth, the tip of my tongue at the trigger to ensure the words don’t crawl like a cicada, it’s funny what times new roman will do. they hide beneath the vulnerability to give the truth, anything to give and give but refusing to sick consequences. their sharp ends poke at my throat and i’ve mistaken blood from vomit. it’s hard to tell when you can’t see.

there are pieces of me tucked into the pockets of old lovers written on lined paper. i’m never sure who has which part of me. i’ve tried to seek them out in hopes that the remains of my body don’t collapse and crumble into nothing but a memory.

maybe i should’ve asked for them back, love letters than burn into skin and bleed the black ink theyre written in. and i, with all of my thirst will allow fingers to delve into my mouth if it means to have them all again like a greedy lover. maybe i shouldn’t have been so hopeful that someday they’ll need me too.

have i become nothing but the dust that blankets your home? just a thought, just something you have no intent in cleaning until your hand reaches for a memory you tell to your lovers? tells them there are three versions. mine, yours, and the truth. the perspectives of those around us can tell better stories. they know the way our bodies show in their languages. it’s foreign to me. i want to know where i am in your life. a book? a chapter? a page? tell me so i can forget about you easier.

you promised honey and gold, but the wine stains on my lips know the strike of your hand in full force.

i’m stuck. between the parts of my brain and this thing where healing feels forced in a linear sense. you left me like upswept and my feet walked right into it, when the shards made place beneath my feet and somehow they felt at home; they healed into something and the environment around struggled to make home. they say it as a threat, as danger and it grew infected. maybe we weren’t meant to be together, but i couldn’t help but to lose myself on the idea of someone who doesn’t see me. instead a vision behind me left.

sometimes i think of that night, spent carving words into the wooden floors love letters over walls whose yellow wallpaper failed to stick against it. i think of the night your hands took mine and braille formed so easily across your knuckles, it was the first time in months i could read you so easily.

i think of you often, but in the parts of it you’ve become nothing but this blurred memory left forming at my core. some days i want to get rid of you completely but that goddamn stain is stuck between the cracks of the floors and drips on the carpet.

please leave me 

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[feralchangkyun]

constantly writing about you, i’ve done this before, haven’t i?

You remove my teeth from my mouth to make room for your promises, my tongue for your words and etch your name into my cheek. I haven’t forgotten what you said. My hands ache again, signing your name and asking where you may be. We’re searching for emptiness I’m within old promise. They’ve known now what it means to yearn in the way I have for years. How can you have taken my ability to speak when you’ve already left me so breathless? Craving the feeling of you, wanting to feel the embrace once more. I speak in spite of the sutures tucked in my mouth, my tongue runs across the lines pulled together so carefully, trying to find whether there’s a coded message in hopes that you want me to seek out for you. Whether that too is a love letter waiting for me only read in tongues. The same way you kiss me. You like games like that, the silliness of it all. Though, your eyes, before our goodbyes, seemed to have lost all the childlike in them. You removed my ribs to build our foundation together, hoping that the structure of it will hold steady. Everything turns to rubble, now I’m left and beneath the feet of those who mistake me for dirt. You remove my lungs and place flowers inside them, now it’s become harder to breathe and the roots are at the walls, growing outside of me. Are they thorns of roses or am I pained by the realization that nothing is a game anymore. Come home and put me back together. My heart is spread across lands with imaginary borders and my body remains in pieces of holy temples of worshippers hoping for the sign of something. Come home. Come home. Come home.

[feralchangkyun]

it’s you, but i refuse the truth

Sadataka, By now I assume you have been informed about the widespread outbreak, there's uncertainty in whether or not this could lead to death. It's almost frightening how their eyes turn that way, have you seen their fingers. Their nails? Do you know what they are? I have never seen anything like this, it's so very new to me. There's one that occupies the mink just outside the village. We try to avoid crossing its path and finding alternative routes for food, but there isn't much luck. Everyone is starving. I don't think the children have much time to live before their bodies perish. We've tried everything to get help to get out or for a way to live, but each night you hear their screams, the snarling as they begin to fight over whoever is brave enough to meet their fate. No one has returned, we assume their bodies are turned into whatever is out there if they weren't consumed. Will you come help. Please, immediately. - Takeo Be careful. He's out there. His shape face was like yours, though eyes in deep yellow, lips colored in its red stained from blood. He was like you. He looked like you. He looked like you. Every bit of him... resembled you.

[feralchangkyun]

i fell asleep writing this

i'm sorry you're left standing in front of the mirror, staring at yourself until you don't recognize your face anymore. i don't know why i'm writing a letter to myself as if i am writing a letter to a friend. maybe it's the way i'm uncertain of the man's reflection. unswept glass cuts you, you know? the inability to feel it's pain inflicted upon you is telling of your own existence. it's shards lay on the floor like puzzle pieces, except it's harder to put back, your own reflection is piercing it's what through your skin because thirty-two eyes stare up at you in confusion. you haven't done anything wrong. they're just confused how the fist that grew gardens now caused blood to splatter over the bathroom titles. it's smokey yellow and deep grey mock you. it's fucking ugly. who picked the design anyway? it's hard to accept the fact that you need help, that you want to feel better but your aunt forced the idea that only the weak ask. that they kiss the feet of a charlatan whose god paints his own green with envy. i want to get out of my mind. things haven't been ok for so long, you refuse to let anyone pity you. it's hard. why is it so hard?

[feralchangkyun]

lilith

"𝘽𝙚𝙡𝙥𝙝𝙞𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙮, 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙. 𝙃𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚, 𝙨𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠. 𝙄'𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙮 𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙜𝙤. 𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙪𝙡. 𝙒𝙚 𝙨𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙚. 𝙄𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙚 𝙩��𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙝𝙞𝙢, 𝙄'𝙢 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙪𝙥𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚. 𝙃𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩. 𝙄𝙛 𝙄 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙢, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙩𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧, 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚." - 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙭𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙥𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙇𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙝'𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙮 Opportunity lies in chaos, it's become a massacre. Only uncertainty lies here, there is no promise of good. No promise of a tomorrow that's set to come between the long hours. How could a father deceit his own children? Love knows no bounds but beneath the tongue of a fool lies something that holds back promise, no intent on keeping what comes with it. A lie. A lie. A lie. An arrow pierces through the chest of another individual, as they fall so slowly. What does he see before succumbing to his death? Or is there a moment of the world around him becomes silent? He's too focused on watching him take his last breath, too terrified of what could happen to him within seconds. Selfishness is proper for this moment, it's immediate need to survive through its harshness. 𝐀 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧? 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐡. This is the first in a while Levi has drawn his sword, is it normal for him to tremble like this? Out of fear? Out of anger? To show a fist at his father is to defy him, his betrayal was telling more of his character than promise of love. Promise of safety stripped away within a matter of seconds. This was conditional. No matter the circumstances of one's existence, it was what they've written for themselves that determines their very existence. 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧? 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭. 𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤. Is there a word for grieving before death? Is it preserving love with hope that happenings don't happen within this lifetime? To love so deeply is a beautiful thing but it is to carry the pain that is to come with it. The mind of someone so young, so unaware of the world is an experience to see. From the closed fist to the flower that blooms between the cracks of fingers like the weed through concrete. 𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥. The scream of someone you love is a painful thing to experience, the sound of their silence in their last breath is worse

[feralchangkyun]

sick to my stomach

1. i’ve never been more fucking sick in my entire life. the stench of alcohol sweats through my pores, drenching my clothes. 2. the night welcomes me like a lover, greeting me with a kiss on the mouth and i take her whole, consumed by the promising light to guide me to where ever she goes. only it’s become a flame burning at my skin and leaving pieces of me behind. she uses my bones for the missing teeth from her mouth. it’s alabaster color blends with her. 3. you’re despicable. i’ve never so badly wanted to spit at your face. 4. we’re meshed together, and unwind and unwoven so easily like her favorite sweater. i pull away at her kindness, knowing that before everything before her was nothing but a war left inside my chest and tangled in my brain like yarn. 5. i can’t believe you. 6. it hurts to breathe in the ebony color that remains in my mouth, but it’s harder to see colors in the dark. the human eye craves to know its surroundings, begging to know the truth in everything.

[feralchangkyun]

another family, different face

dear brother, i managed to escape the desolate and lonely mind, a body filled with sinful moments and the taste bitter as it lingers steady in my mouth. this letter won’t be sent to you, but it’s important for me to write my experiences down inc case my body is found somewhere. sleep has become a stranger and for the first time i do not have the urge to lie with her. i’m not certain whether or not i’m trying to escape my nightmares or forget they exist outside the lines of whatever color i’m trying to fill. but i too have run out of ink. my mouth is a dead grave who grabs the water, forgetting how to cup and slowly drink my thirst away. it’s harder to think when you’re so sleep deprived, so lost of everything and things. do you think mom would forgive me for the things i’ve done in order to survive? i wouldn’t forgive me. i once was a body that belonged to her now i’m just an unfamiliar presence whose face carries the similarities. from the same nose to the slightest angle of the second bottom tooth. and when i look at you, i see her. but you’re more of my home and comfort. the presence of warmth and light reflecting to me. but that’s faded so suddenly. but i’m safe now, don’t worry. i’ve had something to eat. yet i scarfed it down like a hungry dog begging for more. the hand that feeds me now is a hand i never bit. i promise i’ll try to keep safe with them. a family of two, do you consider married persons a family without more than three? they say they’ve lost their son seven springs ago. and it’s hard to believe now he and i fit the same clothes. it’s like i’ve put on a mask of someone else and have taken their story. maybe they’re making up for the lost time from him. the sunset and night came and made himself a guest with no intention to leave. that is until somehow a homonym greeted them one day. i’ll write to you soon. i promise. love always, your baby brother

[feralchangkyun]

pity takes the fool

My head hurts today, I'm not sure whether it's from falling up the stairs being too drunk to hold steady or the way words are trying to find its way from outside of my head, forcing themselves until they crack open. He knows I won't speak unless spoken to. Sometimes he's got humor. Other days he doesn't know what to think, he thinks I'm foolish and now he won't believe in me the way I no longer believe in him. 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮. He deserves it and I do too. I spent the night cradling a bundle of blankets, I'd hope that this would bring promise of future in joy, but it's made me realize how inexplicably lonely I am. I keep mourning for what will happen now, too fearful to let myself any strike of happiness. Grief? We share the same body, we've learned to live with each other, the smallest gesture by a stranger brings me to tears for thought and brings her to tears for what once was given by someone no longer in our lives but prominent on our skin. I try to write them out as much as possible to cure her of her sadness, but metaphors and syllables can't pour from us the way we want them to. We're always at the surface of happiness until I realize no world is built crested perfectly for us without feeling. I pity her. She has to remain inside with me in the most unpleasant of times. My mother told me never to take pity on anyone, but when I look into the mirror, the reflection doesn't look like me. They look different at first glance, unfamiliar. Sometimes I want to peek at myself to find their true form, the unhappiness left like a sliver in my skin from all the times I've spent running back and forth in being coddled to like a child. And then back again knowing old wood digs deeper inside. Who are they anymore? Is this what it looks like? The inside pouring out and coating itself onto me? I don't know who they are. I don't want to know them. I do want to take pity on them.

[feralchangkyun]

my mother lied to me, you should too

When my mother was alive she refused to tell me what love was, I found myself licking from knives that cut my mouth instead of spoons that fed my heart. He covered his fingers in my own essence and put them in my mouth, a sweet taste left linger at the tip of my tongue. The faint taste of nectar juice pours coats over my mouth. He stares at me, eyes filled I’m gentle praise for his sick desires. He fed me my own as his fingers stroke at my skin. Craving every bite of me in a lustful sense with words written in white in liars intent. He can’t tell a mouth full from blood and saliva, he can’t tell whether or not the color of my lips are from the roughness in our kiss. He promises life in his sweet words. And I fell for it. A man whose value lies in the bodies of other people until the sun rises from the east and burns at our bed. They look at me with eyes of remorse and regret, they see a beggar whose too desperate for love and to be loved. Those who read the way I pour my heart onto paper tell me the metaphors in my works are something so different, something they’ve never seen. I can’t tell them that it’s the only way I can truly express myself, that beneath the 11 set times new roman lined that it’s grief i feel and the white spaces are empty promises. Empty things. It’s a medicine I’ve found myself craving constantly in order for somebody to read me right. And some days I hope it’s you. I hope it’s you reading and realizing all my words belong to you. From the mouth to the hand, to heart and to the ink. I often wonder what life I held with other lovers, were we the satsuma growing in the backyard of my grandmother’s tree? Her greedy hands reached for me and gave me a life different from what I’ve imagined. I wanted to fall into the earth and grow with you again. Instead I grew from that and became someone who wanders wastelands, someone who wanders into rubs of other men to be trapped by their cupped hands filled with love and promise of better. I find myself between their fingers wanting to reach the bottom where everything else escapes before they swallow me into their bellies. I’m lonely, writing this to you in hopes that somehow you see it. Even if we don’t know each other yet. I’m writing this to you, not to make you feel angry about the men in my life who only wanted to fuck me and nothing more, I’m telling you how fragile my heart is in the realization in the way my mouth felt. It’s stinging pain from citrus. I’m writing this to you in hopes you know how to better take care of my heart.