godisjustacomplex

[godisjustacomplex]

[godisjustacomplex]

a love letter to the story of casey hartley

have you ever wanted to leave that small, shitty town? it's all you've ever known. you can't wait to spread your wings and take off somewhere new. your gut twists with grief and sorrow at leaving this behind. this nothing.

smashing lightbulbs and abandoned superstores by the derelict highway, dancing in destruction to feel alive despite the apathy.

always a troublemaker in the eyes of the townsfolk, as if nobody would miss you, nobody would notice you were gone. hop the train at midnight and leave your legend to those who will come long after you've made it, blazing a trail of hope away from the every day drizzle and gray. your presence will still be felt long after you're gone.

bound for glory.

don't die before you get out.

[godisjustacomplex]

You can't call it people pleasing when the people are no longer pleased. There is no audience here, only an internal performance for an inner critic.

[godisjustacomplex]

How am I supposed to be kind to myself?

Being kind is listening to needs.

Being kind is allowing a person to take up the space of existing, for that is no ill act.

There is no allowance from the world to lend an ear to accommodation; there is no break in the rigid rules of work, eat, sleep to learn and accept that maybe you are allowed to love yourself.

[godisjustacomplex]

Belief in God was handed to me as if it were a gift.

I lie here, thoroughly mocked by it.

[godisjustacomplex]

The first spoke on the dark half of the wheel.

Did you know, it's the time of year when the lines between the living and the dead is thinnest?

You might know.

You might feel it.

The things that won't stay dead.

And they are howling, and they are wailing, and they are screaming.

You might know.

You might feel it.

Every memory and experience that held on tightly, knuckle-white and ghostly pale grasp at something solid, something, something real, something, anything.

Empty houses with whistling winds in windows open, a tunnel of regret and heartbeat like a rabbit, frozen under the guise of threat and promise of arms wrapped around, bandages.

You do feel it.

[godisjustacomplex]

I know that kind people exist, because I will choose to be kind

I will be one of them

[godisjustacomplex]

I want to purge it all

Start anew again

Drink the lukewarm glass of water right down to the dregs

Throw out every dress, every pen and paintbrush

I want to be consumed by my hurt so much

[godisjustacomplex]

Grief isn't the sea, drink it to the dregs.

[godisjustacomplex]

Why keep assuming that the ears around you are deaf?

And if so, find a new way to tell them.

Find a new way to show them.

Not everyone is a monster out to get you.

[godisjustacomplex]

And I will hold your hand

When you don't care

When you care too much

When you grieve what could've been.

[godisjustacomplex]

Oh!

Oh no,

I am so sorry.

I am so sorry you are broken,

I did not know you were hurting so deeply,

You can keep hurting me now.

[godisjustacomplex]

"I'll never be enough until it's too late."

[godisjustacomplex]

simran, full of emptiness

[godisjustacomplex]

My head speaks in a million words,

Accompanied by pictures, movies, thought

I have no way to convey the poetry in writing

It cannot be captured; always moving, writhing

I feel a deep hunger from below the surface

A tender thing shared by all living creatures

Satiated through dance, and chance, and song

But I know among others I may not belong

A selfish narrative to remain so isolated

Touched by the tempting, smothering blankets

The sun laughs from beyond my curtains

Inviting me to join and rejoice in daylight

Do even the domesticated retain natural behaviour?

An urge to run beyond everyday nature

It is a chorus sung by the many

"I am dampened, I am muted, I am heavy"

Need you look to others for comfort

One-horned, surrounded in jest

Those with no ears circle the warmth

And you touch the stump with a gentle yearning

Beholder, seer of beauty

Shadows of trees have their reflections painted in the green

Fire and destruction will bring it to nought

The end of all things, as it should be

- godisjustacomplex