ladderintomymind - Tumblr blog

[ladderintomymind]

I am a collection of past lives.

Did my greatest of grandfathers have the same sense of failure that I encompass? Did any of my long gone aunts carry the shame of loving another woman as I do? Who does my deep depression and irrational anxieties stem from? Which of my ancestors was a grand literature writer whom I found my soul crushing love of scrawled word from?

[ladderintomymind]

I screamed at you

to wake up,

oh, please wake up.

I’m sorry for shattering the mirror in which I saw you in…

I now realize

I can’t make anything out of shards.

[ladderintomymind]

Two kids, one dog.

A mother watches from the window, the smell of savory gandules emulates from the cracks in the home. A Buzz Lightyear tent perched crookedly, yet centered amongst the trees. Eight trees, that I will never not come back to when my past self needs them. They enclosed me in their shade and sheltered me from the burns bestowed inside the home. A girl's imagination wandered endlessly through the grass. Freshly planted poinsettias ready to be dug up by the dog. A Christmas to be remembered and yellow snow to not be stepped on. The love for this place stings deeply.

[ladderintomymind]

I WANT TO BELIEVE

Is what the poster above your bed says as the bed creaks and we try to stifle our moans into murmurs as to not wake your roommates. You have other posters as well, collages, and even a little drawing I made for you. I want to believe that maybe this won’t be the only room I’m in of yours with these posters. I want to believe that although I don’t believe in soul mates, that maybe I was wrong. I want to believe I even know what a soul mate is. I want to believe that it’s someone like you. I want to believe, but as I sit in my poster less room, I don’t know what to believe. I just want to believe.

[ladderintomymind]

I bite my tongue

blood seeping through the spaces of my teeth forbidding to open my mouth. Can you see the massacre that the ache in my chest has convicted. Can you see it in my dilating eyes in the pitch of my moans in the pace of my dripping, grinding body atop yours. As I quarrel with the clock who spends all its time with you the hand swings to pummel me into the dirt, I am enveloped by charred bones and wrangling earthworms. I'm desperate, not in the way you are when my tongue flicks against yours pleading for it to be burrowed between your legs. I'm desperate that someone, anyone can answer: how do you tell someone you love them?

[ladderintomymind]

it was sophomore year of high school. I was anxiously sitting at the lunch bench with my “friends.” They had all just gotten back from standing in a 15 minute line for their cardboard pizzas slabbed on a red and white checkerboard lunch tray. My friend Hope sits down and her crush Chandler comes striding over. It was so obvious she liked him and he knew it, feeding into the attention but knowing he would never truly like her back (this was disclosed later on in the school year when she confessed her feelings and he struck them down after leading her on all year). I hated lunch period, everyone’s food scents mixed together made my nostrils dance unpleasantly. I especially hated the deep feeling of loneliness knowing I could never relate to all the gossip and sexual experiences they would describe in vivid detail each day. My actual friend Gabi was talking, and naturally I was doom scrolling waiting for time to pass, when I hear her mention my name. I’ll never know the context in which she uttered those two syllables, but Chandler made it a show to loudly say “No way, she’s ugly!” I could see the deep remorse in his face as he said it as my face became hot and sweat prickled my brow like the grease that covered the cardboard pizzas. I’ll never forget the way he looked after he said it; I could tell he was sorry, but he never apologized. I’m not retelling this story to talk about how it was my Joker beginnings. I honestly don’t know why I’m telling this story.

[ladderintomymind]

They say that when you really like someone,

you fall for them.  I’d never known the sensations of falling for another.  But then, you came along.  Cliches would say that I’m falling for you, but I don’t know if I equate this feeling to falling.  You see, for me, falling is an eternal plunge into the depth of existence.  An endless plummet into the unknown with no safety net to catch you, no landing pad in sight.  I never wanted to fall.  The thing is, I met you…. and willingly or unwillingly (i may never know), I started to fall.  Though this time, it is different.  This time I throw myself into the unknown requisites of the plummet. And I welcome the rush and momentum because I hope that this time, I have somewhere to land.

[ladderintomymind]

"You make death sound fun"

I said to my mother. She turned to look at me with her eyes that I suddenly found myself in. "Well why shouldn't it be" she replied.

I often have conversations with her about what happens after death and she has this morbid ideology that nothing happens when you die; it's just darkness and utter nothingness. This petrifies me.

You're probably wondering where she sees the fun in this. It's not death in itself that she finds fun, it's the after on earth. My mother grew up in Brooklyn and would spend a lot of her days as a curly-haired child in the vast expanse that is Coney Island. A land riddled with hot dogs, cigarettes, sex appeal, and motorcycle exhaust. She would always be joined by her mother and grandmother. She asked me one day to spread her ashes, alongside her mother and grandmother's, in Coney Island. Knowing my mother, this wasn't an obscure ask, and obviously, I agreed. We shook on it.

We talk about everything, so to some, this discussion may seem out of the ordinary. To have an ordinary conversation with my mother is out of the ordinary. We mapped out the agenda of the day, where I would go, and how much I would spread. Four generations of curly-haired women taking a day trip; just us girlies. Maybe I'll even get a hotdog.