mortallypurpleshark

[mortallypurpleshark]

a lamb at the altar; women

Why do women have to carry the burden of expressing and feeling for every man, every being on the planet under the guise of "nurturing"? Women are made to be the sacrificial lambs, in every community, religion, across times and generations, in every metaphor and analogy.

[mortallypurpleshark]

the vase on my nightside leaks

she realized that she was a bottomless pitcher. Nothing could fill her up, no amount of love, no amount of success and wordly pleasures could fill the void in her heart. She realized that she was always going to take and that made her incredibly sad.

[mortallypurpleshark]

she was a year

She was July’s heat, scorched to the ground. She was August’s first monsoon; brutal, yes, but the soil would never be fertile without her. She was September’s uncertainty, when you’re not sure you want to keep going. She was October’s first chill and the warm tea cupped in your palms while leaves flare orange outside the window. She was November’s first snow, the thrill of sleds and snowmobile sugar She was the whole of December; reminiscence, regret, guilt, nostalgia, all at once.

She was everything; no calendar could fold her into months.

[mortallypurpleshark]

seesaws and slides

down that old street on Fifth Avenue

there is a graveyard—

a bookstore paved into a mall, old friends grown up, unrecognizable, the playground abandoned

all of us wooed into adulthood

our innocence sleeps beneath the wreckage

here lies my childhood

[mortallypurpleshark]

sign those damn papers

Love is the blue of the night before you get your divorce. Love is the porch light left on long past midnight Love is the sleepless nights listening for the mailman. Love is the ache in your bones as you sign the papers. Love is the urge to set them on fire. Love is the quiet clinging to the possibility that this is all a dream and you are still happily married

[mortallypurpleshark]

mason jar years

Years seem to slip by; the inevitable dread.

What have I done with my life?

What will I do with it?

I used to imagine all my years

evaporating —

but the years I’ve lived have never really gone.

I’ve been collecting them

like beads

in a mason jar

on my bedroom nightstand

[mortallypurpleshark]

garlic knots in the oven

sitting on the kitchen counter; reading

and watching, through my periphery,

the bread bake.

life’s great,

life’s great, I think—

and I haven’t thought that in a while.

[mortallypurpleshark]

this house is poison ivy

Abuse grows vertical, decades of pain have wrapped our house in poison ivy, and the only way out is to burn the house down. To burn myself down.

[mortallypurpleshark]

grief is a spiral staircase and i've lost you again

the tide is coming at me again

with reminders— that you are not here anymore.

“how cruel,” “how very cruel.”

[mortallypurpleshark]

You were a warm cup of tea. I let you sit out for too long, and you grew lukewarm, and I don’t like lukewarm. I let you sit out for a bit longer, and you evaporated. My cup is now empty. I think I waited too long, and now I’ve lost you.

[mortallypurpleshark]

How do people write? I only have fragments—fragments of ideas, fragments of thoughts, fragments of sentences. How do people write in whole, in completeness, without isolated fragments calling for attention?

[mortallypurpleshark]

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

[mortallypurpleshark]

Men complain about women getting ready, make jokes about women and their obsession with vanity, but men don't want women who look and act like them—casually dressed, nonchalant, and confident. Men feed off of women's insecurities; plenty of industries thrive off of them, and yet we are made to feel ashamed for caring too much about our looks

[mortallypurpleshark]

the cruel irony of wanting a daughter and knowing I can't save her from her fate

[mortallypurpleshark]

Holding hands till our knuckles get white

I love you and forever seems too short

[mortallypurpleshark]

oh to escape from this penitentiary, my mind has given me a sentence of a lifetime

[mortallypurpleshark]

I can’t give you my all. I myself am only half mine I’ve been split into a million little bits and pieces. I am a hologram—I am only half here, the rest has long dissipated into thin air