poetry-prose-rambling - Tumblr blog

[poetry-prose-rambling]

There is something almost romantic about

Withering away

To nothing

Something almost delicate

In the way I decay

Become smaller and softer

Become less and less awake

There is a romanticism there

A belovedness

Of death and dying

(In the metaphorical, at least)

[poetry-prose-rambling]

No one ever tells you what it is to mourn the people who hurt you most

People speak of grief as though they expect it to be screaming, sobbing, begging

No one speaks of a silent grief, tinged by a deathbed apology

The world does not give room or space for the confusion of losing someone you had already given up

No one speaks of the loss of footing, the shoe that will never drop, the apologies that taste like lies on your lips

They tell you how to mourn those you loved and who loved you in return

They never tell you how to mourn those whose love burned beneath your skin and left you scarred and terrified, who you could not help but love for the good and fear for the bad

People wont admit the fury, the disbelief

No one is willing to admit that there is a kind of grief that takes form in fire and flames and hatred and bile and screaming at a grave while wearing their shoes

No one is willing to teach how to mourn those who have hurt you most

[poetry-prose-rambling]

I will not speak at my fathers funeral.

There are no kind words I can say

No fond memories I can recall

Not enough to speak and be heard.

There is only the tattered remains of a relationship

Worn as a jacket

Gifted four years ago

(Returned, upon death, to the gifter).

There is only a whisper of love

Told to the world

Falling short of my ears

Radio silence

A relationship formed by word of mouth

A fear of the other shoe

Dropping.

I will not speak at my fathers funeral.

Not for a lack of grief

Or love (for him).

I will not speak

Because I fear that my own lack of kind words

And fond memories

Will wrap around my throat

And drive me only to tears,

A martyr

In a family that never realized.

[poetry-prose-rambling]

It’s Christmas Eve, and my father is dead.

The world rejoices while my fathers corpse burns

And I

Hate

It.

I will not sing hymns and carols

To a God I do not believe in

For a holiday I barely celebrate.

My father is burning, three days dead, and I will not sing.

[poetry-prose-rambling]

I think loneliness is

Realizing

Understanding

That at the end of the day

All people ever see you as

Is an accessory

To someone you love

[poetry-prose-rambling]

I’ve never known what love is, but I think I get it now.

Love is hearing your soft breath over the phone when I can’t sleep next to you.

Love is kissing each others plushies until you feel stupid so that there’s a stockpile of kisses for when we feel lonely.

Love is seeing something and thinking of you, thinking that I want to show you.

Love is wanting to brag about you to my family, wanting you to meet them and know them.

Love is you understanding that even though I love you, I’m still not alloromantic, and I’m not going to understand everything I’m feeling.

Love is the feeling of your hand in mine at the grocery store.

Love is being held through a breakdown.

Love is unconditional, and you have treated me so well mi luna.

[poetry-prose-rambling]

Trauma (Recovery)

Trauma.

What a heavy word.

It’s like a shackle,

A weight on my shoulders,

Something that strips away

Myself and

Who I am.

Something that twists words until I’m

Ruining nights and

Breaking down.

Recovery is even stranger.

It lies in the way you smile

So gently

Patiently

Like you’re waiting for me to talk about it.

It’s reassurance and

Comforting and

Calm.

Recovery takes part of the weight,

Cuts the chains on my shackles

One link at a time.

It takes time.

But I can wait for it.

[poetry-prose-rambling]

The moon does not need the sun.

Sure, they seem to fit together,

Chasing each other across the sky,

But the moon does not need the sun.

The moon will pull the tides,

Dance with the ocean,

And keep the stars company

With or without the sun.

That is why when the sun burned the moon,

The moon stood back up

And continued to dance with the tides.

[poetry-prose-rambling]

Your words are in every song,

And your actions are in the hands of my friends.

I wake up to the sound of

Your laughter and

Your anger and

I feel like you’re choking me.

When will it be enough?

When will your ghost leave my shoulders?

You fucking ruined me

And yet

And yet

And yet

You have the audacity to worm your way

Back into my life

Back into my head

Like the fucking snake you are.

[poetry-prose-rambling]

Squish

I wonder if I’m

Allowed

To feel this way?

I wont deny that I’m

Attracted

To you but

Its not...

It’s not what you know.

If I told you

I wanted to never lose you

That I couldn’t imagine living a life without you

Would you understand how I felt?

I think

This is a kind of love?

Storge or Eros or

Pragma or Agape

I don’t know

Love is such an abstract thought

So difficult for me to understand

I don’t know how to

Define this but

I know

I want to be somebody to you.

[poetry-prose-rambling]

Topic: I love you (?)

I don’t understand the

Significance

Of these words.

I understand that it’s

A big thing

To say you love someone

Romantically, but...

I don’t understand

Why?

In fanfiction and

In movies and

In comics and

In all kinds of media it seems

So easy to shout?

So easy to say.

People may confess with

“I like you”

But how is that any different

Than love?

I can understand the difference between

“Loving” someone

And

Being “in love” with them

But why are the words

“I love you”

So important?

What’s so life changing

About hearing someone say

“I love you”?

[poetry-prose-rambling]

Mission Status: Disappointed

You kissed me

I suppose it was nice

You said you loved me

And

I smiled but

When I said

“I love you too”

Why did my lips

Taste like disappointment?

Why did my heart beat

But

Out of time

With yours?

Years later I realize the answer.

“Ah.”

“I never loved to begin with.”

Should I feel bad?

Should you feel used?

I don’t think so

At the time of saying so

I thought I did love you.

That has to mean something to you.

I’m still sorry, though.

[poetry-prose-rambling]

Sleepless Sleeper

Close my eyes

To dream

Perchanse to sleep

A mockery of Shakespeare

Just as I am

Always.

Close my eyes

Only to open them

Still tired

As though they had yet

To meet.

My eyelids are Romeo and Juliet

Dreaming to find a sleep,

Loving one another but,

Nay,

It is not to be.

I am Friar Lawrence,

Wishing to help,

But the ending is a tragedy,

And they die together

Sleepless sleepers.

I awaken with no rest.

I awaken only to sleep once more.

[poetry-prose-rambling]

“Have a partner yet?”

No

No

The answer will always be no and I’m sorry that

I’ve failed you as a child

Because i dont want romance and

I don’t want

Kids

Or a marriage that means more than

“Tax benefits”

I don’t want these things you want for me and

I’m sorry

I’ve tried everything to fix it

Praying

Dating (Girls, Guys, Neither)

And I look back and I feel like

An actor

Playing a part

Smiling because its fun

(Because dating can be fun)

But shaking because

I feel like

A monster in human skin

A liar

Uninterested in

The shape of his lips

Or the swing of her hips

And instead wanting for the sound of laughter

Wanting for a friend

And not just the suffix sort

[poetry-prose-rambling]

Taste Static, Hear Sour

The last date I went on

Wasn’t much of a date. Not really.

I went over to his house and

We swam in our shirts and

He held me close and

I left feeling satisfied even when

My heart felt wrong when he said

“I love you.”

I think I want to love.

I think I want to be able to

Say “I love you” and mean it how I should

But the words taste like static

And sound like sour.

I’m sure there must be something wrong

But if it’s with me or

The world

Or

With you?

I don’t know.

I feel like talking backwards

Singing silk and

Breaking streams of sand.

All these things that don’t make sense.

Maybe if I do you might understand

My confusion

When we talk of “love.”

[poetry-prose-rambling]

Sexual, aromantic.

I feel like I am not allowed to be sexual.

I am aromantic and I don’t understand romantic attraction but I am not asexual.

I understand sex.

It is raw and primal in a way I can feel and,

I am not allowed

To know sex

Because I do not know romance.

And thats just not fucking fair.

It took me fifteen seperate confused statements of how I was the “innocent baby” for my friends to remember that

Asexuality

Is not

Aromanticism.

They go hand in hand often, yes.

Aromanticism without asexuality is rare, yes.

But why does that mean that my experience doesn’t exist?

Love is love

And sex is sex.

The two are not always hand in hand.

Love can exist without sex,

And sex can exist without love.

Yes, I don’t want a romantic relationship with someone, because going through motions I don’t understand the reasonings behind is fucking exhausting, but why does that suddenly become less valid in the face of my libido?

Call me a whore, a slut, whatever you want.

You will not invalidate my sexuality by doing so.

I refuse to let you invalidate my sexuality any longer.

[poetry-prose-rambling]

“Hello, this is Lia, how may I direct your call?” Lia pulls away from the phone as the demon on the other end immediately begins yelling about how three of the recently deceased they were torturing were resurrected, pulled from the afterlife in a necromantic burst of pure darkness. This isn’t her department— well, it kind of is, considering she’s part of the help and complaint desk— and she has to wait until the demon calms down before she attempts to speak again.

“I’m sorry to hear that. We’re working the best we can to figure out our necromancy problem. Unfortunately, all I can do for you right now is file the three as escapee’s and add them to our database for our reapers. Would you like a call back once they’re returned to the afterlife?” The demon on the line huffs, and Lia hears a tortured sounding groan in the background. She shares a look with Eden, who has been delegated to research due to her past in dealing with witches and wannabe necromancers, and rolls her eyes. Eden stifles a giggle, covering her mouth with one hand.

“No, don’t bother calling back. They’ll get sent back down to my division either way. I’ll be waiting.” Lia hums, adding the three resurrected to their ever-growing list, and hanging up with one last pleasantry. She leans back in her chair with a sigh, rubbing her face.

“This is a mess.”

“You’re telling me! The witches I can actually contact who are against the whole resurrection thing tell us its science. Fuckin science?? Since when did mortals understand science well enough to drag a soul from the afterlife?!” Lia snorts, covering her eyes with one arm.

“My shifts almost up. Tonights date night but that nice italian place closed cause three of the chefs got resurrected. We might end up dining in just cause the restaurants around our place are all closed.” Eden hums in response, typing something on her computer.

“Maybe take Siren to that mediterranean place. It’s still open. Y’know, Philomena’s?” Eden turns her screen to show Lia, who nods.

“Might as well give it a shot, assuming the cooks dont disappear within the next fifteen minutes.” The phone rings again and Lia sighs, sitting forward. “If that’s someone calling to tell me Philomena’s cooks are missing, I might actually lose my mind.”

“Good luck with date night, Lia,” Eden says, turning back to her computer. Lia stares down the phone for a second longer before plastering on the fakest smile she has and picking it up.

“Hello, this is Lia, how may I direct your call?”

Everything in the afterlife was fine and good until the Humans figured out how to resurrect the dead.