yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."
i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.
the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.
mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.
later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.
sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.
but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.
i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.
every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.
wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?
the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:
he wants to say i love you
but keeps it to goodnight
because love will take some falling
and she's afraid of heights.
every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.
mahler's fifth still makes me sick.
give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.
give me back what you took from me.
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Red Robin Au where after Battle for the Cowl, Jason (instead of donning that ridiculous pill helmet) goes back to visit Talia and blow off some steam with the LOA; it's an effective way to do so at first, as long as he keeps Ra's at arms length and has all the Bats away from him. Except is that Timothy fucking Drake working with Ra's al Ghul.
So now Jason's like oh my god are you kidding me why is Tim here working with Ra's of all people??? Last he checked, Dick was Batman now and Tim was part of that gaggle of Robins in Gotham. Not here, in Nanda Parbat.
Tim, fresh from a splenectomy: Jason?!
Jason: What the fuck are you doing here?
Tim: ??? I could ask you the same question??
Jason: No the fuck you couldn't?? I trained with Talia and now I'm back here for a bit, and I'm not the one missing an organ right now?! Why aren't you back with Dickbat in Gotham??
Tim: Well. Let's say I'm not Robin anymore
Jason: ... Not... Robin?
Tim, scowling: Dick gave it to Damian.
Jason: Dick is Batman for like a month and already gave the traffic light leggings to a mini assassin? Nice.
Tim: Ugh
Jason: And... this was enough reason to run away and get impaled by assassins in Iraq? While working with Ra's al Ghul?
Tim: Well, not really. I need to find Bruce, and Ra's is the only one who will help me. Even if he's a freak of nature.
Jason: Bruce... are we talkin' about another Bruce or did I miss a memo? Bruce is dead, Timbo.
Tim: He's not. He's trapped in the timestream and trying to get back. And don't- don't tell me I'm going insane with grief or in denial. Laugh all you want, then leave. I don't need this shit again.
Jason: Trapped in time? Damn motherfucker can't even stay dead?
Tim: ... You believe me?
Jason: Sure. Not the craziest shit we've seen. I have a feeling you wouldn't go as far as Ra's if you were actually going off nothing. (mumbling) stealing my schtick. What a bastard.
Tim, blinking: Wow. That... just wow. That was easy. Dick thought I was losing it with grief and so has everyone else.
Jason, shrugging: B is definitely stubborn enough to get lost in time instead of dying and, frankly, I know what being off yer rocker looks like, and this ain't it. I climbed out of my grave, for god's sake, is time shit really off the table? Wouldn't hurt t'look if the old man's still kickin'.
Tim: Uh-
Jason: First stop: away from Ra's, preferably. Talia's not bad, but Ra's is a whole other can of worms. Get up or I drag you.
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What if we were both magic prodigies and it otherized us in different ways and we devoted ourselves to protecting a family member who has general other goals & priorities. What if we both did self-sacrifical devotion in opposite ways.
What if we were dark mirrors of each other and where I've grown
overcontrolling you've grown complacent. What if, bought as a servant into a pretty loving home, ownership and control is what love looks like to me, and to you neglected and lonely growing up, love is gratefully taking any scraps of it you’re lent.
By belonging to someone, even if she comes back injured or fails at finding Delgal, she feels like she belongs and is cherished, by owning someone he feels safe in them not leaving him.
She’s what’s tethering him do you see… And he’s the only thing giving her direction and purpose in her state. She needs a compass and he needs a support.
They’re both so out of it 😭 It’s the weirdly intense and unearned mutual trust and reliance on each other?? They’re each other’s weird little comfort codependent teddy bear. Or at least they were headed towards that before SHE DIED THEN HE DIED THEN THEY BOTH FORGOT ABOUT EACH OTHER AND NEVER MET EVER AGAIN. Though she’s also the guard attack hound keeping him safe… And vice versa he heals her and can rewrite her very being with just one wave of his hand. They’re both so so mentally and physically vulnerable both but they cling onto each other. They can’t perceive things accurately but despite it all someway somehow they stumble into something closer to resembling companionship just before they both die. Falin is just that kind and Thistle is just that lonely. Overworked.
We both haven’t lived for ourselves in a very long time, haven’t we.
They both have a similar devotion to the people they love but again the difference is that Thistle starts overtsepping while Falin is self-effacing. The other difference between them is that people care about Falin <3 People have given up on Thistle long ago, and he has given people reasons to, while people refuse to give up on Falin. Yaad has a mini arc about it dw about it it’s ok he’s not all alone in the end 😭😭 He reached out for Marcille’s hand but they already all wanted to help him, they just had to be given the chance to, Yaad just had to be given the chance to, it’s okay I’m okay
Hey what if we learned to get in touch with our own identity and the world around us and living in the present again through being in the worst codependent situationship ever.
Falin and Thistle sitting in a tree, sucking on flowers together because they’re h-u-n-g-r-y 💕💕💕
I bet he’s only ever thought of flowers as useless ornaments. Weak weeds. But she shows him they’re tasty and useful and good and pretty in their own right too and deserve existing without proving their worth and waaa <33 Thistles…... Did you know thistles taste sweet if you remove the thorns and eat them?
"Even as a chimera, her kind nature remains" you can’t suppress her in the way that matters. You can’t soothe him in the way that matters. It’s doomed. You’re doomed. It’s all doomed. Save me.
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