my new thing whenever an embarrassing memory jumps up out of some backwater neuron to t-bone my present-day thought process is to declare a statute of limitations. like i can burn down an entire building in the state where i live and the law deems it both unfair and illegal to prosecute me after six years have passed, i think that thing i said in high school can be expunged from my record.
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Gideon would not be some suave fuckboy picking up chicks like skittles and somehow having Harrow as the person that settles her--Gideon has been starving for home and belonging since before she was born, Gideon doesn't know how to interact with strangers even if she barks out something aggressive or recites some line she's read, Gideon nearly blacks out when a girl she finds pretty implies the most minuscule of interest in her.
Gideon is also, without question, submissive when it comes to her relationships, and while she spits like a startled cat at Harrow (rightfully so, I will point out, as their relationship before Canaan House was violent and cruel and oppressive), she responds immediately and desperately to even the faintest taste of approval.
Even when we're in her head, even when we see her make some brazen statement or thought, even when she lashes out and tries to be bigger and bolder than she feels, we still see how awkward she is. She's an unsocialized teenager without peers. She's an absolute mess with no experience. She's the isolated teen who learned everything from material marked as too explicit for her a bit too young and took the scripts of them and then nearly choked on the reality of talking to a pretty girl who wasn't beating the shit out of her in a circumstance she could rightfully resent.
She sat there wanting Harrow to kiss her so bad, Nona dipped down to offer her relief that fell hollow as soon as Gideon knew it wasn't from her morbid mistress of bones. She's a performative little shit. An anxious, floundering, helpless butch who is quite literally dying to have someone use her, want her, and who doesn't know what to do with it other than artlessly throw up her feathers.
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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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Lol I think I’ve been lowkey banned on the bird app for adding a ce@sefire hashtag to my name.
Will follow up if and when a fuck about that makes itself known.
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