#thebittercorvus

[thebittercorvus]

mama you didn't want a daughter you wanted a doll. father you didn't want a second chance you wished i was a son. you both hated me so terribly i still think it might be love. you both wanted from me everything i couldn't give.

you won't get an obedient daughter. you won't get an stoic son. pray to heaven all you want, you want everything; you'll get none.

all you get is me.

all i am won't be enough.

—to you who was born breathless; [?] thebittercorvus

[dont-look-me-in-the-eye]

Dear god,

i don’t know if you’re there.

or if you’re ignoring me.

it’s nice to think you care about me. sometimes.

you do not make mistakes. yet here i am.

am i not the first mistake? am i not the personification of evil?

do you think about me? no, you’re god. holy. you can’t be loving me the way i am. it’s sin.

why is it sin, god? sorry, i meant God. i don’t mean to disrespect. but didn’t you make sin, and not i?

why can’t you change the rules?

i don’t want to hurt. i try to fix things and they get worse. and worse.

there is blood on my hands and you’ve done… nothing.

no, no, there’s the Plan. can’t forget that.

but you made me this way.

i guess you needed a bad guy so you could be the hero.

i hate you.

i miss you.

no, not really. but there’s no words to explain it.

-The Least Beloved (do you see these at all?)

———————————————————

@thebittercorvus had an idea that the Most Beloved found some letters in the new section of the library 🫠

[ghost-in-a-cup]

greetings. i just wanted to say that due to the continuous Bears in Trees postings, i gave it a listen to Cassiopeia the song. nice song. great taste. i like these Bears in Trees fellows.

helllo omg i am so happy aaaaaaa im glad you liked it!!!!!!! they are really fun i would recommend !!

[santaferia]

1

HOLA PRECIOSA 💕💕

1:A song you like with a color in the title

Rosa Pastel de Belanova <3

[thebittercorvus]

CORVO'S DESK [A MASTERLIST]

greetings. i am corvo. i was born one day, and i haven't died yet. this is my writing blog.

for unserious posting and various miscellaneous reblogs, find me at my secondary blog, @wide-eyed-jokers

☾☼・・・・☆

WRITING TAGS:

> thebittercorvus > corvid writes

VENT TAGS:

> the crows bitter woes

MISCELLANEOUS:

> world of corvus > el corvoverso en español > small things i like > a crows shiny treasure

☾☼・・・・☆

SHORT STORIES

LIONSGATE CHRONICLES: THE RISE OF DARLING THE UNDYING

[SOFT SPOKEN SHOTGUN]

[THE HEROCAB]

[KEEPER #427]

[SUPER AVERAGE]

[ODD MAN OUT]

STANDALONE SHORT STORIES

PRIDE

TODAY AT 11PM, YOU WILL DIE

THE FATE OF THE MOON [PT.1]

THE FATE OF THE MOON [PT.2]

LOVE AS AN ASTRONOMICAL SYSTEM OF UNITS

THE SALESWOMAN AND THE DEMON REPRESENTATIVE

TODAS LAS ESTACIONES EN EL FIN DE LOS TIEMPOS

RED MOON

A FALL FROM GRACE IS AN UPRISING

YOU WEAR A CROWN BUT YOU'RE NO KING

AMELIA THE ACCIDENTAL SUPERNATURAL MAGNET

THE COPPER BULL

THE DALE'S WEIRD SON

MY BOSS MITTENS

THE RAVEN'S SHADOW

THE TOTALLY NOT SUSPICIOUS, VERY MUCH NORMAL HOSPITAL'S UNDERGROUND FARMERS MARKET

[thebittercorvus]

You only ever begin to miss your home once you find yourself under a different sunset, and wonder where did the stars go.

Are they home? Aren't they everywhere? Where did they go?

Where did you go?

Where will I find you at the end of the world?

—Early sunrises at the end of the world; [?] thebittercorvus

[thebittercorvus]

one day i was asked, what i wanted to become.

a young kid such as myself, i said that i wanted to become a hairdresser,

because my parents couldn't handle my hair and it made me suffer.

i wanted to become a hairdresser so that no other kid would have to suffer at the hands of someone that doesn't understand the beauty of their hair,

or how to comb it in a way that doesn't hurt.

i was told not to dream of being a hairdresser, but something more important. anybody can become a hairdresser, they said, even though none of them could handle my hair. anybody can become a hairdresser, but not everybody can become something important.

so, think of something else.

one day i was asked what i wanted to become.

annoyed at the way my clothes hung weirdly and how my peers mocked them, at how none of it was truly mine but hand-me-downs and how it had to be belted and tied so it wouldn't simply slip off,

angry for being forced into skirts and dresses and glitter, dragged at the church so i would become a good girl,

i drew a magnificent suit and said i wanted to become a tailor.

because the only way i would be allowed to dress as i liked would be if i made it myself.

so i was told, that nobody really makes a living out of clothes. it is nothing but a hobby for women into their retirement or reject men, all homosexuals in hiding. i was told to dream of something more important. anybody with thread and needle can sew but not everybody becomes someone worth tailoring a suit for.

then i convinced myself, that i wanted to become a doctor.

my family cheered. such an important career, fitting for a bright kid. they said i would become someone important, someone whose hair would be handled by hairdressers and someone whose dress would be fitted by tailors.

my teachers beamed proudly. such an important career, and they would've been the ones who guided me there. someone important, someone they'd proudly announced to have taught.

everyone cheered,

but myself.

i, who hated talking with people. i, who could not handle loss. i, who became discouraged so easily. i, who still didn't know what i wanted to become.

one day i was asked what i wanted to become and everyone thought i would say i'd become a doctor.

on a last ditch attempt to make my father look at me not as a stranger under his roof but as his first daughter, i said i wanted to get into computer science just like he did.

my family looked at me strangely. we thought you wanted to become a doctor, they said. nobody choose that for you, so how come you changed your mind? surely you can't be thinking it's because it's going to be hard. nothing good comes easily. if it were easy everyone would be a doctor, just how everybody can become a hairdresser and a tailor, even though we're yet to figure out your hair and clothes. anyone can do it, not us though.

my teachers were disappointed, but said such is the way of life. they were getting annoyed too, i kept trying to flee from the church, i kept trying to help my classmates, i kept trying to avoid social events. i kept calling them out for always blaming us and making us argue amongst ourselves. they weren't quite as proud anymore.

when we graduated they named only the first two girls of the honor roll list, even though they said they would name none for the sake of fairness. i was third and i still think that was on purpose.

i went to college and nobody asked what i wanted to become anymore.

my parents asked why was i dreaming big of leaving town to study somewhere worth my time. it made me wonder how come they expected me to become a doctor, when i couldn't even pay for the bus, let alone the guides and classes. then again miracles were always expected of me, but i had to accept others as only humans.

i went to college and nobody asked me what i wanted to become anymore because surely by then i must've had life figured out. i was seventeen and nailing it as it came. i'm on my twenties still figuring it out. i'm starting to think all of it was a lie.

then i dropped out and fled.

the highways didn't ask what i wanted to become, but where was i going with only a backpack and twenty bucks on my pocket, no phone or identification. the police didn't ask either but i was hiding away from them.

the night sky didn't ask what i wanted to become, but how come i ended up so far from heaven. the daughter of god fallen from grace, the daughter of god exiled from heaven, the daughter of god fleeing from fate. a lost daughter is only lost, a strange under somebody's roof, never to be found again as the same person she was when she became lost. regardless of where and when you find me, you might find out that i am no longer a daughter of god.

the border patrol didn't ask what i wanted to become, but who was i and what was i doing at their lands doorstep. i said i'm lost. i said i'm trying to find the future somebody else stole from me. i said i'm the world's worst hairdresser. i said i'm a wannabe tailor. i'm an infamous doctor. i'm a dropout engineer. i'm an illiterate writer. a sobered-up poet. a criminal without a record. a con-men that nobody falls for. a liar who can only speak truths. i'm a former daughter of god. i'm unholy, disgraced, chained up, satanic and earthbound. i don't know who i am, but somebody told me if i walked here i would figure it out.

do you know who am i? who am i supposed to become?

they shoot me in the head and left me rotting at the trenches that separate hell from heaven.

and i'm still not sure in which side i landed.

my body walked across the desert, mountains, rivers. somewhere in there, lost, there's someone who looks exactly like me. don't be fooled. it's the ghost of a dead dream.

one day i was asked, what i wanted to become.

truth is that, they never caught me. truth is i'm still walking across the desert and the mountains, at the beach, floating across the river. somewhere there, lost. truth is i never fell, but fled and from the ground i learned to take flight.

and somewhere there,

i became free.

—a fall from grace is an uprising; thebittercorvus

[thebittercorvus]

if i could torn myself into one million pieces, i would.

i'm stretching myself thin, slowly, disappearing. there aren't enough hours in the day. not enough days in the week.

i wake up

exhausted

and no amount of sleep can fix it

wondering. pondering. will it ever be enough.

the alarm sounds once again.

if i could put my soul for rent just to get by, i would've done so a million years ago.

[thebittercorvus]

it was three in the morning when the realization that i really left hit me, alongside a wave of nausea and a headache that was forming in the deepest corner of my damaged brain.

to be completely fair, i've never been made for long distance trips. or short distance trips. or any trip at all because i've always hated leaving the confort and safety of the broom closet that i oftentimes found myself calling bedroom, even though it was more closely related to a cave or a glorified storage room with a bed crammed inside.

but, as i looked through the window and into the endless void of the night, and wondered why is that driving through a rural area always left me with such an unsettling feeling of being followed to the ends of the world, burdened with the knowledge that i packed everything i owned inside a school's backpack and yet everything i ever cared about was left behind alongside a decade of work stored inside a box, inside another box, and hidden away from my mother's treacherous hands and unprivy eyes that would undoubtely search through my most private thoughts under the guise of being worried, as mothers do, but was actually looking for yet another excuse to martyrize herself and in turn mortify me even further. mother, i would wish to say only to end up saying it to myself, if all of your problems can only be solved by blaming others, then i'm afraid none of them will ever get a solution you'll be happy about. somehow i've been to blame for everything and nothing at the same time ever since i was born, both dearly beloved and deeply detested but perhaps that's just something you gotta learn to live with when you're the eldest kid and also a woman.

i left everything behind and yet it felt as if i was carrying too much.

where i was going didn't matter as much as the fact as i was finally leaving, an idea as terrifying as the fact that what i carried with me was nothing more than three days worth of clean clothes, twenty bucks on cash and absolutely no phone, so that if i died no-one would be able to locate me- not that somebody would notice for at least a month really. and of course the fact that my past weigthed more than all the belongings i carried with me combined and those i had to bring, unlike all of the things i actually cared about, my own heart included which i ripped out of my chest and exchanged for a single chance, and that i left inside a box, inside another box, hidden under a stash of poetry books i've read a thousand of times trying to find exactly how my words should look like and barely protected with a prayer to the god of the unheard that, for all was unholy in my life, my family wouldn't decide to go through everything i left behind.

the driver would leave me in the border. from then on, we would be on our own.

it was more conforting knowing that we were on our own for sure, than thinking we could rely on something or someone just to realize it really didn't got our backs, unless it was to stab us of course. for that, we would eventually have a coyote, whom i would have to trust with my life for the entire course of the six hours i spent hidden inside the ruins of a shit smelling bathroom just outside of the military station right at the borders more than what i've trusted my father with a bottle of rum in his hands my entire twenty years of life.

i wonder if alcoholism and narcissism are as hereditary as depression and heart related diseases. i wonder if i can also hide those in a box, stored inside another box, and pray so that no-one will look inside.

i didnt see the light until i got to the other side, though there were plenty of sunrises. each day i wondered how the future would look like and if i would be able to eventually stop carrying my past. the light at the end of the tunnel could be freedom. could be another train coming at you. both ways are the end of a journey.

eventually i arrived to a place that was strange and hostile and made my skin dry out. they also blamed us for everything and nothing for reasons as creative as the place i was born and how it only gave birth to thieves, crooks and man stealing whores. it was better than waking up to the sound of a fight exploding right besides my glorified storage room, but it made me realize i loved greenery of my mountains, my mercury contaminated river and the unpolluted skies of my city that was really just a sligthly-bigger-than-average town a whole lot more than i loved myself.

one day i might be able to trade all of the time i've spent slaving myself away for the comfort and safety that can be found in her arms, and maybe on that day i'll finally find out if it's true that home is where the heart is.

—the fate of the moon; [?] thebittercorvus

[thebittercorvus]

i found love missing inside a box of matches. you were there, hanging on for dear life, holding a cigarette in one hand and your backpack in another.

you found me like one finds a treasure. i found you like one finds freedom.

that moment i knew, your smile was one of a thousand suns, something more precious than anything humans could come up with with a labelmaker and put a price on. it would be a diservice to say you had a million dollar smile, because the way i felt the first time i saw you is something i wouldn't trade for all of the money in the world.

you found me too, stranded in the middle of the ocean, holding to a raft and hoping to find land or demise. you found me and handed me over a pack and i told you i didn't smoke, and yet a ligther appeared in my hand to light you up instead.

do you believe in fate? i hate to think bad things are meant to happen. but i always sleep better when i imagine that no matter what, we were supposed to find each other.

we waited under storms, at the eye of an hurricane. we got lost countless times and yet always found each other. some way. somehow. someday. we are still waiting, the storms are getting bigger and our bones are growing weaker. i told you i'd wait one hundred years if necessary, and hopefully by then the two of us have managed to save up enough for retirement. i'd wait forever, and then one more day. everyone i know is surprised that i'd choose to believe in something as fickle as love is, but to me there's nothing fickle or uncertain about the sunrise and the sunset, about time or gravity. so in no uncertain terms, i will choose you until the day gravity inverts and the galaxy collapses on itself, and laugh as the world collapses, because even if the whole universe is ripping at the seams, i'll still think of you as the brigthest star in my sky.

you said i saved you. i think you saved me too.

—love as an astronomical system of units; [?] thebittercorvus

[thebittercorvus]

i find myself in your eyes. that's the most terrifying experience of all.

you're the biggest disappointment of my life. i wonder if i'm yours as well.

why have you forsaken us all, father.

[thebittercorvus]

behind the mountains, down the river, there's the Newlander Hollow where all angels fall and find new life, reborn at the shore of the Lake East of Eden.

—Reflections from The Lake East of Eden; Thebittercorvus

[thebittercorvus]

and as i sit in the middle of a park that smells too much like debris and cigarettes, mere five minutes away from my workplace and ten days away from home, looking at the dead grass and the stray dogs, i can't help but wonder if the fallen star of the morning one day too, looked around just to realize he never had a home to begin with.

—Reflections from the Lake East of Eden; Thebittercorvus

[dont-look-me-in-the-eye]

thank you a lot for enjoying and sharing my story. take care. have a nice day.

no problem! it was too awesome not to share.

have a nice day as well!

[thebittercorvus]

it's been two weeks and

i'm still laying on my bed,

restless

and sleepless

and burnt out,

wishing that i could just get up and walk away,

downtown

or downstairs

or just down the hallway well

it could make this feel better, but either way.

by now you might be wondering about my infinite silence,

perhaps you do,

perhaps you don't,

perhaps you feel just as trapped in this room.

you keep saying

be patient

be kind to yourself,

everything happens when it has to, just hold on,

we can always make up,

break up,

fix this just one more time.

looking back,

i've crossed that line,

burned those bridges,

saddled up on that dead horse too,

and i'm rather surprised to see

somehow, you're still here.

you keep saying we can fix this

split up

wake up

break up

make up

you keep saying we have all the time in the world.

...

i was waiting half asleep,

or half awake,

when the ghost of you caught me like a thief.

we tried to fix this

i tried to hold your hand

as you kept saying that we could fix this,

but you flew with the wind.

now it's been two weeks.

—two weeks; thebittercorvus

[thebittercorvus]

el día en que te encontré eras el invierno escondido entre las rendijas de una vida que llamabas prisión. entonces me preguntaste ¿a dónde te diriges sin abrigo? ¿a dónde va el invierno cuando ya se cansa de invadir mi celda? y yo te dije sin pensar, algo que acostumbro a hacer mucho más de lo que debería, que de donde vengo, no hay tal cosa como el invierno.

era otoño, el día en que te encontré. y me dijiste, la lluvia siempre pesca a aquel a quien las desgracias ya le llueven. y yo te dije, que conozco bien la lluvia. inesperada y caprichosa, que llega sin aviso y se marcha antes que nadie la pueda disfrutar. siempre que tengas ropa que lavar, se presenta inoportuna, y se marcha justo antes del mediodía para dar paso al calor.

hay quien dice que sin lluvia no hay arcoiris. está claro que jamás se enfermaron del torrencial.

el día en que nos conocimos era verano y el infierno estaba en la tierra desde mucho antes que naciera yo. dijiste odiarlo, y yo te dije que no conocía otro sitio más que este. opresivamente candente, que hasta el aliento te lo arrancaba del pecho. no conozco otro infierno, siempre puedes invitarme al tuyo. es difícil decidir si odias a tus demonios, cuando son los únicos que hablan contigo. te prometí un verano menos infernal, y tú a cambio me acompañaste en medio del invierno.

para ser dos sitios tan distintos, es curioso cómo tan pronto te distraes, el infierno se desata en medio del invierno. es curioso cómo invierno e infierno están tan solo a una letra de distancia.

en el invierno los muertos viven congelados. no puedo pensar en una peor pesadilla.

finalmente llegó la primavera y todas las cosas que conversamos se hicieron realidad. me encontraste como el helado infierno en la tierra y la caprichosa lluvia que tuvo lugar. te encontré como las aves siempre encuentran el camino a su hogar.

un día te marchaste y volvió el invierno.

no te quedes donde no puedo alcanzarte.

tan pronto se oculte la luna en el amanecer de la noche eterna, ese es el día en que nos vamos a encontrar.

—todas las estaciones en el fin de los tiempos; thebittercorvus