the-illiteratepoet

[the-illiteratepoet]

I didn’t talk to you.

I didn’t do anything with you.

I isolated myself.

Built walls out of rubble around me.

I did it repeatedly.

Of course there was distance.

When I’m bubbly and close now,

you look at me like a stranger who tried to kiss you

Because I am.

Because that’s what I made myself.

I thought I was good at being vulnerable.

But handing someone a knife and waiting silently

isn’t vulnerability.

It’s practically a declaration of war.

You’ve been talking me down since we got here.

I put my arms down when you’re still,

But every move you make, and they go back up.

It’s been over a year.

Of course you’re tired.

Of course you’re lonely.

You are kind and patient.

I told you at the start,

I can predict see the cracks that will break new bridges.

And when I met you, I placed bricks spiderwedded in cracks.

You got out blueprints, a protractor, and multiple architects and a construction company.

I always knew I would be the one that breaks it.

Not the stranger with a gas can and lighter,

Not the new friend whos equally new to construction,

with equally messy plans.

No easy scape goat, only me and faulty material.

My dad was a carpenter,

but I lived with my mother who whispered secrets behind closed doors.

I never got the chance to learn how to build anything,

Nothing stable. Nothing lasting.

I’m going to learn some new skills,

check out some library books,

find a better place to mine stone,

develop some new tools.

So I can walk up to this canyon between us in this bed,

ready to build something reliable, sturdy.

I hope you’re still on the other side when I do.

But I won’t demand it of you, I won’t blame you if you aren’t.

If you’re willing, I’d spend eternity learning construction and carpentry with you.

[the-illiteratepoet]

I’m sorry I brought this up. I shouldn’t have even hinted at it tonight. It makes it hard for us to sleep if we discuss serious things close to bed I’m sorry.

Every nerve in my system is telling me you want a platonic relationship and polyamory and that won’t change no matter what I say do or want

I went too long not wanting, and you won’t believe I want you if I only say it now. Or it’s too late, the feelings gone for you. Or it’s not enough, you need others because I’m not enough or how I feel that type of love is the wrong way.

You won’t look me in the eye when I say I like you like that

If it turns out like that, I think I’d rather be a nick knack on the shelf. Won’t have to worry about doing or being anything,

Won’t have to worry about doing or feeling or feeling the right way

I can just exist next to you

On your desk preferably.

That would be nice

I want to go home.

I just want home to be somewhere safe, that never falters on the edge of ending.

I want that to be here, with you.

I know we said no end is coming.

But I can’t turn off the hairs shaking as they stand across my skin,

They say the end is coming

[the-illiteratepoet]

I don’t feel sexual things like other people do.

I still want, but all my want is for the person, not the body.

The beauty comes from how you move through your body, how each of its movements is a ripple in the world from your touch.

But I don’t need any little deaths of my own. I don’t do it for that. I could take or leave it.

But I wont be able to do that part until I feel less disgusted by the scars on my body. The handprints of tar that person left on the places I showed only them.

I can’t bear to interact with that part of my body yet.

But just because I can’t lose myself in my body, doesn’t mean I can’t lose myself in yours.

It doesn’t mean that is an act of forcing myself like you think it is, it isn’t a job, or work. I want that, I want it a lot.

But you don’t believe me.

And have asked to go back to poly, because you need that intimacy, like assurance of your worth.

But I know now I never liked being poly. I was poly because my partners were, but I never wanted it.

I thought it was selfish of me to want to be the only one. To ever expect to be enough for someone, was hubris and shameful.

And I thought, maybe if I just made myself get used to it, maybe if I just made myself try more sexual things,

It would fix what was wrong with me.

But I don’t think I can make myself do anything anymore, in part because I know you will see it and won’t let me.

But I fear you stopping me from hurting for you, will mean stopping me from being with you.

I don’t know what to do

I want to go home.

I just want home to be somewhere safe, that never falters on the edge of ending.

I want that to be here, with you.

I know we said no end is coming.

But I can’t turn off the hairs shaking as they stand across my skin,

They say the end is coming

[the-illiteratepoet]

I want to go home.

I just want home to be somewhere safe, that never falters on the edge of ending.

I want that to be here, with you.

I know we said no end is coming.

But I can’t turn off the hairs shaking as they stand across my skin,

They say the end is coming

[the-illiteratepoet]

I want to bite out a chunk of glass, chew and swallow

Maybe it’ll scratch out the thick tar clinging inside my hollow ribcage

[the-illiteratepoet]

Omg turns out when you sit and spiral alone in a dark room making up assumptions about triple double meanings that were implied

It helps to actually just talk to a human and Not Isolate.

Talked on phone for an hour, realized what I wanted and how to say it, went down stairs and said it, and then they were like “okay. We’ll work together and figure it out”

Turns out being constructive is better than deciding what people meant for them and then never speaking to anyone ever again.

Who knew you could express a want and people could be okay about it. Crazy

I’m going to vomit.

What I think is happening is not happening.

I know it’s trauma of a past thing giving me a reaction.

But every single feeling is here and it’s real and I want to

Vomit it out of my body

I want to cut pieces of me off until this comes out with it

I want to stay in my room

Never sleep in the same bed again

Never speak honestly again

Bottle every feeling up

Smile at exactly the right angle with just the right tone

Fit just the mold

So you don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t-

I want to vomit.

I want to vomit and that be the end of it, it’s gone.

If I don’t feel anything if I don’t love you it won’t matter

How do I cut it out out out out out

I want to isolate and go quiet

So quiet you can’t carry it, but I’ll be fine,

So quiet you feel guilty and alone

And You reach out and hide your needs and wants and boundaries

So that I don’t leave.

But fuck I can’t do that to you I won’t

But the easy route is sanguination

But you won’t fucking accept the offering and drink it like a normal fucking person

You won’t ring out my body like a used rag for every last useful drop

Like everyone else.

It’s so much FUCKING easier.

To be used.

But instead I have to “heal”

And you won’t even accept healing myself into the shape you want

I have to do it “for me” in the way I “want” and “take my time”

While you’re there with needs I can’t meet

Because I’m too busy being fucking broken.

And we’re discussing having your needs met by someone else

And I want to vomit

Vomit vomit

Because that’s why they cheated.

And I’m supposed to work on my jealousy because it comes from insecurities.

God fucking damn it I talked about opening up the sex part of the relationship

But that was when it was “the future” which we all know isn’t real and we’ll never have to face

We’ll never have to be ready for

We’re all so perfect and grown and adult in the future

But it’s never real

Why is it REAL?

How am I supposed to get there already ?

We just talked about talking about it and I already feel like death

My body is cold and bigger than me

I rattle around like a broken tab in a soda can

And you want me to operate this thing?

To grow?

To be healthy?

To take care of myself instead of living like the bacteria in your skin that dies the second I’m scrapped off?

How

how

Why can’t I just be better

Why can’t I just be done yet?

God just make me better

Or a soft bed of dirt and moss six feet deep

And stop asking me questions.

[the-illiteratepoet]

I don’t know how to do anything but walk myself off in response to this.

[the-illiteratepoet]

I’m going to vomit.

What I think is happening is not happening.

I know it’s trauma of a past thing giving me a reaction.

But every single feeling is here and it’s real and I want to

Vomit it out of my body

I want to cut pieces of me off until this comes out with it

I want to stay in my room

Never sleep in the same bed again

Never speak honestly again

Bottle every feeling up

Smile at exactly the right angle with just the right tone

Fit just the mold

So you don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t-

I want to vomit.

I want to vomit and that be the end of it, it’s gone.

If I don’t feel anything if I don’t love you it won’t matter

How do I cut it out out out out out

I want to isolate and go quiet

So quiet you can’t carry it, but I’ll be fine,

So quiet you feel guilty and alone

And You reach out and hide your needs and wants and boundaries

So that I don’t leave.

But fuck I can’t do that to you I won’t

But the easy route is sanguination

But you won’t fucking accept the offering and drink it like a normal fucking person

You won’t ring out my body like a used rag for every last useful drop

Like everyone else.

It’s so much FUCKING easier.

To be used.

But instead I have to “heal”

And you won’t even accept healing myself into the shape you want

I have to do it “for me” in the way I “want” and “take my time”

While you’re there with needs I can’t meet

Because I’m too busy being fucking broken.

And we’re discussing having your needs met by someone else

And I want to vomit

Vomit vomit

Because that’s why they cheated.

And I’m supposed to work on my jealousy because it comes from insecurities.

God fucking damn it I talked about opening up the sex part of the relationship

But that was when it was “the future” which we all know isn’t real and we’ll never have to face

We’ll never have to be ready for

We’re all so perfect and grown and adult in the future

But it’s never real

Why is it REAL?

How am I supposed to get there already ?

We just talked about talking about it and I already feel like death

My body is cold and bigger than me

I rattle around like a broken tab in a soda can

And you want me to operate this thing?

To grow?

To be healthy?

To take care of myself instead of living like the bacteria in your skin that dies the second I’m scrapped off?

How

how

Why can’t I just be better

Why can’t I just be done yet?

God just make me better

Or a soft bed of dirt and moss six feet deep

And stop asking me questions.

[the-illiteratepoet]

Hey you ever have a moment where you’re just mad

And suddenly every annoyance in your life is flicking forward in your mind

And they’re all infuriating

And you start to realize you’ve always been mad about it

But now you feel it.

It’s not encompassing, it’s not controlling you, because you’ve controlled it for so long now, it won’t overwhelm you, even if you want it to.

But you’re just kind of quiet

Just kind of still

Because you can feel all the moments you don’t remember feeling

And you won’t lose control. You won’t lose your temper,

Because you never do, but pieces of you want to, wish you could.

You don’t know how anymore.

But right now you can sit and seethe, there’s something nice about it. Peaceful.

Something human that you couldn’t hold until now.

[the-illiteratepoet]

My favorite grocery store cashier died a few months ago. I know this probably sounds like a bizarre thing to be sad about. Her name was Judith and I only saw her once or twice a week, and only while I was paying for groceries. But even now, months later, I think of her when I'm at the grocery store. She used to save the ends of receipt paper rolls when they only had a foot or two left on them and give them to me, which I never asked her to do, but the first time she did it she held one out to me and said "you look like someone who would make a craft out of this," and I laughed because she was right. I do save them to put in geocaches and letterboxes. Our small talk was about the weather and the weekend and aren't those cookies good? They're so expensive though. But it's worth it.

I'm just saying. If you ever sit around wondering whether you'd be missed if you disappeared off the face of the earth, the answer is probably yes, very much, and probably by more people than you think.

[the-illiteratepoet]

astronomy club sent up a weather balloon w a gopro in it last friday. put in three packs of fruit snacks so they could have a giggle over eating fruit snacks that had been to space.

balloon went up into inner space, about 90,000 feet. came down right near the dinosaur park. a few physics teachers drive out to get it, crack it open on the way home to start watching the footage.

fruit snacks are missing.

multiple sources confirm that fruit snacks were put in balloon and sealed in with duct tape. physics teachers check entire balloon. no fruit snacks.

physics teachers watch footage. all 7 hours of it. right in the middle of footage, there are about 8 minutes of visual and audio static when balloon is in orbit. no other interference with balloon recorded.

conclusions: ???????

[the-illiteratepoet]

I had a nightmare last night.

I relived the same trauma in different ways.

I don’t want to go to sleep again. I was fine all day

But as soon as I saw the bed I started shaking.

[the-illiteratepoet]

I feel really dejected when I finally open up and share a deep feeling, but it’s during a time when my partner can’t handle heavy emotions and they have to walk away and avoid it if they want to keep functioning.

I know I could’ve picked a better time, but it’s difficult to find a good time when their bad times last weeks. I think I need to have other people to talk about these things, instead of just my partner. I can’t expect them to be my whole support network. I’m just not used to having one, and opening up to new people is really hard.

I realized recently why opening up about my past never seemed difficult for me before. It wasn’t trust when I shared in the past, it was all just a joke to me. Full of sarcasm and denial. It’s different now. Even when it’s not the past, it’s hard to talk about things that matter to me. My trust in people overall has been severely damaged, what little I ever developed anyway.

I’m tired. I’m a lot to carry alone.

[the-illiteratepoet]

Awake

Dull thoughts rolling down a hill I’ve been before

Predictably numbing, cotton mouth-bitter taste

Cracked pot doesn’t ring, echo too tired to sing

Bruises form far away, mountains- vertebrae unlaced

Buzzards crawl, vultures circle in a sky beyond mine

Gods argue vices and virtue, always keeping face.

Words mumbled, vibrate an ants cave, digging a deeper grave

Grain by grain, rain or storm, buried at an even pace

[the-illiteratepoet]

Sudden loss of will

To plug in the router

To adjust the pillow

To remove the item digging into my side

To move

To deepen my breath

[the-illiteratepoet]

I still have the books. Both copies.

The songs come up when I put all my music on shuffle.

The knowledge I know, where I learned it from.

I always tell myself “they don’t get the songs” (they sent all the perfect ones to crack me)

“They don’t get to take cheese” (they taught me about calcium crystals in it, now I think it every time)

They don’t get to take everything.

I haven’t unpacked all my boxes yet.

My everything, packed tight and taped in the corner.

I open them and find pieces of you, scraps you gave me.

They don’t burn. The hammer didn’t crack them.

I tried not to write this To you, but it always ends that way.

I flinch when I touch myself.

Boiling at memories, trying to scratch off the burnt skin that hasn’t peeled.

All of me.

It won’t come off.

You don’t get to keep it.

You don’t get to keep it.

I keep saying it.

I want to be done.

I had a life, my own name last week.

This week I’m ducktaped in a corner inside a cardboard box.

[the-illiteratepoet]

So turns depression sucks and things are not as bad as I thought.

Magical thing called Communication and Conversation actually fixed everything. You can Discuss and Problem Solve. Not all things with a flaw are Doomed Forever. Crazy the things kids have invented nowadays.

Every time the world ended remember it’s done it before and we are still here. It hurts every time! But it doesn’t end.