abi's pov

United States Minor Outlying Islands

WtW's resident disappearing act

she/(they - maybe? idk??? identity is frick)

tbh, i forgot exactly when i joined

Message to Readers

yea another vent one
sry
i'm actually not doing bad, i js write a lot of poetry
this is an older piece

ruin | vent again (sorry)

September 13, 2021

FREE WRITING

9
confession i: the one i tell you in a mall parking lot underneath a single breath
    i don't know how to say 
                                    'people aren't meant to be empty,'
    without a mouth overflowing with curse words like they are honey,
    and a gaze that looks like wicked malice piercing through the tension between us
    and a tongue heavy with the guilt of hypocrisy. 

       you know i hold blame in these shaking hands
        and right now, darling,
                it is dripping red from my fingers
                like gasoline,
                                        like sin,
                                                        like all the things that are wrong with us.

      
        neither of us had good 'last nights',
        so, on that day you slept over,
            i hoped we might take these broken pieces
            and make them more than shattered glass,
                mourn the girls we used to be with nostalgia in the back of our throats
                and let them go 
                                            
                                        but we can't. 

                                            ex nihilo nihil fit.
                                            we are as empty as we feel.

confession ii: the one that feels like acid on my tongue
    i try not to tell you about her anymore.
    i know you're not in love with me anymore,
            but god, sometimes, when her name falls from my lips like icarus,
            you look at me like you could almost hate me,
                almost.

    
i want to tell someone how much i loved her
    with silent pride
    and achingly loud desperation,
        like i'm tumbling through all the stages of grief at once in some convoluted symphony
        that always falls short before acceptance can sing through my veins.
    
    i want to say,
                        'no, we don't talk anymore/yes, i still think about her on her birthday/i no longer love her, but god, my love is overwhelming me/it was a privilege to love her/it was my greatest curse to know her/i understand why my parents took so long to grab their coats when i talk to her/i want to run until my legs crumble beneath me, away from her emerald eyes'
    without saying,
                            'love's enduring nature is a glass shard in these guilty sinner's hands.
                            no, i will not remove it.'
    

    but you almost look at me like it's a flaw in nature to want to drown in the green of her eyes
        and i guess i'm just tired of people looking at me
        like i'm ruining myself by staying by her side.
    
        she makes me feel alive.
        who cares if it hurts?


confession iii: the one i hear in between every beat of our hearts
    i don't know where to put all the love i have for her
    and all the hate i have for myself,
            wrapped in cellophane in the back of my rib cage.
    
    i don't know if i'll ever love again.
            love is a saline solution.
            it can only help so much,
            until you realise that while love may be everywhere,
                it can not cure you more than you let it.

    i don't know how to say,
            'i feel like i'm always the lover
            and never the loved,
            always the mourner,
            never the missed,'
    without sounding selfish,
    without someone handing me a prayer card 
    or a handful of advice i don't need
            as if a church pew can mend all the fractures running through me
            and i'm just a beat between your sentences,
                as if i haven't spent years wanting merely to be heard
                and not told about god's enduring love
                    
like he ever blessed me with a second of it
                    or if i ever earned a minute of it.
   
    and yes, i'm bitter,
    and yes, there are a million things i want to be angry about.
        this is the house that built me and yes, i want to burn it all down,
            all the pain,
            all the misery.
        this is the river whose clay still is underneath my fingernails; i refuse to drown in it.

        yes, i'm praising my mother with the same mouth that will bite the hand that fed me,
            the same hand that changed like tides in the ocean,
            the same hand that formed me,
                                                            formed me broken,    
                                                            formed me vulnerable,
                                                            formed me screwed up,
                                                                                                and ready to scream.

        what is home if not the first place you learn to run from?
            what were our arms if not the first place we should each learn to fly from?


confession iv: the one blurry with tears
        they say vincent van gogh's illness was his genius.

            i wish i could be that empty without collapsing
                but all my poetry is nothing more than the first words of a newly formed nebula.
fun facts:
ex nihilo nihil fit = nothing comes from nothing
a nebula is the remnant of a dying star

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  • September 13, 2021 - 4:21pm (Now Viewing)

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6 Comments
  • Anne Blackwood

    Re: Hehe well at least (most of them) are trying to help. And mine is succeeding a bit, I suppose. Thanks for the reminders, dear. Make sure to take your own advice. ;P


    13 days ago
  • Anne Blackwood

    Re: You're welcome! Oof yeah definitely make sure you process stuff gently; rushing over it sometimes feels easier but it just leads to worse stuff like breakdowns and your therapist disapproving (deeeefinitely not speaking from experience /s). But yeah. You will be okay. <3 I'm pretty good myself. Sometimes I get stretched thin but I'm reminding myself to hold onto the good things. Like fun discussions in my classes, finding new songs, and oohing over a cute boy with my friend (my brother even snuck a few pics of the guy haha).


    13 days ago
  • Paisley Blue

    "we are as empty as we feel."
    " always the mourner, / never the missed"
    gosh

    i need to read this a couple more times


    13 days ago
  • Anne Blackwood

    Re: ASDJFDL ABI I am too sleep-deprived to handle this (I only got 1 more hour than u lol) THANK YOU *trying not to start sobbing in the car*
    And it's okay you're not obligated to be active! We'll take what we can get we would rather you take care of yourself than show up all over our feeds. Anyway, I'm a little burnt-out but still pretty good, thanks. How're you holding up in life's insanity? <3


    13 days ago
  • Odyssey

    Why are all of your poems so perfect?


    13 days ago
  • Cornelia_girl

    Oh god.....I know it's not for me but why do I feel as if I wanna cry.....The 2nd and 5th confessions are my fav....they make sense in more than one way... somewhere in there,there's a clarity of what's love gonna give you


    14 days ago