twisted

it’s funny, how old habits always die hard. by which i mean, that i know logically the voice in my head is full of shit. but i still do exactly as it says, just to be safe about it.

let it rest its greasy hands on my shoulders. tell me what to say, and do. because it’s kept me safe so far. it loves me, really. just like you. it slips inside my throat, and pulls the strings, ever-so-quietly.

and half of what it says isn’t based in reality so i’m sorry, if i’ve got my head in the clouds, it’s just sometimes i think my mind is one big cobweb, and i am the fly. if i could disappear into the floorboards, i would do it in a heartbeat, and i still don’t understand why.

but sometimes, it feels like i’m walking through a dream. sometimes i collapse on my bed, and let its warmth sing me placid, and safe. wouldn’t that be better? if i just stayed in this room for the rest of my life, where everything is okay?

and i still don’t know why i let you strip away the layers of me, calloused armour built up over years, only to shatter like ceramic as you strike me to the core. i’m sorry, my dearest love, but i can’t do this anymore.

and yet, as i stare into your eyes, i still can’t cut the fucking cords.

forgiveness

i close my eyes on the walk home, warm may breeze brushing its fingers through my hair, and gently closing my eyes. but that’s all right. because i’ve still got half a coffee to finish, and nothing left to do this afternoon. it tastes so sweet i want to cry.

wrapping me up in its arms like forgiveness, sea-salt and caramel melting on my lips. and even though it’s over now, it’s i’ll still trace the lines of scars on my skin; spend whole afternoons learning to copy them out by memory.

and what do you do, when every drop of nostalgia is poisoned with spindle-sharp cotton candy? when every embrace takes you back to grass-stained jeans all alone? ’cause i don’t have a fucking clue. but maybe that’s okay.

i’ll sit in my ignorance, like a cheap blow-up pool. i’ll cut my hair, i’ll make a friendship bracelet. i’ll take off my shoes, and wade in the water until i get cold.

i’ll hold your hand for just a moment, before it overwhelms me. i’m not used to being loved this way, rosewater and malt. i’m still learning to be soft, to let i love yous flow freely off my tongue.

and it tastes like sunscreen and sweat, as i press my lips to the back of my palm. but that’s okay. ’cause the blood will dry, and the scars will sink in. i think i’ll mount them in the portrait hall, and tell the world that i have slayed my dragon, for once and for all. i’ll take my victory forgranted for one more afternoon, and doesn’t that sound perfect?


So, this is very self-indulgent, but it’s finally warming up here, I wore shorts for the first time this year a few days ago, and I’m allowed to be ridiculously self-indulgent from time to time. Humour me.

In all seriousness, I’m constantly trying to give myself permission to write happy poems–not just the depressing ones. I don’t know, sometimes you just need to romanticize the little things in your life, and pretend you’re the protagonist in an animated movie, and I think there are far worse coping mechanisms in the world. So, I don’t know, go out there and like whatever the hell you want to! Have a good time! Be creative! I don’t know, it’s really late at night and I’m in a weirdly good mood, if I could shower the world in flower petals I absolutely would.

Lots of love,

Lorna

blanket fort

it’s another lavender day, synapses sending tingles down my spine. i hope the clouds won’t turn to thunder, because i can’t take one more calamity in this house of cards, okay? so i’m gonna do my schoolwork, and try not to fall asleep. and maybe afterwards, i’ll build a blanket fort. if i feel up to it.

even though those my fairy lights ran out of battery. and i haven’t watered my plants, or checked my email for days. and maybe i should blame it on the humidity, because it always makes my hair look pretty, but for the first time in a while it feels like something good is beginning.

and that’s gotta mean something. that after all these months of staring out windows, and not having the energy, last sunday i did everything on my to-do list with time to spare. that the days stretch and expand to fit me, like the perfect sweater. and as i watch the frostbite recede from my fingertips, there’s the slightest temptation in my brain: that maybe, i could stay like this forever. come home from work and know that’s it, there’s nothing left to do.

wrap myself up in blankets, and watch a show, make a lazy dinner, read a book or two. and spend all the time i could, laughing about internet memes and inside jokes with you. thinking about sticky-sweet words i don’t know at to say out loud like you’re my family and i love you.

i sleep by the door, with my sword at the ready, and wake up covered in dew.


This is pt. 2 of me trying to capture a very specific mood via poetry–and generally pushing my comfort zone a bit. I’m going through this phase where being ridiculously cryptic and putting lots of symbolism into my writing is just my SHIT, I cannot get enough of it, and I guess now I’m just going to make it everyone else’s problem. 🙂

swim

when i was a kid, i loved swimming

going fasterfasterfaster, feeling the water part around me

like a god

a good daughter

a proper lady

.

so i learned frontstroke, and backcrawl

and even tried to pick up butterfly

but i couldn’t

my tissue paper body ripping at the seams

i still try it sometimes, out of habit

’cause you would have been so happy

.

when i was a kid, i realized

there was no warning sign i could not dismiss

false confidence and forced bravado

i was born for this

.

to cry on camera

’cause i can make misery look gorgeous

straighten my hair

and shatter my life like stained glass

and get drunk on my own tragedy

.

so i swum down to rock bottom

and stayed there ’til my lungs burned

i remember how i learned to worship the pain

and grab bricks from the bottom

drag them up with feeble kicks

of little feet

.

remember thinking to myself, on a bad day

that if i could just stay under the water

i’d be happy

with the tin-foil silence

that always felt like home

.

and i stopped swimming years ago

but sometimes, that feeling still slams into me

’cause i’m drowning

in the 40-hour workweek

the thrumming pressure

of it all

building up in my throat

.

i rinse off the chlorine

in an echoey changing room

and i don’t let my fears show

refresh my notifications

grab my backpack, and go home

things they don’t tell you about living through history

i can taste the blood / coursing through the page / and feel its pulse twitching in my veins / watch the letters stamp themselves out across my skin / it sickens m / but there’s not much i can do / ‘cept for sit / and wait / and wonder if this is what it felt like, to watch the fall of rome / but cry into a pillow, and wonder how they’ll tell this story / and thank god, or whoever’s up there that i’m not the main character / because i don’t know what to do / so how ’bout i burn quietly / among the trees / laugh to myself through tears, as i flip a coin for the fate of humanity / i’ll be careful what i wish for / i’ll try my best / and pray for normalcy / i’ll romanticize the little things / like never having to worry about turning on my phone, and having it all taken away from me / i’ll pretend it was perfect / ’cause nostalgia promises she’ll save me / butter me up and coat me in the pretty paper roses / but in the end, she’ll leave me wrapped in red velvet / as the blizzard starts to bury me / but if there’s anyone listening / i’ll do what you say / i will dote after your holy texts / i will give my life away / for another moment of denial / a glass of gasoline / oh darling, for what it’s worth / i’m sorry