bed sore

she’s been sitting here for days, don’t you know? she’s been waiting on the future to carry her away. with its bleach-scented smile, and its spandex cape. but no matter how long she’s waited, it never really came.

as her skin turned decrepit, and paper-thin, and the bubble bust years ago. so she now watches from the window, as the sky goes cold, and laughs a little ’cause it’s funny, if you think about it.

how we whisper horror stories under the covers at night; mine ourselves like coal, burn hope for fuel and go up in smoke, just like that. she comes up with solutions in her mind, sharp and misshapen, and scraps them on sight.

maybe she’s in shock. maybe she’s dying slowly, because to this day she can’t bring herself to step outside in fear, that the grass won’t be greener on the other side; that utopia tastes better before you feel its gnawing kiss. but i don’t mind.

’cause i can only write poetry with half-closed eyes. like it’s a last resort. my mottled, fading words dying of bed sores and bruises. they fester, and they rot, yeah they’re gonna eating me alive, but what am i supposed to do?

because the only people left now are me and you.

marilyn

honey, you make depression look gorgeous

cut it like tulle, and make a skirt of your misery

and you smile so wide as tears stream down your cheeks

you make me want to buy it from a department store

and wear it like it’s yours

you make self-loathing look sexy

because i’ve spent my whole life learning

how to ignore my own suffering

and trust me when i say a little discomfort won’t stop me from working efficiently

which is not a compliment

but i still glow with pride as you give it to me

you carry the archetypes on your weary back

you do it perfectly

iron out your blemishes and mistakes

with makeup i can’t afford

but they say inner confidence is really what matters above all

and that’s probably why i always look like an awkward seventh-grader when i smile for the camera

but god, you’re fearless

you’re bright, and brilliant

like a barbie doll

clean-white teeth

and an hourglass waist

i bet you have it all

but i’m pretty sure

if i reach out and touch your arm

you will burst like a bubble

you will rot with the dirt

with your bottle blond hair

and your sunbeam smile

honey, i’m sorry

’cause you deserved better

’cause you should have lived

should have been happy and sad

and messy and confused

i’m sorry it’s normal

for girls to feel this lonely

and beat-up

and used

but i hope you sleep well

wherever you are

and you lay in bed for as long as you like

and eat really nice food to your heart’s content

and feel all right, for a while

i hope i’m not a tragedy

a horror story

or a cautionary tale

i hope we get our happy endings

i hope true love prevails

i hope there’s something up ahead

other than disappointment and misery

marilyn, i hope you’re happy


So, we had to research iconic historical photographs to recreate for my photography class from the 1900s, and one of the things my teacher suggested doing was finding celebrity photos we could attempt to very poorly recreate. I didn’t end up actually doing it, but in a last-ditch effort to find something in the exact right time period, I went on an hour long tangent on, like, Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe and before I knew it I had read their entire biographies, and, I don’t know, maybe I’m being a cliche here, but it was really sad! The world is really sad! It felt so unfair that these people’s lies, people who were so good at looking so happy had been through so much, and that their lives often ended in tragedy. And call me a sap, but I just feel like these people deserved better–I feel like so many people deserve better. I think one of the worst feelings in the world is watching a loved one suffer and not being able to stop it, only able to try and offer help.

I don’t really know much about Marilyn Monroe–and although her name is in the title, I didn’t really write it about her. I more intended to use the vague idea of her to frame the romanticization of mental illness, and discuss tragedu–and it worked really well as a framing device, so I ran with it. (Actual people who know about this person, I am so sorry, if I’m being horrible please let me know–I honestly considered not posting this for a few weeks, and I’m still on the fence about it honestly.)

Lots of love,

Lorna

pov: you are catching up with me on a sunday afternoon

Hey there! I’ve been really reconsidering this blog of late, and figuring out what the hell I want to do with it, because I’m out of school so it’s time for my annual creativity-related-life crisis. Anyway, I thought this might be a fun thing to do, since summer just started and all, and I feel like I do so many poetry posts, I don’t really get to just… talk, like a casual normal person, into the void. (Rather than waxing poetic into the void, which is very different actually.)

So, how have you been doing, dear reader? Is it unbearably hot where you are, or is the weather really nice, so you can actually get out sometimes? (See what I’m doing here? Classic small talk. I know how to interact with people. Uh-huh, definitely.)

If you’re in school, are you excited to be done, or dreading the next few months of having nothing to distract you from your mind, like myself? Have you been doing any fun summer activities, such as taking on more hours at work, refusing to leave the house during normal waking hours because it’s so ridiculously hot, or hanging out with your friends? I am genuinely curious, please let me know, hearing from people makes my day.

I’ve been all over the place of late–I’ve been working a bit more, because it’s summer, and if I don’t constantly occupy myself I will spiral into an anxious breakdown. Also, everyone wants you to garden for them right now. I’ve been trying to learn to draw (emphasis on trying, who knows how long it’s going to last) and doing little covers on guitar and ukulele, because I’m finally good enough I can tell myself I’m sort of doing the songs justice, and not totally be lying. I have been spending too much time on my phone. I have been not sleeping at the right hours, or enough, because the stupid sun is deciding to rise early, and I hate closing the curtains and waking up in a dark, depressing room tinted green, even though it’s a very small task. I’m going to visit a friend, soon, and I’m a little nervous but also just really excited to see her. To have some kind of normalcy, I guess? It feels weird to see things opening back up, and honestly, it makes me really nervous. I don’t know if that’s logical or not, but it does.

And it kinda feels like the world is ending, but then… it always does, right?

I’ve been swimming a ton. I used to be a big swimming kid, I thought I was gonna do it competitively, but it never happened–which is good, it was not a healthy fixation. Anyway, I still love swimming with my whole heart, just as a hobby, I always feel so peaceful–like, the best kind of alone.

I’m hoping to release the first episode of my podcast (which is called We Are Here, it’s very cool I promise, and you can follow us on Twitter here) either this month or early August, which is exciting. And scary, and weird, that this thing I’ve been sitting on for over a year is going to be out in the world soon. I sort of want to stop time, right here–not because right here is particularly remarkable or great, I’m just very scared of the unknown.

I’m excited for my courses next year, that’s something I really genuinely look forward to. I’ve got most of the mandatory ones out of the way, which means I get to take 20th Century World History, and Sign Language, and Astronomy, and Photography, and Social Justice, and Marketing, and at least right now, I’m very optimistic. Even though I still have no idea what I want to do post-graduation. Of course, the idea of learning is always ten times more fun than the actual agony of staring at a computer screen for hours on end and reminding yourself why you thought taking this course was a good idea, but still.

It’s a small thing, but a few days ago, I went out for lunch with a friend, and we wandered around these little vintage stores afterwards, and I got this really cute dress, and a super comfy romper that I’m wearing right now, and every time I look in the mirror I do a little happy dance. And, like, don’t feel terrible in my body, which is really nice. And every few days, I’ve been picking a fresh batch of sweet peas from the garden, to put on my desk. I don’t know, sometimes it makes the world of difference to just… get yourself pretty things, if you can. I think. In moderation. I mean, I’ve never done it before, but you know, this trial run is going pretty good so far.

And that’s… all I can really think of, off the top of my head. I hope this was kind of nice to read–like a Day in the Life post, but without the commitment of remembering what I did this morning, and ensuring my day was, in fact, interesting. Anyway, I will hopefully see you soon.

Lots of love,

Lorna

romanticize

sometimes i think i’ve spent my whole life mastering the art of silence. learning how to shut my mouth, and fold up other people’s feelings like t-shirts, warm and fresh out of the dryer, and sort them out on my bed. i like to think i’m pretty good at it. so i play therapist. i listen, and i hold your feelings like bathwater, watching them drip-drop onto the floor.

i’m sorry i can’t save you. i’m sorry it sucks, and you’re all alone, and everything’s just a little bit fucked up right now. there’s no way to romanticize that, i think. no soundtrack to make it better. it just kinda sucks, you know? and you’ve got every right to be pissed off about it.

but you can’t be pissed off about it. because being pissed off about it means accepting it wasn’t your fault, and accepting it wasn’t your fault means it’s out of your control. so stand by and watch, as the monsters under the bed go in for the kill. there’s only so much anger one body can hold, and it eats you up inside. i know, i know, i know.

i remember that day, we went to the lake last summer, and walked on gravel with bare feet. closed our eyes, let the summer heat turn everything to a dizzy blur. i remember watching the people down below, and the ripples in the water. that feels like a century ago.

but i still don’t know how to tell my friends i love them, or let anyone hold me close. i haven’t really had a lot of practise, you know? so i’m sorry if i see a church in your eyes, and the words come out all wrong sometimes.

but for now, we will linger, in that comfortable silence, right before dawn, when the light hits the trees, and i’ll rip off bits of moss from the ground, and think that this is what family feels like. take a picture of this moment in my mind: quiet, and holy, in its own right.

trophy

i had an idea for a poem, but i forgot what it was. i guess i just… lost it, like my will to keep going, so now i’ll just scrape along painfully, like a flat tire down a long, dusty road. and hold out one day longer in the name of a stupid, aimless hope.

i had an idea for this poem. i knew exactly where i wanted to go. and i should have written it down, gotten it inked onto my skin, because i know it’s not the end of the world… but it sure does feel like it, ‘cause i’m dizzy, and i’m tired, and i always feel sick. so i worry, but i don’t show it, just put myself high up on the wall like a trophy.

i sit still, and smile vacantly; take it all in. i’m calm, and collected, until when it actually comes down to it, and in the moment i’m needed most i shatter like fucking ceramic. i wasn’t raised for failure, i was raised for a purpose. and i don’t know what’s happening, but i can’t handle it.

and there are a thousand versions of myself that came before, and each one of them haunts me in the night. with their half-mangled words, and their mutated fingertips. i think i’ll join them, someday, no matter how hard i try.

because there is a better version of me, just waiting to be found. with her shiny hair, and her glowing eyes. she thinks she’s perfect. thinks she’s got it all figured out.

but i don’t. so until then, i’ll just have to settle for burning this whole place to the ground.