a reminder

HEY!

YOU ARE OKAY

(A LOT OF THE TIME)

(I’M NOT KIDDING)

sometimes

you do bad things!

sometimes you think you’re letting yourself down

letting everybody around down

you think you deserve all the punishment you can take and more

you think

you deserve

to be flayed alive!

until your flesh is raw to the bone.

sometimes

you hurt! and you hurt and hurt more

until you’re broken

cut open

but it’s alright! YOU’RE alright!

you’re not evil or boring 

you’re sad

and being sad

is okay

YOU are okay.

damiankulash:

when i am lonely

i will plant flowers

and people will ask me how my garden grows

and nobody knows that all i am trying to do

is make a daisy chain long enough

thick enough 

to weave to the ground in a grassy ladder

and descend to join the seeds

just in case

I wrote lists when I was younger

and always, always

 I made sure to never

leave the house without the means

to destroy myself utterly, should it ever

be necessary for another

: narcotics (square packets of pills)

  knives

  train tickets (depending on who and where was on the other side)

  : pens

    a battery

    a film canister (carefully filled 

 to the brim with hydrogen peroxide and sealed)

      : cigarettes

        old piano wire

        a driver’s license

a precipice to be pushed over

I wrote lists when I was younger

        just

        in

        case

a step is enough

to get on a boat

to let an escalator take you 

to the very top

but it’s also enough

to let you wither and rust

or to initiate 

a fatal drop

talk to pills

i’ve not seen you around these parts

who are you?

step forward

introduce yourself to the group

one cell at a time.

start with your synapses

work towards the blood cells

and so on, and so forth

in this fashion

until only the bone marrow is left.

(disclaimer: as you conclude

the cycle will restart)

spoon

givemelifeinblackandwhiteandmakemycoloursrundryandmakememakinglovelookrealnicebecauseeverythinglooksbetterinblackandwhite.givemeavignetteorgivemeaspotonthebackofapostcardonsalesomewhereinthebordersofpariswhereicanridebicyclesandsitonlawnchairsandnoonewillsayanythingotherthan,’oh,that’snice,’becausevintageisoverratedandnoonereallyquitegetsitexceptthosegirlsthatwanttoliveinthefortieswhowriteeverythingonatypewriterbecausetheysortofcan.ilikethefortiesasmuchasthenextgirlbutiprefermywomen’srightsinblackandwhite.

existentialism

don’t give ME

your romanticized bullshit

   I don’t want to hear

how our bones are stronger than diamond

how we are

a mixture of chemical elements somehow slotted

neatly
 into place

to make personality

or how we’re all stardust

because

that’s actually really

fucking

poetic.

I want to hear

a schedule for the next week. I want to hear
what you think I should do with my life
because I sure as hell don’t know

I want to hear someone tell me

why I cannot pass a fucking subway platform

without fearing for my own life

and I want to hear
why I am so scared
to die

a short story for euan)

ross lives in a pair of boots
 he does! (one was
a garage, and though he didn’t have a car
he kept his tools inside
in case of leaks)
people disbelieved it
 and several even went as far as
claiming that all the newspaper articles
were a hoax
       a cheap rendering of the sun
or the moon
or the reflection
or the mirror
or whatever they’re calling it nowadays
and ross?
ross
got
tired.
ross
got
fed
up
and ross
placed a sign on his lawn
and moved
with his boots
without a trace.
he told them to walk
and walk they did
across the northern face of america
leaving gigantic footprints in their wake
in the corn
(more news stories
trouble in the house
the publishing house
)
and he settled in illinois
between

aurora

and

chicago

for a stint.
a trip to the local bar
and ross started to see
he saw a girl at the corner
surrounded
by dirty words
and salvaged her for the night
with an invitation back to his place.
on the walk home
he found himself talking
he found himself laughing
and sharing
and perhaps even considering pulling out

an old newspaper clipping
as a joke
she’d have found it funny,
he thought

until he reached the gate

and saw her face

she found it funny, alright

funny haha, funny haha, funny hahahahaha
ha
ha.

and he left
in a rage
and ended up lost in the forest
where ravens picked at his laces
and moles
burst through his soles

and for a while he tried to fix it with
the tools
but he gave up
because though he was destroyed
though he was destroyed
he was still
less sad
still less sad than before

because his house was not
graceful
under heat
(heat magazine had written a special
on the disappearing shoe home
depicting him as crazy)

so he ran
 and he took his boots with him

and he
just
keeps
walking

no one is ever going to be in love with me

and that

is

fine

becauseIwouldneverwishthatfateonanybodyatall

except you

             for some reason I have selected

you

    to be my pride and joy

   and for whatever reason, I think you might

might

   deserve me?

I am wrong

you’re better than that