We are the children of Star Dust
Thursday, December 6, 2012
The Question
On Tuesday she asked the most peculiar question.
"Are you sick of dying?"
In a low voice, she added,
"Because, believe me, I'm not."
Yes, Tuesday she developed the terrible habit
Of saying to all she met,
"Are you sick of dying?
Because, believe me, I'm not."
Monday, November 12, 2012
My Heart has Seen the Ages
My heart has seen the ages
Flicking past
Like a passenger on a train.
The blur of trees and towns
Kings and queens
Castles and skyscrapers
Until nothing is certain anymore.
As a part of me, it wanders
Like a villain
Through these timelines
Never waking.
A somnambulist
Forever dreaming
Of what it let die.
Hannah and the Halo of Stars
When I was in kindergarten, first grade, and second and third, there
was one girl that I hated more than anyone else. Her name was Hannah,
and I remember that because she would make a big deal out of the fact
that it was the same backwards and forwards. She was the biggest
know-it-all you could ever imagine. She would spell the word
“exasperation” at you until you obeyed her command. She was
snotty and unkind, and she never had any time for me.
One Friday out of every single month, our school would sell crowns
made of star garland, with curled ribbon hanging from the back. I
wanted one of these more than anything, but they cost one WHOLE
dollar, and my mother refused to give me the money, on the grounds
that I wouldn't know what to do with it once I got it home.
Now Hannah got one of these crowns every time they were sold, and I
would watch her with extreme jealousy as she walked down to the
buses, her golden curls bouncing and mingling with the different
colored ribbons. I wanted so much just to BE her, to spell with
confidence, to know everything, to wear the beautiful star halo, and
to have those luscious curls to mix with the ribbons trailing from
the back.
One day I found a discarded star crown on the ground, and I carried
it home, keeping it safe in my room. It was my little secret from the
world, this small peace of Hannah that I got to copy and have for my
self. A while into third grade, or maybe it was fourth, Hannah moved
away, and I became the smartest person in class. I didn't have the
curls, or the money for a star halo every month, but I still found
myself with a joy that was all my own. I don't remember what happened
to that star crown that I stowed away, but I wish I could wear it
every single day.
The Chronicles of Spencer
These are a collection of stream of consciousness written poems about a boy that I liked in high school. I just dug them up and decided to share them here.
I think I love you
I think I love you
I think I love you
But you will never love me
I am invisible to you
You will never notice my face
I will write a thousand poems
Burning through and through
But you will never notice
And less still will you care.
I will haunt you from the shadows
A ghost you never see
But you will never love me
No you will NEVER love ME
I must get this through my head
I must get this through my heart
You will never want me
In this same way
Oh God my darling
A god you are to me
But you will never see me
No you can never know
I am so heartbroken
Heartwrenched
Heartfucked
Heartkilled
I just really really want you
Please
Come to me
But you never will
That is not my life.
I am a pathetic sea creature
While you roam the lands
Oh my Prince, dearest prince
I forgot I was unworthy of your grace
All I wanted was to know you
And you whipped yourself out of my
grasp
I wouldn't have tried to taint your
soul
And you could have told me
If you had a problem
Instead of just pulling away passively.
And now these words I say with dear
dear love.
“Fuck you. I will now pine more.”
I know I said I loved you,
But I think that I was wrong.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Him.
Today, for the first time in months, I looked right into the eyes of the man who raped me. I knew how I was supposed to feel, a terrifying mix of rage and fear, the desire to kill, a definite certainty that it was, in fact his fault and his fault alone. But what I actually felt was even more scary. When I stared down into those brown eyes, I felt...nothing. I didn't feel a damn thing.
I didn't really feel much at the time, either. It didn't even really feel like rape. Even though I said no. Even though I fought.
I guess, sometimes, that strong feelings of love and hate just cancel out automatically.
You know what the worst part of this is? No one knows. I can't tell anyone. We seemed too happy for someone far on the outside to believe me, and another close friend was raped by another man that I had close ties to, so I can't tell any of our mutual friends, my best friends, in fear that they would just think I wanted to sap their attention. I can't tell any of my new friends, because they would all have ideas of what I could do about it, actions I could take, getting police involved or my family. But I don't want to get anyone else involved. I don't want to alert the police. I just wish that I could tell someone, one person, so that one person could know, and one person could assure me, with complete and utter certainty, that everything is going to be alright, and that I will live again someday.
I didn't really feel much at the time, either. It didn't even really feel like rape. Even though I said no. Even though I fought.
I guess, sometimes, that strong feelings of love and hate just cancel out automatically.
You know what the worst part of this is? No one knows. I can't tell anyone. We seemed too happy for someone far on the outside to believe me, and another close friend was raped by another man that I had close ties to, so I can't tell any of our mutual friends, my best friends, in fear that they would just think I wanted to sap their attention. I can't tell any of my new friends, because they would all have ideas of what I could do about it, actions I could take, getting police involved or my family. But I don't want to get anyone else involved. I don't want to alert the police. I just wish that I could tell someone, one person, so that one person could know, and one person could assure me, with complete and utter certainty, that everything is going to be alright, and that I will live again someday.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Another anonymous letter
Fuck you, yes you.
Fuck you for everything you've never done for me.
Fuck you for all the gifts that you gave everybody else.
Fuck you for all the inside jokes you didn't share with me.
Fuck you for loving them all more than you love me.
Fuck you for not giving a shit if you lose me.
Fuck you for hurting me every single day.
Fuck you for expecting me to be there, but never being there for me.
Fuck you for all the things I did for you.
Fuck you for the time I've wasted.
Fuck you. Just fuck you.
Fuck you for everything you've never done for me.
Fuck you for all the gifts that you gave everybody else.
Fuck you for all the inside jokes you didn't share with me.
Fuck you for loving them all more than you love me.
Fuck you for not giving a shit if you lose me.
Fuck you for hurting me every single day.
Fuck you for expecting me to be there, but never being there for me.
Fuck you for all the things I did for you.
Fuck you for the time I've wasted.
Fuck you. Just fuck you.
Monday, August 6, 2012
The words I could never say
Are
clearly written here. I could never say the tiniest hint of this to
your face, ever, not even in the nicest way possible, because you
don't accept criticism. When I try to make even the slightest
suggestion, even when you're being a Class A jerk,
you freak out on me as if I've attacked you merely to hurt and in the
most brutal manner possible.
I cannot quarrel with you, because you are so “fragile.” All
attempts to do result in others coming to me and reprimanding me
because of your fragility. How dare I upset the one who is so easily
intimidated, so insecure? How dare I do anything but coddle and add
to the lie of a life you're building for yourself?
I hope it crashes to the ground around you. All the lies you've
built up to make yourself feel better. The fake friendships that
you've built with so many others. I hope it crashes and burns and I
hope you sit there, smudged in ashes, extending a hand to me and
begging me to come in and give you the smallest bit of safety. I will
deny that hand, I will scoff at it, and I will throw dirt in your
eyes.
I don't even know what you are, because you are so fake. As soon as
I try to sink my teeth into some small part that I think is really
you, I find myself spitting out plastic whilst choking on Styrofoam.
I'm done trying to know you, trying to trust you, trying to love you.
You can rot with all of the others now. I wasted so much time
thinking that I was special to you. I wasted so much effort trying to
make you love me. I wasted so many tears, trying to believe you every
time you lied and said you did.
No
one understands me. No one understands why I'm not the type of person
who can just let go and chop people out completely. I can't chop you
out completely. I can't cut anyone out completely. Once you enter my
life, you are a part of me. I consider you to dwell only in the
deepest, darkest, most hated regions of my mind. You are everything
that I hate about myself, rolled into a human being. And when I found
myself becoming you, I fought my desire to rip out my heart, throw it
into a fire and watch it burn.
Is this where we go on from then? You pretend to love me, I pretend
to want it, and we stand with each other, bound together by our
loathing, one and the same. I am you as you are me and we are we and
no one will ever be able to tell us apart again. Sometimes I daydream
about some magic man on a horse who swoops in to save me from you,
but those are really just false hopes now, because you really are my
past, present, and future. You are both the child in me, and this
foreboding, dark cloud of adulthood that hangs over my head, waiting.
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