things look so different in different light, a new season, change the song. and the smell of rain and 50 degrees makes everything feel a bit healthier, less stagnant. and voicing a decision takes a weight off. free shoulders and new waves and realizing something you knew about yourself was wrong, has been wrong for years, and you aren't the person you met, or the one that you meant to be. all under grey skies, heavy cloud cover and a bit of spring warmth and an old habit back and biting. being someone else who might actually be you and not just an invention. and trying to figure out how to break it to everyone. i am not who you thought i was - i am not who you knew. it's been slowly creeping into my brain that something was a fabrication, and for weeks i have felt like i have been waiting, and i thought it was for nothing until i made an excuse for myself and it turned out to be the truth. and i knew i had to come here to digest it, the place where i have been swallowing fabricated selves for two and a half years, and the sky knew too, because it sent out the clouds to hide me while i did it.
Swimming in Something New
swimming in something new, a different and almost familiar blue of stinging eyes and soothed smoothed skin. deciding to choke on lies you never told is a performance art, never for myself as much as I'd like it to seem, and I still haven't learned if that was a mistake. choices are multilateral for a reason, right?
Every Always Now
Every night I have been dreaming of warmth and clouds and the soft indentations of fingers on wet sand. I have never been able to keep still - not in sleep, because I have to fight darkness and run from fire, and not awake, because my toes itch to move and my shoulder blades are always looking for the sky - I have never been able to keep still, but my bones have been quieter at every sunset, and my muscles warm to melting more quickly each night.
Don't Touch This III
(Amenamy - Jon Hopkins Remix) cutting ties and breaking chains - chains from the ground to my ankles, and to my wrists. sitting and waiting and gathering the force - balling up thunder and shoving it through my ribs into my lungs - the force to do what needs to be done. freer to the point of flying instead of floating. snatching lightning from the clouds and wearing it as a coat so I can never be mistaken for a shadow again. prickling and sparking and freer. breaths of thunder in the warmth of my own lightning.
Don't Touch This II
(I'm Ready) trying to get back into the swing of things - trying to push myself over the edge of a cliff, to fall back into an uncomfortably familiar rhythm - trying to be ready, now. ready to? to feel again, and not just pretend to. to write, and to mean it. to grasp control, and push it to its very limits without losing it, without spiraling. trying to stare at myself as a language I can learn, and then to learn it, and then to know myself, and then to reformulate what has been lost around this core of known.
- Top Story - September 2017
Don't Touch This
(You're the Best) the sun has a way of touching me gently like the skin of a peach, not the same way I feel your hands on me. I don't know in this moment which one I prefer, though you do both protect me from the wind. all I know is - you still love me, owe me? you make marks on me like I want to do to this page, I'm trying -