trigger (un)happy

the tone in my voice
the rage in my speech
the emotions you heard
through the words i said as i sat in bed
impatient and triggered by words i read
didn’t stop to breathe
aimed at you from far away
didn’t hear you say please don’t shoot
please excuse my ptsd

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tres leches 

overdosed on self control

went to rehab, detox complete

desire’s high, can not tame

an appetite that yearns to crave

outermost masks cool as ice

median enjoys the void

sweet escape in the space between

beyond it all lives the rawest nature

the inner core quakes and beams

when the trinity is magnetized

self control can not be, naturally

best to flow into eruption

best to exhale and release the steam

fermented feels turn insatiable

refuse to let desires rest

when the trinity is magnetized

fear exists in a held breath

expression births realities sought

naive believe fate’s the only god

rewards to self root in declaration

let desire be the cause

 

 

 

i noticed that

his hair is tough like my fathers. in all of my 26 years, he’s only been around for less than 2 percent of it all and somehow, the care, patience, and understanding he has shown me has far surpassed what i’ve received from my father during my entire lifetime.

i noticed that she reminds me of my grandmother. the way she plans ahead without announcing her doings. she walks cautiously. she speaks carefully. the things she doesn’t know she asks about with appreciation and passion, unafraid of revealing her unfamiliarity and eager to gain more knowledge.

friendships are flowers — in order to appreciate a full bloom, we must be present for all the moments in between.

strange fruit

[45houses.com // john klukas photography]

 

i’ve always despised labels when associated with people. they make me cringe. i don’t even like when people ask me where i’m from. it’s like my identity is at the mercy of whatever stereotype they have formed about americans or people who were born in massachusetts, or people who were raised in the atlanta, or people who move to los angeles — and of course — i’ve been at the mercy of whatever stereotypes people have associated around people with my skin complexion, people who are gender fluid, women of color, and women. it can be a mind fuck.

labels and categories are boxes that have always been difficult for me and at times have made me very uncomfortable. i’ve felt self conscious, wondering if i would be accepted, afraid that i didn’t fit the mold, concerned that i would be put on a pedestal, fearful that i would be outcasted, ostracized, judged, hated. i’ve felt paranoid and on the edge of insanity. i was overly concerned about the fact that i felt like i didn’t fit anywhere.

i would be proactive about everything. analyzing my own thoughts before i said them to possibly forecast all the ways that what i said could be perceived. i wanted to be understood and i wanted people to feel good around me. i wanted to connect with people. i wanted people to like me. i thought “how could this happen if my thoughts make people uncomfortable? how can i connect with people, if they think i’m a fucking weirdo?”

the world we live in creates this dynamic where many of us feel like who we are isn’t good enough because we are not deemed normal or ideal. some assimiliate. some try to flee society. there are so many paths in between; each path with its loopholes and each path with its challenges.

i knew this as a child somehow. i was so confused as a young girl. the concept of normalcy taunted me. haunted me. consumed me at times. i didn’t know which path to take. i just knew that i wanted to feel good about life but i didn’t know if i would chose the “right” path.

my neighborhood friends were popular and super into boys in elementary school. they were forming crushes and wearing lip gloss. i was tall, slim, had dimples, and a bra size. i had to like boys too, right? of course, i HAD to want their attention. i had some of what society brainwashes us to identify as desirable physical traits. my neighborhood friends would play fortune telling games to predict who they would marry and what kind of house they would have. i just wanted to ride my bike, watch cartoons, eat cereal, and read goosebumps. yet, i tried to affiliate with something that didn’t exactly align with who i felt i was, as many people do.

despite my attempt at oblivion, i remember at a young age feeling very misunderstood. not only was i not boy crazy, i had this infatuation with the human body, specifically the female body — my body. i would sit in front of my full length mirror, lock the door and explore myself with intrigue. i grew this appreciation for my body at a young age. in hindsight, it was innocent but in the mind of my father, i was sick. my father’s discovery of my adoration provoked him to give me a beating so horrific that i had to sit in a bathtub filled with chilled water and ice to soothe the bruises and welps. the teachers at school noticed. child protective services warranted a protective order from my father. a child psychologist said i needed therapy. my grandmother wondered how to show me love. my grandmother’s sister proclaimed i was a lesbian. i wanted to die. i was 10.

misconceptions, labels, categories, stereotypes have really fucked me over. it caused me to have some dark thoughts and i experienced gender violence at an early age because i didn’t behave in a way my father understood. he didn’t know how to love me and my love for myself began to be in question and in jeopardy.

the abuse i received began with my father, continued with the world, and ended with a past lover, keenan uriah girard, whose demons sent me to the emergency room. he had an evil inside of him that i hope he has overcome. it is an evil that i can never forget or forgive. it is an evil that i have learned to accept that exists in the world. it is an evil that i will never sacrifice myself again to try to understand. it is an evil that i will never empathize with. it is an evil so horrific that the people who possess it should not be considered human. it is an evil that makes monsters of life. it is an evil that i hope dies within itself, never to manifest again, never to be able to disguise itself again. it is an evil that i burdened myself to protect until now…

EXPERIENCE

He said he would be her diary
They were never friends
It was always complicated
She didn’t want to see it
He was always bitter
He knew he couldn’t keep her
He was jealous of the world
For that’s who she belonged to
He couldn’t match the stimulus
He couldn’t compete
He tried to make her despise it
He tried to confine her desires
He tried to end her curiosity
He tried to be her everything
He tried to be her home
He tried to be her world
He couldn’t fight the truth
She outgrew the home he made
He said he loved her
He said he wasn’t bitter
He said he was her friend
She wrote him everyday
He never replied
The pain of sharing her was heavy
He wanted her to fill his void
She wanted to show him love
She wanted to show him light
She wrote to him everyday
She wrote for him everyday
She wanted to share her world
She wanted him to be her friend
He never was her friend
He never knew how to love her
He only knew how to use her
She didn’t mind being used
She had so much to give
He didn’t want it on her terms
He didn’t want to wait
He didn’t want to love her
He only wanted to consume
She doesn’t write to him anymore
She doesn’t write for him anymore
She writes for herself
She writes for her world