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May 14, 2017 at 11:51 pm (This post was last modified: May 14, 2017 at 11:53 pm by J a c k.)
CIJS?
You're such a nice person. You're such a down to earth, all around cool person. Even when you're blunt, you're somehow nice. I used to be skeptical. Like... the true colors will show sooner or later, but nope. You're nice. I've noticed that when people cross a line, you do get annoyed and voice it, but generally speaking, you're a patient dude. Actually, by the time someone gets on your nerves and you get pissy, it was long overdue. And you could be a snob. I mean... look at you. But, you're simple and open to everybody. I notice little things you do with certain people and I smile. That's sweet. You make them feel special by inclusion. Anywho... yeah. You're nice. So like... high five! And here... you can have my last baby carrot. Because you're cool and stuffs.
"Hipster is what happens when young hot people do what old ladies do." -Exian
"There remain four irreducible objections to religious faith: that it wholly misrepresents the origins of man and the cosmos, that because of this original error it manages to combine the maximum servility with the maximum of solipsism, that it is both the result and the cause of dangerous sexual repression, and that it is ultimately grounded on wish-thinking." ~Christopher Hitchens, god is not Great
PM me your email address to join the Slack chat! I'll give you a taco(or five) if you join!--->There's an app and everything!<---
CIJS, M, E, D, and everyone else...
when you see me still learning how to walk again and you tell me I should be up and running by now, I want to show you. I made it out, didn't I? So, I fuck up once in a while by being too forgiving, or by not recognizing when someone was good for me until it was too late, or by feeling dark most of the time. What? You expect me to be whole in a year and a half? It'll take another minute, yo. There are these familiar corpses that I grew used to and it's taking a couple seconds to bury them and stop normalizing them on the floor. So... I'm trying to paint a picture. This is what I got...
TLDR
When this is all you've ever had,
It fits you like a hand tailored suit that burns your skin, but follows the curves of your body the way
The rashes mimic the flow of the fabric.
It fits you like a pair of glasses purchased at a travel stop gas station for five dollars in spare change meant to visit your face until your next pay check making your eyes cry as if they knew these glasses are here to stay for another five pay periods.
When this is all you've ever had,
You learn to hate the smell of corpses laying around the floors of your habitat while holding your breath as you evade stepping over them day by day until you have mastered walking around with your eyes closed and pretending those bodies have vanished.
You dance to the same song for what seems like one million yesterdays, and you have learned the steps the way you have learned to zoom out the faces, zoom in the sounds that tell you to serve the tea, open the door, answer, “Yes, let’s give us another chance.”
When this is all you've ever had,
They look at you like an addict that hasn't died, but looks like the bodies laying around your floors, begging for someone to step on her chest, because she enjoys the punishment even though it's causing her to rot.
They ask you why you don't simply walk away from that toxic character that pretends to love you with your pride and your rehabilitative scars, as if walking away when all you've ever done is crawl could be as easy as looking into someone's eyes and ignoring the plea for help instead of judgement.
When this is all you've ever had,
The phases of your story bounce from feeling the pain that comes with water falls that carry boulders, to the numbness that only a corpse could understand, because it knows that this is all it will ever have.
The highs and the lows of your determination reflect weakness and they say you're just a coward stuck in a battle field even after orders have been made for you to retreat, because you're afraid that escaping your foxhole will get you killed.
When you have only known this station,
You know you're leaving sometime, but you wait to see if the new paint will not peel as easily off the walls, maybe the new fans will make it bearable, you wait for a sign that perhaps you can stay and not rot, not lay like a corpse, not smell like death making people ignore your eyes when they tell you it's time to take the train.
When you have only ever felt pain,
You think it can't get worse, so maybe you can take a little more just in case the dents in your skull make him treat you softer this time. You feel the urge to escape, to run and never look back, but those dents in your skull cause your brain to malfunction, and you begin to find petals stuffed between the creases of resentment, disrespect, humiliation, bitter rivers of noise that keep the neighbors up at night while you say shhhhhhh, keep it down please, they'll hear you and think I'm weak.
When this is all you've ever had,
And you pack your bags and walk outside with your head up high,
Your face is melting into ponds of waste and slime as you cry tears of deterioration mixed with the strength and courage of boulders pouring down from waterfalls.
You walk outside with out consistent pace, like the speeding car without cruise control noticing highway patrols every few miles. It doesn't mean you stop. You keep walking, because the fresh air outside the station gives you life, but you're mourning the death of… corpses.
Yes. Those corpses had life in your eyes, because they're all you ever had, and you fooled your eyes into adjusting their filters to cheap glasses bought with spare change, and you fooled your nose to believe your eyes when they closed, and you believed the peeling paint was a part of you like wrinkled skin that you learn to love.
Your reason tells you those corpses decomposed your sanity, your dreams, your sleep. Your reason tells you to keep walking and ignore the corpses screaming out your name reminding you they love you, you caused this, come back and we'll dance with you, we can paint the walls with rainbows, those corpses crying out like a thousand cats outside your window and they sound so scared, so helpless with out you, but your reason says keep walking, run if you have to, there's no life in those bodies, they're corpses!
You're walking!
Yes, you are!
It hurts as every step pulls your skin harder making you shed the fabric of that tailored suit made of skinned manipulation and emotional exhaustion.
It's all you've ever had and they say you're weak because a part of you suspects you'll need it back one day, you'll miss the smell of death, you'll miss the hidden petals between the insults and silence, you'll regret leaving the station when you're free.
But they say you're a coward even when you're the one shedding and crying tears that burn like toxins as you walk out with weak knees mourning the death of bodies that were already dead, as you ignore the please of corpses and your own stepped over chest that can hardly breathe because you are NOT a coward, you're brave as every part of you is mourning the loss of body parts falling behind in every step making you crawl again but not in defeat. You'll get up again when you feel the first breeze hit your ankles and before you protect yourself from boulders it tells you to breathe and helps you to your feet.
When this is all you've ever had and you leave it behind, your bones are breaking.
But you are not a coward for feeling the pain and fear of the unknown,
You're brave for taking those steps and even crawling when your bones couldn't hold you anymore.
Don't let them send you back to the comfort of corpses loving you.
Keep going and I promise you that life fits better, smells better, touches you better, dances to the pace of your laughter better and I swear you're alive when you catch yourself laughing more often the way you do when the fabric on your skin is perfect, like freedom.
"Hipster is what happens when young hot people do what old ladies do." -Exian
(May 15, 2017 at 3:35 am)J a c k Wrote: CIJS, M, E, D, and everyone else...
when you see me still learning how to walk again and you tell me I should be up and running by now, I want to show you. I made it out, didn't I? So, I fuck up once in a while by being too forgiving, or by not recognizing when someone was good for me until it was too late, or by feeling dark most of the time. What? You expect me to be whole in a year and a half? It'll take another minute, yo. There are these familiar corpses that I grew used to and it's taking a couple seconds to bury them and stop normalizing them on the floor. So... I'm trying to paint a picture. This is what I got...
TLDR
When this is all you've ever had,
It fits you like a hand tailored suit that burns your skin, but follows the curves of your body the way
The rashes mimic the flow of the fabric.
It fits you like a pair of glasses purchased at a travel stop gas station for five dollars in spare change meant to visit your face until your next pay check making your eyes cry as if they knew these glasses are here to stay for another five pay periods.
When this is all you've ever had,
You learn to hate the smell of corpses laying around the floors of your habitat while holding your breath as you evade stepping over them day by day until you have mastered walking around with your eyes closed and pretending those bodies have vanished.
You dance to the same song for what seems like one million yesterdays, and you have learned the steps the way you have learned to zoom out the faces, zoom in the sounds that tell you to serve the tea, open the door, answer, “Yes, let’s give us another chance.”
When this is all you've ever had,
They look at you like an addict that hasn't died, but looks like the bodies laying around your floors, begging for someone to step on her chest, because she enjoys the punishment even though it's causing her to rot.
They ask you why you don't simply walk away from that toxic character that pretends to love you with your pride and your rehabilitative scars, as if walking away when all you've ever done is crawl could be as easy as looking into someone's eyes and ignoring the plea for help instead of judgement.
When this is all you've ever had,
The phases of your story bounce from feeling the pain that comes with water falls that carry boulders, to the numbness that only a corpse could understand, because it knows that this is all it will ever have.
The highs and the lows of your determination reflect weakness and they say you're just a coward stuck in a battle field even after orders have been made for you to retreat, because you're afraid that escaping your foxhole will get you killed.
When you have only known this station,
You know you're leaving sometime, but you wait to see if the new paint will not peel as easily off the walls, maybe the new fans will make it bearable, you wait for a sign that perhaps you can stay and not rot, not lay like a corpse, not smell like death making people ignore your eyes when they tell you it's time to take the train.
When you have only ever felt pain,
You think it can't get worse, so maybe you can take a little more just in case the dents in your skull make him treat you softer this time. You feel the urge to escape, to run and never look back, but those dents in your skull cause your brain to malfunction, and you begin to find petals stuffed between the creases of resentment, disrespect, humiliation, bitter rivers of noise that keep the neighbors up at night while you say shhhhhhh, keep it down please, they'll hear you and think I'm weak.
When this is all you've ever had,
And you pack your bags and walk outside with your head up high,
Your face is melting into ponds of waste and slime as you cry tears of deterioration mixed with the strength and courage of boulders pouring down from waterfalls.
You walk outside with out consistent pace, like the speeding car without cruise control noticing highway patrols every few miles. It doesn't mean you stop. You keep walking, because the fresh air outside the station gives you life, but you're mourning the death of… corpses.
Yes. Those corpses had life in your eyes, because they're all you ever had, and you fooled your eyes into adjusting their filters to cheap glasses bought with spare change, and you fooled your nose to believe your eyes when they closed, and you believed the peeling paint was a part of you like wrinkled skin that you learn to love.
Your reason tells you those corpses decomposed your sanity, your dreams, your sleep. Your reason tells you to keep walking and ignore the corpses screaming out your name reminding you they love you, you caused this, come back and we'll dance with you, we can paint the walls with rainbows, those corpses crying out like a thousand cats outside your window and they sound so scared, so helpless with out you, but your reason says keep walking, run if you have to, there's no life in those bodies, they're corpses!
You're walking!
Yes, you are!
It hurts as every step pulls your skin harder making you shed the fabric of that tailored suit made of skinned manipulation and emotional exhaustion.
It's all you've ever had and they say you're weak because a part of you suspects you'll need it back one day, you'll miss the smell of death, you'll miss the hidden petals between the insults and silence, you'll regret leaving the station when you're free.
But they say you're a coward even when you're the one shedding and crying tears that burn like toxins as you walk out with weak knees mourning the death of bodies that were already dead, as you ignore the please of corpses and your own stepped over chest that can hardly breathe because you are NOT a coward, you're brave as every part of you is mourning the loss of body parts falling behind in every step making you crawl again but not in defeat. You'll get up again when you feel the first breeze hit your ankles and before you protect yourself from boulders it tells you to breathe and helps you to your feet.
When this is all you've ever had and you leave it behind, your bones are breaking.
But you are not a coward for feeling the pain and fear of the unknown,
You're brave for taking those steps and even crawling when your bones couldn't hold you anymore.
Don't let them send you back to the comfort of corpses loving you.
Keep going and I promise you that life fits better, smells better, touches you better, dances to the pace of your laughter better and I swear you're alive when you catch yourself laughing more often the way you do when the fabric on your skin is perfect, like freedom.
May 15, 2017 at 7:32 am (This post was last modified: May 15, 2017 at 7:33 am by Edwardo Piet.)
Ivy..... not only are your poems beautiful but you express yourself beautifully poetically even when you're not writing poems per se. You're a very beautifully poetic person, and poetically beautiful -- so poetically beautiful in fact... you're pretty much a walking talking poem. To me at least
^^^Above paragraph I just wrote could easily be seen as corny and/or bullshit... but it's certainly not the latter. I mean it from the heart
Can I just say, and I'm just being honest...
![[Image: giphy.gif]](https://media.giphy.com/media/U7P2vnWfPkIQ8/giphy.gif)
