Outside My Window The

i really wish i hadn’t charmed my therapist

maybe i wouldn’t be sitting in the position if i had

i wanted her approval just as much as anyone else’s

so i lied and cried at the right parts

reeling her in until-

snatch.

“this is not your fault”

but you see sarah,

it is.

all of it is.

but if i reveal my tactic of manipulation

my whole facade will come crumbling down

and you’ll begin to realize that i am not the victim of my own story

i’ve been pulling the right strings and moving the right pawns

but again, here i am

wishing i didn’t have to lie to you

because right now. i need you.

-sundayafternoonsedentary

i found myself ripping out my eyelashes

blowing them off my finger

wishing that you would find yourself falling in love with me

hoping that star that i pray to every night

would take pity on me

granting my wishes true

i’ve dreamed of death countless times

oh how i wish to not have woken up in the last moments before my demise

the sweet seconds before a forever peace are whispering to me

taunting me to stumble into deaths eternal embrace

I thought it was the fear of getting hurt

that held me back from falling in love;

now I understand

it was really the fear of hurting others

that was truly unbearable.

and I try to ease my loneliness by weaving all of the love I have to give into every corner of every notebook I can find; but nothing can ever ease the ache that fills me when I realize I have a thousand notebooks with a million stories of love and hope and beauty and not a single person to share them with. -The Awkward Poet

“I don’t want you to love me because I’m good for you, because I say and do all the right things. Because I am everything you have been looking for. I want to be the one you didn’t see coming. The one who gets under your skin. Who makes you unsteady. Who makes you question everything you have ever believed about love. I want to be the one who makes you feel reckless and out of control; the one you are infuriatingly and inexplicably drawn to. I don’t want to be the one who tucks you into bed; I want to be the reason why you can’t sleep at night.” - Lang Leav

It’s been 2426 days since I dragged my childhood bedroom across the pavement

Almost 7 years since my love for my mother spilled from my suitcase onto the driveway

i still feel as if I could waltz into that house

Now belonging to strangers

Sit on my pink fluffy bed

And remember her screams

As if they were happening presently

The house is now home to an elderly couple

I wonder if they can feel the ghost of my younger self

Etched into the bannister

Youthful laughter in the backyard

I don’t know what part of me was left in that house

But if feels like not a day has passed since that crisp April morning

When my mother decided that I was not the daughter she had wanted

Hands tell stories too.

Wounded hands, scarlet lines running down each wrist, bloody knuckles from punching the wall too hard when it was themselves, not the concrete that they felt like destroying, someone who wants to live so badly but says they want to die.

White hands, numb with scant circulation, held in fists so tight, uncut nails digging in pale palms, wishing for a breath of calm, wishing everything to be alright, wishing everything to just end.

Wet hands, wet from wiping their own tears,someone wondering why they can never be enough, wondering if these will be the only hands which will ever be there when their world is ending.

Inked hands, holding thoughts from dead hours, vague scribbles only one person can decipher, strings of words with their heart in them, words they hope stay with someone out there.

Worn out hands, hard with calluses and blisters, scars from tedious labour visible to everyone but the person they belong to, that person hoping it would be enough to keep the little child's dreams alive.

Coloured hands, shivering, with swirls of cheap paint on them, someone who thought they'd relapse that night, but somehow didn't.

Entwined hands, holding each other, fingers between each other's gaps, sharing their heat and their owners, sharing their whole world.

Cold hands, no blood in them, hands that would no longer grow, no longer change, someone grieving their heart out for a person who thought they would be the only one at their funeral the next day.

Eyes aren't the only windows to the soul.

Look carefully, hands tell stories too.

My childhood came to a screeching teeth grinding stop one day

And my world hasn’t taken a single day off of spinning

My mother was thrown against the living room wall

And I’ve been trying to mend the cracks in my brain

It all came crashing down that day

giddy child laughter silenced

And the screaming began

I hadn’t felt a prick of pain

And it came like a fucking tidal wave

Knocking down Barbie villages and trampolines

Leaving only dented walls with the shape of my trauma etched into them

not every dead man was noble and neither are the dying

has every fall from grace been exonerated

now that your date of demise has been established

long have we honored the fallen as kings

with little regard for their true archetype

have the moribund beings been pardoned of their wrongdoings

now that they face deaths eternal grasp

-sundayafternoonsedentary