This is a flawed person unwravelling, if you ever wanted to see what it looked like...
Still... i don’t know why
Why the world turns, why the sky is blue, why the trees paint orange, yellow and red in autumn and cast their leaves to all corners of the world (often getting caught in my unruly hair, or on the tips of my badass black adventurer boots), or why I shift so easily from euthoria where everything is perfect and music follows me everywhere I go, to the depths of despair and crying curled up on the bathroom floor. I thought university would make it better. I thought there'd be someone to love.
But no, it never works that way. Not for me, mourning for myself.
The golden girl who skipped around camp singing "You've got to S-M-I- L-E, to be H-A- double P- Y!" at the top of her lungs in gone now. She's a ghost in the sheet. She isn't here. She went away. All play and no work makes Art Nouveau Girls real jerks.
The glass isn't full or empty. There is no glass.
And I'll stick to that.
Triumph is too much to ask for. I'm not a movie, I was rasied in too many fairy tales. I dont win at the end, the evils don't get thier comeuppance.
I just keep falling apart even when I thought there was no further to fall.
Crying in pieces on the floor. Unloveable.
I'm the faded remains of the girl I once was. I can still see her, hear her laugh, but she will never get to grow up. Never live into who she was supposed to be. Never change. She calls to me, but there is nothing I can do. I'm frozen and trapped working to goals I fear I will never live long enough to achieve.
I’ve been searching for answers for so long, I’ve forgotten the questions. I'm forgetting how to dream, only my pathetic nightmares claim me, they know my name. Each night I'm alone in the dark and I don't even know what I see. I just remember darkness, pain and raping trees that taunt me in Brooke Kotak or my bitch roomate's voices.
And somehow everyone, everything that exist moves on and forgets me. I’m left behind in the wasteland, choking and dust waiting for the adventurers to return home. I’m a memory till you find me again, unchanged. Older, a little jaded, but no wiser. Like Mrs. Lovett, left behind and forgotten, but I never will forget you.
They passed down these roads long ago and the red bull followed close behind
I’ve got so many issues, i have nothing left. There’s nobody to talk me off the ledge. I’m drowning in insanity, i’ve forgotten how it feels to be real and not a nightmare.
I'm falling apart and forgetting my own name. Falling deeper and deeper into lucid sleep and delusion with with each waking moment. I'm not numb. I wish I was numb. I just feel too much. And nothing real seems to matter to me anymore, just the nightmare reaching out for me, ready to devour me, swallow me whole and drown the bright little centre of my world. I'm starting to fear that I'm not the star in my own story that I'm not the pretty little ingenue that wins in the end. That I just continue to live like this in increasing misery with each step up I go.
Lets be Kids again!
In spite of my often morally questionable behaviour or flawed moral compass, I am a good person who values politeness to the same degree as vulgarity, at least in my mind, has great karma. I don't think I deserve it.
My father told me this, and I just wish I could see things that way but I'm not ready yet,
"I used to be disgusted, now I try to be amuse.d."
-Elvis Costello.
I like to think I'm almost there.
I stood on the ledge last night, closer than I have ever dared go before. The people I love, who love me, seemed to faded into distant shadows of a life I once lived and took for granted. I will never get them back. they will all forget me and live their lives without the curse of me, the double edge of misery and joy, the divine and the obscure. I don't have the light or strength that used to get me though. All is quiet, dour and dark. And I cannot see the end unless I create one for myself. I laid on my bed fantasing about my own death. and it felt beautiful and terrible. But is wasn't so tragic.
I held a bottle of pills and a razor blade and wondered who would attend my funeral. Would my tourmentors cry? I have no lovers to leave behind, no one to write my story, so I'm charged with my own. I don't want to hate the world or hate the gift of love but this is where my road has brought me, imagining the blood in waves and trying to decide which of my unworn dresses was best for a poetic tableau of death.
But something kept me here, anchored in my skin. I'd love to say it was love or hope, but it was cowardliness. I couldn't kill myself because I didn't know how it ends. I'm not ready to stop, But I can't go on, so I remain in purgetory waiting to be judged. If this is all there, I can't throw it all away just yet. If could get better just around the corner.
It could.
Plus I just couldn't stand the pain or actively cut a razor across my veins. I couldn't slit my wrists because I couldn't take the plunge. I couldn't let everyone left behind judge me and decide I wasnt strong that i was melodramatic or insane or reduce my short life of music, poetry and awe into a statistic before I've written or loved.
This I will never tell anyone who I actually know. I will never get help. I can't its too embrassing to admit how weak I am. That strength and is just a front, I've used to keep people away since the second grade.
I'm selfish and worthless. I didn't worry that killing myself was killing my suportive mother who is basically me at 53 who cries for me at nights or my quietly loving big kid of a father with his heartbreaking looks that convey all the love in the world for his little girl. Or destroy my little sister and best friend who already mourns for my life and what I could be but am afraid to let myself become.
If they love me, I don't deserve them.
I am Birdie Girl. I've always been. But I don't remember like it was ever me, just a life I watched from the sidelines.
If I died, no one would be missing much.
If I died, maybe I could fly.
I miss my picture windows where I could walk downstairs and let the waning moon be my confidant, sit on teh steps and watch the cars go by and the lights go off, and not feel so alone.
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