i'm not sure why it took so long to love myself
i'm not sure why it took so long
to recognize the fire, the molten courage,
coalesced within my blood
perhaps those shuddered steps were won
after years
of hating a face and skin that betrayed who i really felt i was
[not even a porcelain doll
but at least someone who could walk out of the house
without feeling like
her face was a roadmap
for everyone else's disappointment
yes take a left turn at the pimple on her forehead
and around the scar on her right cheek
perhaps then
we can find her a body that does not insult
our view]
perhaps they were dug in deep
after fighting off boy after boy
who c
Walking Disappointment by FrayedHeartString, literature
Literature
Walking Disappointment
I have a talent for slipping over words like sweaty fingers on windows. I try to say what is right and genuine, but it comes out all mutilated and disgusting. I crash and burn so often that the smoke is enough to cover the western side of this continent.
The words "Sorry" and "My bad" are emitted from my mouth consistently enough that they have lost all meaning when accompanied with my voice. I want them to mean something, but when you've washed your favorite yellow cardigan one hundred and twenty four times, it starts to fade.
And when I am upset, my whole room is reverberating with the sound of classical music because it turns off my mind
i am a girl who rations off her happiness
tucking these moments away in eyelashes and freckles and wrinkles
for days when i need a reminder of what it feels like
see this freckle on my stomach?
it is where you place your lips after you've lifted up my shirt over my head
gently kissing along my stomach and
reaching my ever-present ribs
see this wrinkle
in the hook of my thumb?
that is where my grandfather shall forever reside
with his stupid televisions shows and overalls and black shoes
but not with gaunt cheeks and hollow bones
never like that
and this notecard on my wall?
it is where a swedish boy will always be there to
make
I'll paint my nails and
think of you
Smile
because
I know you are out there
somewhere
Breathing,
Talking,
Hoping,
Wishing,
Living
Pretty soon I leave
so that I can watch them place
a crown upon another girl's head
But not mine
No
I am not a queen
or a princess
or even a lady's maid
I am
a Girl
But a happy,
Smiling one
all the same
Sometimes I think about how
I know one day you'll have an island of your own
But one
where people come to stay
And smile with you
(Yes, I know you will)
It's bound to happen
to someone with a heart like yours
I like how you talk
Everything is a
Mystery
entitled in bold,
Polished
let's not play pretend by FrayedHeartString, literature
Literature
let's not play pretend
she did not pretend to like you because she doesn't pretend at things like that. she knows enough about the human heart and how easily it can rip to shreds in the video recorder chamber in your chest.
she never claimed to like you but you wouldn't know because the sound of your voice nestled itself into the very corners of her room and basement floor and the photos of her that you complimented. you were loud in a way of running her over with practiced words meant for someone special in your mind, but mismatched to the girl wrapped unwillingly in your arms.
you forced her into the mold of your perfect girl with toes dipped in white paint and
people are people by FrayedHeartString, literature
Literature
people are people
i think sometimes we forget that whenever we say goodbye to someone for the night and they go home, they don't just fold up in their cars and lie dormant until we see them again.
they go home and get into a fight with their mother, make a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich and only eat half of it, and toss the rest in the trash. they flip on their favorite cd and pretend that they are in another town, far away where people see them as a person and not just this two dimensional character cut-out of wood and existing only to tell stories and smile.
and then they fall asleep and dream about flying and breathing clearly without a catch i
the boy sitting behind me on this bouncywobbly bus is tenderly nursing a broken heart in his hands. he's been carrying it around for weeks now, letting it collect dirt and dust and sadness. the girl sitting in front of me used to be his, and she is laughingsmilingshrieking. i don't see how it's really fair, but i talked to him that one day and we hurt together and i'll cry if i keep thinking about it.
today, i am disjointed from everyone, everything. i don't think i could find the right words to say even if they were splayed out in front of me. if someone asked me to describe myself, i'd have nothing to say, nothing positive anyways. i'm not
Streams of Conciousness by FrayedHeartString, literature
Literature
Streams of Conciousness
I have been trying to write a window into my heart, but today my head decided it's a good time to rip myself apart at my ribs. I am out of order and out of sanity as I grasp onto the things that used to string me together.
Sometimes, when I am sad and I don't want to cry, I count as high as I can, but today I forgot everything between zero and infinity.
I would like to sing because sometimes that helps me remember summer, but today I am mute for lack of better understanding of loneliness. The only thing I can rely on these days is the fact that when I go into an empty room, I feel alone and bigger than the universe, and smaller than everyon
in theatre class
i can make everyone laugh with my little kid voice
when i say things like, "capri sun is a fruit, right?"
and
"let's go take a ride on the elemavator!"
and inside I feel like I am four years old again
scrambling into the living room at
seven in the morning
just to watch looney tunes
(the old ones
the originals
yes
what our parents watched)
and dad wrapped me up in a blanket and poured my cereal
(because I always spilled the milk
if I tried
and no I never cried over that)
my toes curl up and i feel mariposas
do the salsa in my stomach
whenever i think about a boy who thinks i'm silly
and the mariposas
i d
we have not touched in seven days and this reminds me of the fact that it takes the human body seven years to grow new skin cells for the whole body, and so this leads me to thinking that in seven years i will have a body in which you will have never touched, and so i feel a bit better about this already.
but yesterday he ran his finger along my back and i thought of the way you would dig yours into mine and that i liked to feel you drag yourself into me. you were never timid with your touch and yet this boy is because i don't think he knows how to place feeling into touch, and that is what i liked most about you.
i made the mistake of watc