accumulated thoughts over this period of inarticulation-2/20, 2/24

how sad it is to fall out of love

like shoving over the ladder and stranding yourself

love is not a feeling

love is an action.

an action which requires careful maintenance and stepping outside of yourself.

it’s hard but it’s simple. why is it so easy for people to neglect? why are you hurting yourself like that?

lately i’ve been overflowing with love and gratitude, with pain and poison. i’ve been medicating and numbing. nothing works. a depth and intensity i admire and despise.

sad

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the giving tree speaks to the boys and girls

take a moment and think about how many loved ones you are willing to lose. take another and think about why.
that willingness isn’t about them. if you have no definitive reason to cut off that relationship, it’s about your own lack of self love. you are willing to kill something because it gives you unconditional love, and you do not think you’re worthy of unconditional love.
i love you tremendously. but i am young, and i am human. this sensitivity in such a young soul is treacherous. so i cannot give love endlessly. eventually, i will have given away my own share, which i am not willing to do. i won’t let this push and pull become cyclical. make a choice. choose yourself. we are all watching and praying.

we are i

i am you

my self love is your self love and my happiness is your happiness. my pities are you pities and my devastation is your devastation.

i am the most beautiful person in the world. i am the kindest, the smartest, the warmest, the softest. to me, i am everything. to you, you are i.

ah
the meat is raw and the
crows are plump and the
earth is baking and the
oven won’t cool off.

my knees are slashed but
they are also bruised.
these flowers are dying but
those buds are opening up.

lightbulb just cracked. lamp just fell over.
the building plunges into darkness.
we light our candles.
the flames flicker across our smiles as
our nails bring our blood from our brains
to our hearts.

remember sweetheart, as she brushes her bloodied, now honest, fingers through her own hair. what is soft and fluid can never break.