your breath keeps fogging up my heart. fingertips charred, frostbitten heart, you need this. hope hurts but it’s the only game in town. and if my lungs can pretend I’m alive, we can make it on this tightrope. too far from the ground to know what’s up or down, bleed into it. dig in. electricity swimming through my nerve endings, a heady breeze stolen from the safety just out of reach.
I had my eyes closed when I tripped over your wings, blinked and you were gone. I’m dropping baggage and balancing on broken feet. try me. they already did, with gasoline in their veins and thorns in their embrace, but they fell to their own poison.
a kiss can never lie but death sure tries. and just before I flatlined, I felt it wake in me. a sleeping creature that met me as I fell, live flames in my mouth, jumper cables to my heart.
I feel. And you punish me. I try to heal. And you break me. Little glimpses, little offenses. I live inside your kaleidoscope, swirling in hues of agony. So brave. So brave to peel your skin off for everyone. Wrong one. Wrong skin. Wrong soul. Stuck in a web of lies. Razor blades in my spine. I take them out. You put them back. Silly little child. It’s no big deal. Never is. There is a disease in my blood. You pour these bullets into my hand. Pull the trigger so I cant burn down this cage. Pump my stomach for the key but you’ve drowned me in these useless tears. The sky is falling from my lips and ive lost myself to you. I hate you. Silly little child. Its no big deal. Never is. Silly little feather. Silly heart. Thinking you can breathe. You are shards of ice or hot enough to burn and nothing else. I try to temper you. You shatter me against the darkness, burry me in the hope until I’ve done it again. I’ve forgotten. Again. I feel. And you punish me.
i can pinpoint it in a pinwheel of daggers. all lashing into the downy feathers of tomorrow, sending hiccups of blood into yesterday. i can play with the leaves until morning hits, sweeping the sky with the last of my patience, brushing my hair off my lips.
you didn’t remember the sunspots on the forest floor. but i did. i painted them rouge with every last little dovetail of spilt time. there were eyes on us then, strangling the ocean tide through needle point.
Of course, there’s a big difference between quirky weird and creepy weird, the latter being none too healthy nor pleasing (or helpful).
But being weird, isn’t automatically a bad thing.
Typically, it simply means you stand out from the crowd. You divert from social or cultural behavior of the majority surrounding you.
That doesn’t mean evil, bad, wrong, or stupid.
Yet, that’s often how we take it.
Are you a goth in a school that idolizes jocks?
One of those special human beings who walks about in the world with no socks on (how do you NOT have blisters?!)?
Do you have a speech impediment?
I bet you’re considered weird. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Or you.
Being goth is perfectly fine. Also, your makeup is amazing. If you’re someone who doesn’t wear socks, I don’t know how you survive, but there’s nothing wrong with you. And a speech impediment didn’t stop Winston Churchill.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, stop bloody worrying if people call you weird.
What’s weird in Japan might be normal in America and vice versa. It doesn’t mean anything is inherently wrong. Wrong, is when you cause harm. And that’s got it’s own term…. wrong.
Being weird isn’t bad. In fact, any time the subject comes up, I always think of this poem. I’ll leave you with it. So first, just know that your oddities make you, YOU. And you are a beautiful human being. Don’t hide. (Unless you’re in a situation where taking my advice would put you in danger. 😉)