know it's for the better

inspired by waiting room

i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to go back i want to i want to i want to go back

—

i’m peeling the skin from my fingertips like petals from the stem. kissing the open mouth of summer and throwing myself to the wolves.

i close my eyes and put the key in the same rusted lock; home home home

all of my things are there, clothes in the tiny closet that is always a bit cold, papers on the desk, heart in the floorboards. i know it’s not mine anymore; the house. but when i slip into sleep i am always coming in through the back door and refusing to leave. i walk through the rooms and check the closet to see what will be there this time. i host dinners and parties and i hide from midnight and sometimes i sleep in the garage in a tent. i am the opposite of morrissey. i am begging to go back to the old house. i am letting myself in each night like an unscheduled cleaning crew.

something of me is in that house and i keep going back to find it.

nothing went like i thought. nothing is what i thought. only in my mind and in the safety of my bedroom can i touch the life i hope to have. reality is the sound of nails dragged down a chalkboard, and i only want to hear the birds.

‘‘

let me kneel at the feet of the page

and beg for salvation;

pray for sanity.

give me somewhere to sleep

something to live for, some ounce

of faith.

i kneel at the alter of dreams

and ask to be saved.

“take me back,” i say.

i have gone astray. there was no north star, or too many. i do not know backwards from forwards. give me darkness until i am able to see clearly again.

’’

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

i am screaming, we are screaming. if i bleed will you take a picture? i want to see what it looks like.

i am writing to you from the cold bottle of pink champagne he placed in my hands. in the car i thought of older sisters and how they are destined to bite their nails down until there is nothing left. older sisters will always float like saints without guiding stars; sunset swimmers caught too far from shore.

the younger ones will live in the gray mass surrounding their lost older sisters, silently taking notes and making conclusions and brushing it all off. the younger sisters will have long blonde hair and wear gold jewelry and pretty makeup and you will think: if only i could wear those stained brown flats and have french tips and be the one after, not the one who stains the front yard concrete.

i grew up the older sister, and my brother the one after; the one i envied for his normalcy. i have been a warning sign, a lighthouse in the distance, a ‘this is how to make it hurt’ paraded through the blue sky.

i am sorry i couldn’t pretend. i am sorry i swallowed the sun and ran from home. it may have seemed pointless, the pain pressed to my temples

but

know it’s for the better-



know 
           it's
                  for
                        the 
                               better  better  better

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

hello to all of you who are new— i love that you are here, it makes everything feel worth it. love love love you thanks for reading<3