I give up.

I can't feel my own body. Every new development makes my blood run cold and I'm left feeling weak, unable to stand anymore. I can't feel my legs. My arms. My heart....He's on her side. I know that he is. Yes, I overreacted, but I was 100% sincere in trying to be her friend. I'm sick of putting everything into my relationships and just being used or ignored. It seems to mean nothing to him, my pain.

I hate myself so much. I want to die. I feel so useless, so disgusting. This is why I have a low self-esteem, goddamnit! I can't do anything right, EVER. Why am I like this? Why can't I love myself, trust that he won't leave me for her? I hate her right now. But not more than I hate myself. He deserves a million times better, some girl who is sure of herself and doesn't want to go find a fucking blade and go back to her old ways. I am nothing. I just make him miserable. Why the fuck is he even with me?

I give up.

Wingless

I read Vagina Monologues recently. It was really awe-inspiring for me. I laughed, I cried...all that good stuff. Definitely a book that I want to own it as soon as I can. It really made a difference to me. I decided to write a poem about rape, and I did. I really like how it turned out.

Wingless
April 29, 2008 11:05 am


Crushed butterfly
in his greedy, grabbing hands,
destroying the metamorphosis
from child to a woman.
No consequence
but his satisfaction,
no spirit to leave behind.
Lives continue
where no soul lingers,
no sense of survival
except to survive.

Butterflies cannot dream
when there is nothing more –
when transformation
is mutilation,
whose will to breathe
can remain essential?

One can only fly so far
when ripped from isolation
before the sun has shown through
to the customs of the sky.
Small wings give twice the effort
for half of the result,
but it takes more endurance
than one has amassed
to escape the grasp
of ruthless intentions.

The devastation
of pleasure and virtue
is silent,
reminiscent
of the flutter
of butterfly wings.




[[[One in four of every butterfly will have her wings torn away.]]]

Typewriter

So I got an antique typewriter as an early birthday present. I ridiculously love it. XD I feel like a real writer. To break it in, I decided to be all inspired and stuff. Soooooo I wrote this.

It makes me think of Jonathan. :)


Typewriter
April 19, 2008 8:50 pm

Antiquity and lace
leaves a woman wistful
in the throes of timeless passion
in a search for something new.
There’s that everlasting something
she can find in no one,
but isn’t the point of trying
to prove statistics untrue?

I could dance away for hours,
allow all the forevers,
let them speak sweet nothings
which will never follow through.
But morning is inescapable,
and so is forgetting the painful,
that in every face I look for love,
I’m really looking for you.