Sylvia

I would’ve slit my wrists

To have spent one more day reading

Your poetry, your words.

I found you for the wrong reasons, I found you

Because I was depressed and all I knew was that

You

Stuck your head

In an

Oven.

And you died while your children slept in the next room,

You put a towel under the door to

Absorb

The smell of your shame,

The rotting stench

Of your selfishness. Or so they say.

I don’t think suicide is selfish at all.

He says it’s selfish, stupid, he doesn’t understand,

But I do. I can see inside your soul,

But mostly my own.

I see my aura as it aches for peace

And redemption

As a vapor, a sparkle of hope. I’ve seen it dance from my chest

And perform spiraling cartwheels around the room

As my mind is spiraling out of control –

You didn’t take me seriously and

I dragged my rusty blade across my wrists

But my veins were too strong and they held on for

Dear Life,

And now I have the purple, fading marks on my wrists to show for my

Failure.

I am not ashamed.

I can’t think about this,

I can’t think about

Him

Looking at them, in front of him,

Throwing money at their feet

As if throwing food to a starved zoo animal.

Those people,

Those girls,

Those women

Who chose that lifestyle years before he

Or I

Were born.

That is selfish of me.
Jealousy is selfish because

I want him

To look at me the way he looks at

Them.

Lustily.

And I hate that I want those hungry eyes

Because I crave equality and respect,

While he worships the women who have given that up.

He’s my Daddy.
He’s my Ted Hughes,

The painful pangs of copious needing,

I hate it, but I tell myself

I love it.

“Normal” people love it.

I feel horrible for the way I found you,

Like your abusive Nazi husband-daddy, or your children, or your

Missed opportunities

Found you,

With your head in the oven,

Your hands outstretched,

Your eyes wide, wide open,

Waiting.

But the way I keep you

Is not in that image;

I imagine your spirit in the handwriting on the reprinted page

Which I wept to find.

And in every two beats of my heart,

I take one for you and keep your memory in mine,

Like two hands grasping each other

For the last time

Before my car drives away.

Before I cry

And forget that I’m doing this to help myself.

I will slit my wrists and feel no shame.

I am dying

To know what it feels like

To live one moment

Completely

For

Myself.

I don't know you,
but I'd like to hear your music.

okay?

I'm so fed up with drama, fighting, negativity.
I can't do this anymore.
just want to move so far away that
nobody know my name,
my past,
i'm tired of this small town know-all.

I want to be a part of a loving community,
to feed off of other's positivity.
I want to think about connections:
to the earth,
to my neighbors,
to my spiritual guide.

I can't do this anymore.

I dreamt that I was in my room at home, running my tongue along my teeth,
one of them popped out of place as Taiki walked into the room,
holding two of my shirts, one in each hand,
asking, am I ready for our date.
NO, I am not ready, get me a cup of milk, my tooth fell out!

I'm pretty sure he left with my shirts,
the jerk!

Weird how the brain brings people back,
makes the heart's memory a little bit fonder.

I just did an online search.

I just kinda learned that men like women who look fake because they want to have sex with them, but end up with real women because they're less annoying and less high-maintenance.

So it seems that if womankind were silent, expected nothing, and got on her knees on command,
men would be really fucking happy.

I really hope that I'm surrounding myself with men who aren't like this.

I swear to god, half the men on this planet should be castrated.