train ride. destination? myself

401 33 11

by beachflower-

by beachflower-

*i have started linking songs that i listen to when writing each chapter. i find them beautiful*

5:37 pm on wednesday:

WHY MUST I GROW WHERE YOU PLANT ME

WHY MUST I BLOOM WHERE YOU SCOLD ME

WHY CAN I NOT BE BIGGER THAN MY VASE

in which she loves too hard. in which she screams at the sky, ripping through its freckled milky cosmos with calloused hands. in which she attempts to play a god, to grab the oars of the universe and redirect its boat, to beckon the very course of time towards a galaxy of greater forgiveness and softer tongue. when a mountain emerges, she rips her legs from her body, plants them among the gasping roots to prove she was there, but that wasn't her soul wasn't strong enough to sing the harsh jagged edges of the mountain to a kinder state of mind.

but, the universe compromises for no one. and no amount of screaming and despair can force its boat to redirect its path. to caress its sails to turn against the wind.

so she,

she didn't lounge,

she drowned

and him,

when he provided her with sunflower oil from his bloody palms

she didn't taste it

she drank the bottle

6:32 am thursday

dear mother,

i have kissed away my wounds. the sun doesn't just shine now: he beams, he sings, and he dances. the mellifluous sky has cracked like an egg and now she oozes melodies and gardens. on the other hand, i myself have bore thick, nourishing fruit. when my fingers flutter to my ribs, a cherry tree grows from my nurturing body. she used to bleed, but now she blooms.

for the first time in a while, i drown in a violent, unbending storm whilst smiling. outside on the sunburned pavement, mosquitoes bury themselves in the warm, succulent flesh of my sweet mango mind, the roses spoonfeed the clothespin dreams of my soul lilted promises and honey, the moon comes out early to kiss my mind to pieces/to peace. that's how damn reborn i am.

when you finger the strings of fate too long and the universe lashes out on you, it hurts. he demands, his tongue vomits uncompromising words with crooked surfaces and angles. he torments, he scars. and then you realize that he is a mere reflection of you, that he can never be a lover on a leash, that he cannot and will not bend the liquored hands of time to fall on his knees before your misguided illusion because you are incapable of that yourself.

he is merely a set of painter's eyes with the blooming hibiscus plant of eternity his canvas. but his masterpiece cannot be completed without you.

4/13/20