lazy day. off work.
Showing posts tagged brookeworm
lazy day. off work.
Off work today
Send me asks and I’ll rate your blog /10
Looking to fill about 100 follow slots
Just q’d a bunch of old posts. mostly circa 2011.
no real reason.
333 followers!! you guys are awesome.
I want to put you on the stand
have you stand before a jury of my peers
my ex boyfriends
my middle school best friends
i want everyone to see what you’ve done to me
I don’t want to tell them what you said
or what you did
or the way you rolled your eyes at me
I want to show them the blood on my fingers
the dents in my fingertips where i bit away the skin
the pimples on my back, on my face that i grew out of stress
watered with tears
that rise up like the bile in my throat
and the words i can’t say
i want them to see that i can’t look at you
that my blood pressure raised when i see your car in the parking lot
when you walk in the room
when you stand in my face and stare me down
begging me to say anything to you
begging me to stoop to your level
because you know i won’t
because you want to feel something i can’t understand
bigger than me
I want to touch you
I want you to feel my pressed against you
but you wouldn’t feel a thing
I have to prove that you were mean to me
that you hurt me
every single day
that you treated me different
i have to write down the way you look at me
the way your tone changes everything
how you cut me with your words
slapped me with your eyes
how you whispered and snickered and tore me apart
how “I’m just doing me job” really means “I’m going to keep getting away with this.”
how “I just want you to do your job” really means “no one is going to help you”
how “you can do what I say or you can clock out” really means “you can squirm under my nose, or you can quit”
what happened to you to make you this way?
what’s misplaced inside of you?
you don’t know anything about me
how i cry in the mirror just before i walk in the door
fighting back tears to line my eyes
sometimes i wonder what i would say to you if i were different
if i could say what everyone wanted
to be strong to stand up for myself
but i don’t know you either
and if you cry in the mirror before you walk in to work
if you lie awake in bed at night
if there’s a piece of you broken
I don’t want to be what hurts you
i don’t want you to hurt yourself
My mony. My lucky charm.
Are you awake?
Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, “Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.
Kait Rokowski (A Good Day)
this is my favorite movie. ever.
this is my most successful tumblr post of all time.
Second in a row.
Somebody :( help.
Roses are red
Tumblr is blue
Send me valentine poems
I’ll write one for you
I got a laptop and internet for my birthday/valentines day. it’s amazing. for the first time in nearly two years I have internet and a computer.
I updated my theme. watched netflix in bed. and now I’m going to sleep super happy with my laptop.