nisus children can laugh
they have not learned the price
of happiness
in dreams
of life
let them be fooled
they will learn one day
look around
and see the lies
deception of love
of self
and soul
promises broken
to the one's they love
and to the parts of themselves
they promised never to deceive
realistic optimist DIVided fORCEs
out the demons divine
which raked the flesh
of bonded pairs
endless desire a little girl i was
praying with my brother.
a plastic little tikes table.
we ate every meal there,
my sister's high chair right above us.
and my mum would sit there
and hear us pray to God
to have our papa come home.
to make him want to come home.
to love our mum again.
she said she always cried
because she didn't have the heart to tell us not to have that hope. pure.
my grandma did though.
my father's mum.
we knew he stayed there in the night
so it hurt us so
to be there in the day
smelling his shirts
and lying on his bed
knowing he was there a few hours before
but didn't stay to see us.
we prayed before
our mac_n_cheese and tuna fish sandwiches
in those beautiful days
where i never feared to eat.
never had to coax myself into just a cracker
or a piece of cheese
so i could have the energy to walk.
but those days where bright
and full of hope and promises.
and so we prayed--as we always did--
for "papa and mommy to please get back together."
children should never have to pray
that their parents "get back together"
like foolish teenage romances
that are fickled and come and go as they please.
nonetheless we prayed,
my brother and i together.
and she stopped us,
my grandmother did.
right there while we were praying.
you never did that, you just didn't.
she told us not to pray that anymore.
that he would never come home.
that we shouldn't ask God for something
that would never come true.

something was taken from me that day.
something i don't think i'll ever have back.
it was a child-like faith and hope and belief.
a force that no one could penetrate.
a candle no foe could put out.
i lost something carefree
something that told me anything was possible.
that people could change
and that i could dream the wildest things.

i try to hold that still
in my hand. so tight.
but somedays i still hear
my loving grandma, only meaning the best.
practical. not wanting us to dream things and be broken.
but i hear her tell me not to pray that anymore. not to wish or dream.
because she doesn't want me reaching for the stars in hopes to catch something beautiful
and then come down only to find that i have a handful of dust and air and nothing.
nisus we told ourselves
such pretty things
letting the doubts and fears
hover just beneath the surface
as we built a home with pretty bricks
what a beautiful home it was
that the others saw
shiny, new, and perfect
the perfect pair
in their perfect lives together
how dark inside the house it was
with pretty bricks blocking the light
and quiet
with pretty bricks to absorb
the rare sounds of discontent
so that the others did not hear
now the bricks have dissolved
I cannot see them anymore
but you
you walk into the house
everyday pretending
that the walls are still there
camille a tattooed idea... that does taps on your forehead, while doing the usual routine minuet at the four way stop. Only to look across and realize that in the vehicle facing you ...is your husband with another woman.

Her bare feet comfortably on the dash, the dash you thought you would never hit. The dash you thought the air bag would break the force...

... diving force~

a free fall
niska ...is shitty 030917
Jenny I will not grow up to be fucked up. I will not burst into tears over the pain. I will not be a lame ass emo bitch. I will remember how it felt like to be 14, sad, and afraid. I will not settle for some bastard that I don’t love. I will not sit on a subway car, trying to look deep and holding back tears. I will not try to be beautiful when I am 43. I will not look at my children and be jealous. I will not be upset when somebody tells me that I don’t have a firm grip on reality. I will not smoke. I will pray to the God I don’t believe in. I will take a taxi to wherever the fuck I want, go to California, and live the rest of my days out in a bungalow along the beach. I will not hook up with way-too-old-for-me men. I will not try to be pretty when I smile. I will not try to impress or seduce anyone. I will not dress like a slut to get attention. I will not care if my makeup smudges. I will not burst into tears in class. I will not lie about my family, my problems, or try to be someone I am not. I will not stand in art galleries contemplating the meaning of life. I will not look at myself in the mirror when I cry to see how I look. I will not sit in darkness and cry my heart out over nothing. One person can handle all the pain in the world. If they can’t, they will die outright. I will not think about taking a knife and cutting my wrist lengthwise, about shooting an air bubble into my bloodstream, about swallowing ten pills at once and drinking alcohol after. I will not have friends I do not like. I will not forgive my parents. I will not love anyone. I will not look at the sky and wish to cry. I will not pretend to be happy and well adjusted and normal. I will not smile. I will not release my pain onto my children, yelling at them with a crazed look in my eye while I blame them for my troubles. I will not fuck up my children. I will not make them depressed. I will not chain smoke. I will not tell them to die. I will stop being such a stubborn mother fucker. I will somehow find enough goodness in my heart to tell my dad to feel better. I will not be a whore, move out, fuck the man I have an affair with, hide open condoms in pillow cases, ask the man to come to my birthday dinner with my daughter, who is already fucked up enough. I will not ignore my problems, to push them into the back of my mind when I laugh at a joke my friend has made. I will not pretend everything is fine. I will not forget 10/15/05, the day my mother officially fucked up. I will not tell my daughter to go die, and then say that I was just angry. I will not hit my children. I will not isolate the people who try to help. I refuse to go to a therapist. I fucking refuse. I will not cry when my sweet, 90 year old neighbor dies. I will not look at my friends and think about when we will all be dead. I will not starve myself. I will not stick my fingers down my throat and throw up my meal. I will become a not-sure-what-age guitar player on Madison and 96th outside of Dunkin Donuts with blue eyes and an old acoustic guitar. I will never forget how it feels to have to control your every emotion. I will not forget to tell my children I love them. I will show my children some fucking affection. I will not tell my children how much they hate me when I have no idea how much they really do. I will at least try to look my children in the eye if I ever tell them to go fuck themselves because I hate them. I will not tell my children that their mother is a whore. I will not stop looking at the sky. I will not forget the feeling of a rooftop, of a fire escape, of being alone. I’m afraid to grow old. I’m afraid to die. I’m afraid to face the world. I’m afraid I will never get to college, never get a proper job, never find someone who loves me, never be able to see my friends again, I’m afraid I’ll never leave this place. I’m afraid that one day when I’m free, the world will disappoint me, it will not be as beautiful as I wanted it to be. Or it will be too much beauty for me to handle. I’m afraid the pacific won’t be as blue as it has been in my dreams. I’m afraid that I will never climb a tree in Central Park again. I’m afraid that there will be no more beautiful autumn days. I’m afraid that I’ll end up like my mother. I’m afraid that I will never try to catch leaves to make wishes on again. I’m afraid that one day I will wake up and all the beauty in the world will be gone. I’m afraid that I will never be happy again, that my parents will haunt me through my life. I’m afraid I will fail my midterms. I’m afraid of my father. I’m afraid to become ugly and wrinkled. I’m afraid that I’ll stop smiling. I’m afraid my little seven-year-old sister will become more messed up than I am and ruin her life. I’m afraid that love doesn’t exist. I know love doesn’t exist, a love of true understanding. What a bunch of shit they try to feed us. I’m afraid that summer will never come again, that the snow will simply never melt. I’m afraid my friends will become drug addicts. I’m scared to ever graduate from high school. I’m scared of never smelling lilies again. I’m afraid that I will never feel warm sand underneath my feet on an abandoned beach. I’m afraid that I have too high expectations from life. I’m afraid that I will never become who I want to be. 060121
nom her finger still hurts where he broke it 060720
. ffs Jenny, that's a whole load of shit you're carryng around there. let someone lighten the load before it buries you. 060721
becca Sigh.

Me too, I guess.

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