the below is a poetic exploration of rage, precision, and fear. take it not literally
part 1: the desire to possess
sometimes i want to hold a machete over someone’s neck. not to hurt them
but just to scare them. scare them enough until i see some innocent part of them come out. that melts me, and ends my berserk rage
the berserk rage of being tamed in a wild world
a world where i am nothing but a fucking automaton
producing, for my employer
solving, problems in my life
making calls, to my mom
a handmaiden’s nightmare
if i could have an eating disorder, i would have one—the exquisite sense of intimate control. the feeling careening more and more deeply into your inner world until you feel every single bit of you: come alive
a journey into the soul by other means. no psychedelics required
too bad they don’t often work. they’re just a cry and call for help that often never comes
if i could hold a machete up to my own neck, i would
sometimes i scream in anger at my own parts
nothing has ever felt so good as being screamed at by someone i know still genuinely loves me
it is truth in a world where i have not even trusted my parents to tell me the truth
it is not so scary, someone screaming at you
it is less scary then returning to the world of lies
someone whom you know inviolably, remains connected to you
scream at me, dear self
tell me everything you hate
i can take it
murder me
hold the knife up to the folds of my neck
scare me
obliterate me
*fine*
(trigger warning)
FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOU FOR FUCKING UP MY LIFE.
(pause, for your breath)
FUCK YOU FOR MAKING IT TO TWENTY FIVE WITH EXACTLY ONE FRIEND YOU DON’T FEEL DISCONNECTED FROM.
FUCK YOU FOR LIVING IN A HOUSE OF LIES.
FUCK YOU FOR THINKING I DON’T HAVE WHAT IT TAKES.
FUCK YOU FOR NOT BRINGING MORE OF YOUR FUCKING SELF TO EVERYONE FUCKING AROUND YOU.
WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK THEY ARE?
WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THEM.
FUCK YOU FOR THINKING YOU GET TO MAKE THAT FUCKING CALL.
FUUCK YOU.
FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOU.
fuck you.
fuck you.
…
fuck you.
fuck you.
what that so fucking hard?
WAS YHAT SO FUCKING HARD?
FUCK YOU FOR DOING EVERYTHING SO HARD THAT YOU COVER UP THIS INNER THJING.
this exquisite aliveness
(rest)
is this why drill sergeants yell at their recruits?
to return them to a more primal way of being
the soldier is grateful to be a solider
cut me open
do it fast
i have places to be
and
There's millions and millions [of worlds], all in the same space, but no one could get from one to another before my father made this bridge.
