Messy Thoughts pt 1

I don’t know how to write about you. I can write about anyone else, give me a name and I can whip up something in half an hour. But you take my breath away, you leave me speechless, and you take my words from me.

My thoughts have no correspondence to each other 90% of the time.

Sometimes I love myself and sometimes I don’t and I kinda wish I could all the time but that just doesn’t seem to be possible maybe I just need to run more.

It can take between 18 and 254 days to form a habit so every time I want to form one I will put at least 18 post it notes around my room reminding me to do it and for everyday I complete it I can take one down.

Do people want my friendship? Am I one of those people who you wanna be friends with but they’re kinda intimidating? I don’t want to be intimidating.

I don’t even know what this is I just wanted to get my thoughts out of my head before I explode. Maybe I’ll write about 14/15 year old me. she needs some recognition.

Ignore my ramblings, I’ll write something coherent in a bit.

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A Poem On Past Pain

Find the cracks in the wall

And the hairs stuck in the paint.

Stare at where the mirror used to be, 

Now you can see the ceiling 

When you look at the floor

And the bamboo boards

Have little scarlet dots on them.

Remember which was the shoebox

With more than just shoes,

Pull at the all too thick hair

Dead hair

Useless hair

Stupid hair.

Grab oversized thighs,

(Scarred thighs)

And undersized wrists.

(Guilty wrists)

Tear at fingernails

(Jagged fingernails,

Sharp fingernails)

And chew a hole in the bottom lip

(Bitch-face lips,

never-been-kissed lips).

I’m sorry that you don’t look

like the porcelain dolls, given to a child.

That the child cries.

That the child can’t be touched

(Cheeks, neck, legs, hands.)

Without thinking that’s all they are alive for.

Don’t ever touch me.

Disproportioned.

Jackets three sizes wrong; 

No jawline but see the collarbones,

Orange lashes and brows, but hair too.

Comment on tiny wrists 

Never see the shoulders.

Check out the ass and tits

But turn away at the sight of the stomach.

Embarrassment.

See hands covering regret.

See unstoppable laughter, hidden

Behind skeleton hands.

The same skeleton hands 

That raked the leaves from the yards

Of people’s hearts.

That hugged air, when thats all there was

After holding in the terror

Of innocence taken at fourteen years.

You took some things from me that I’d quite like back. But I know that can’t happen. Those events shaped me in ways I wish they hadn’t. And now my sister is the same age I was and it’s like living it all again because of the worry I feel that someone will do to her what you did to me.

For My Sisters

T – Thank you for being my best friend. For the fairy games and the Barbies and the races to the TV remote on Saturday mornings. Thanks for giving me books to read and letting me ramble on about my friends and for all the stolen liquor that you never noticed was gone (I’m sorry). Thanks for all the shared clothes and rolled eyes and wrestling and smashed phones and kitchen singing and never ending payback.

S – Thank you for being my room mate. For letting me boss you around and playing make believe with me and giving 11 year old me something to write in my diary (that’s how annoying you were). Thanks for enjoying my music and being fine with the screaming sessions in our room and listening to my stories that I always hype up too much. Thanks for the shared homework and blanket forts and bike races and skinned knees and the bickering and slap fights and the silent treatment.

C – Thank you for being my mini-me. For always making me laugh and making me play hide-and-seek every single day and all the warm hugs. Thanks for your smile every morning and watching kids programs with me all afternoon and keeping me company even when I don’t want anyone in my room. Thanks for tickle fights and sandcastles and screaming in my ear and morbid comments and standing on me and refusing to kiss me goodbye.

Thank you all for my childhood that you won’t ever let end. For daisy chains and trampolines and climbing trees and bike rides and early morning runs and surfing and inside jokes and teasing and holding hands and all our little adventures.

Who I am today is thanks to you. I love you so much.

Chances

I always give everyone a chance. They all deserve a chance. Even if they have wronged someone I know, they have not wronged me. I give them a chance.

I give second chances to everyone as well. Sometimes when I shouldn’t. But people make mistakes and they deserve second chances, ‘It was mistake, I trust you.’ I have taken many second chances and I find it only fair I give them too.

And I think that’s okay, the chances and second chances I give people. After that I get a little soft.

I give third chances quite frequently. When I’m in denial that I’ve been hurt, ‘You wouldn’t do that to me.’ And when I’m trying to portray a perfect image, ‘Oh, no we’re fine, we’re still friends.’

I’ve found that I’ve also given fourth chances occasionally. When I’m hurting and I’m not sure I can take any more, ‘My heart may not survive if I lose you now.’ Or when I can’t bear to lose myself on top of everything, ‘I’m not really sure who I am without you.’

And now I’m conflicted. Would I be a push over to offer a fifth chance? Will it just turn into ‘I’m sticking around because I feel obligated to’? But all the reasons for giving previous chances still stand.

I’ve been praying about this, and I have a lot to say next time I see you.

Bigger Things

She is sunshine and rain in one.

Her smile could light up any darkness,

Except the one her sadness creates.

She is plants on the veranda,

And smoke turning the afternoon sun a blood red.

She is your favourite book with the corners folded,

And the stuffed bear from your childhood that you still keep on your bed.

She is the grazed knees of childhood,

And river water on sunburnt shoulders.

She is sunshine.

She is tears shed in the corner of a coffee shop,

And fingers rubbing eyes under glasses.

She is panic attacks in parks,

And 10 cents short for the bus ticket home.

She is the death of an admired celebrity discovered over Facebook,

And the crash of your first car.

She is rain.

She lights candles all around her,

In attempts to relight the burning flame inside her,

That he put out when he left.

She loses herself in books where the girl always gets her guy,

Even in times when love shouldn’t matter.

She fights and screams but only to reclaim

A small amount of control of her life.

She is a girl left behind,

And a friend who deserves more time than she is given.

She is a bike ride I keep meaning to go on.

She is a book I should have continued months ago.

She is a half empty journal that I’ve had for years,

But keep replacing when there is no need.

She is a plant in a pot too small,

She is ready to move on to bigger things.

17/3/16

When I’m sitting on a beach with you watching the sunset, and I look into your eyes just as the yellow hues from the fading light hit you right in the face. Your brown eyes suddenly have all the colours of Summer and Autumn and Spring mixed in them. There are reds around the outside, looking like the falling leaves that get stuck in my hair. Then there are browns and yellows of the bark of the trees that I spent my childhood summers climbing. As I work further in there are small specks of green and blue, showing the ocean and the waves that we first grew close to each other in. In the very centre, past the red love, the yellow happiness, the brown longing, the blue lust and the green safety, right in the middle is the colour black, the deepest darkest black. The black that holds untold stories and future memories. The black that holds all the stars in the universe. The black of the hole that I fell into when I fell for you.

From the Archives.

A Crimson Care Package

You shine like the sun and all the stars.

You carry your world on your shoulders, with your head held high you try to keep hidden the way it’s weighing you down.

Your love for God is so empowering

Your presence is that of soft spring winds passing through open windows and satin curtains.

Your laughter sounds like a soft melody plucked on a guitar floating off toward the stars from a group of smiles scattered around a campfire wrapped in blankets and love.

I worry for you and against my better judgements, do nothing.

I remember the first time I saw you, sitting on the bottom bunk of a dorm in the place where I grew up. And then we grew up more. We spent so many hours together, I remember drawing little animals on each other and taking endless photos. I remember the games we won and the many games we epically lost. And I am so thankful for all the little moments and inside jokes we shared (along with Nara). Thank you for all dish-co’s and all the quiet time chats and all the fun we had on outings, especially the reminders that we can’t have any idea where anything is in Mandurah because we don’t live there.

I also just want to say thanks for one more thing. I know that I would not have as many friends as I do now if it weren’t for you. You may not realise, but you became friends with our “Serps Squad” before I felt comfortable even speaking to them. But you made sure I was part of that group too, you made making friends easy for the first time in my life.

So I thought it was about time I told you what colours fill my head when you are around.

Your smile is a soft, rose pink that, when shown, is enough to lighten anyone’s heart. It encourages me to know that life isn’t all bad and there is always hope, even if it is sometimes hidden behind scowls and a fear that you’re upset with me.

You move like the colour blue. Your run incites excitement and energy in me and watching you dance is always enough to create pure joy. The sky would envy how blue you are when you’re moving.

Your insecurities are draped in golden yellow light. You spend all this time disguising them in something beautiful but you fail to realise that they were sparkling gold long before you even noticed them. This makes me want to spend hours dispelling every insecurity you have.

You my dear are all these colours and so much more. But behind it all, the colour I think of most as you is held in your love. It is the deepest cherry Red. It sends feelings of summer and apples and roses in a vase on the windowsill. It shines through in your love for everyone around you, sometimes despite better judgment. In the way you love God and the way you love to see others love God.

Don’t ever stop spreading this beautiful red love all around you.

A hand on the door handle and the other reaching for the perfume. the smell of Versace fills the room as she grasps her bag to leave. There are a dozen roses waiting for her at the door and her eyes smile as she notices them. She walks out into the evening air and the setting sun lights up her golden curls. This girl has longed for love for eternities and just now it shows how much. She is finally filled with self love, love that her God gave her to spread to all the corners of the earth. She smiles, for no one but herself this time.

I think of you daily and send love and prayers to you.

~ Zee xx