i. learning to love is
a l o n e l y t a s k
i am not
loved like that
"no vacancy" hangs over my chest
"we have no room in this ghosttown for you"
ii. tempted
to trace hot lines of desire
streaking my sheets red
blistering beneath bluejeans
iii. you were made for labor, not for love.
i whisper,
pulling compression socks over swollen toes.
you were made for labor, not for love.
i hum,
silence nestling herself into my ribcage.
not for love. not for love.
my mouth is empty.
the endless warehouse shelves vibrate from boxes running along the roller tables,
tumbling head-over-bubblewrap into a truck driver's delivery route.
the bowed steel groans crookedly, promising
only for labor. only for labor.
iv. i've dreamed of summer romance.
how fitting i spend my time in a box
taping boxes shut
sending taped boxes into larger boxes
leave in a wheeled box
to come to a box where somebody lives.
my body-box is damaged goods
where is my sell-by stamp?
v. i cannot learn to love.
i am only fit for labor.
i set the table for three:
my body-box, loneliness, and silence.
i do not make dinner.
best to leave the table unsatiated.
-help wanted, apply within (no vacancies)
original by shedreamer
a l o n e l y t a s k
i am not
loved like that
"no vacancy" hangs over my chest
"we have no room in this ghosttown for you"
ii. tempted
to trace hot lines of desire
streaking my sheets red
blistering beneath bluejeans
iii. you were made for labor, not for love.
i whisper,
pulling compression socks over swollen toes.
you were made for labor, not for love.
i hum,
silence nestling herself into my ribcage.
not for love. not for love.
my mouth is empty.
the endless warehouse shelves vibrate from boxes running along the roller tables,
tumbling head-over-bubblewrap into a truck driver's delivery route.
the bowed steel groans crookedly, promising
only for labor. only for labor.
iv. i've dreamed of summer romance.
how fitting i spend my time in a box
taping boxes shut
sending taped boxes into larger boxes
leave in a wheeled box
to come to a box where somebody lives.
my body-box is damaged goods
where is my sell-by stamp?
v. i cannot learn to love.
i am only fit for labor.
i set the table for three:
my body-box, loneliness, and silence.
i do not make dinner.
best to leave the table unsatiated.
-help wanted, apply within (no vacancies)
original by shedreamer
i miss
you,
Libby
Okay we'll do our best! I want your honest opinion on a weak
will and stony facial expressions and eating like a caveman and
weird ideas on gender and putting on lots of makeup to make others
comfortable and wearing something CUTE and listening to podcasts
about adulthood and voting socialist and not having friends and
knowing people don't want you there but if you don't show
up they'll just talk crap about you and size M being large for
Asian women and all this sadness that does a bad job
coping with rejection and the surrounding air of paranoia that yields into self-importance and god-like status and the likelihood of boring the person reading this.
coping with rejection and the surrounding air of paranoia that yields into self-importance and god-like status and the likelihood of boring the person reading this.
I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want people trying to
“fix” me or trying to “help” me. I want to be left alone.
I want to be understood. And I want to be able to do what I want.
Am I strong enough to overcome self infliction? Am I strong
enough to keep the monsters inside me at bay? No. No, probably
not. But I’ll be damned if I let them stay. So I’ll give up
this time, like I always do.. and let them pass through. Then,
I’ll be okay for a little while. Then, I’ll finally be fine.
Sooner or later, they’ll come back though. They always do..
I think I should nail these moments of happiness to the table, or
maybe just stitch them to my skin. I can’t seem to remember
happiness in the same way I remember sadness. Sadness burns and
aches and forces me to notice it. Contentment evaporates and
leaves me wondering if it happened at all. Sadness is deep in me,
in my heart and in the curls of my hair and it begs to be
remembered.
