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I am not who I wasand I am not sure who I will becomebut I will be filled with love again somedaythe kind of love that quiets rageand this gives me a reason to press on the blood& the bones
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I know not how to be one line.. I never did. It is only ever enough to be on every page you can’t stop turning or filling up in the novel you never want to stop writing.. the blood& the bones
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You say you have never felt addiction..That you do not give in to certain types of temptation..Refusing to relent to anything that could create a craving so overwhelming that common sense would escape you ..pulling you into reluctant dependency.. But I promise, I warn you even, to the detriment of your self control and way…
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I do not know who I am anymoresince I became a child without a mother..But I would give anything to go back.Go back to a time when maybe I could have saved you.Instead of running in these circles of griefwith a stranger’s face and a back that threatens to break.No one understands what I have…
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• I was their Medusa, your Athena and his Persephone. Always someone’s myth to swirl in their mouths and alter the retelling… Confusing me as only capable of a sole existence.. No layers or complexity, no duality. Their eyes half closed to the whole of me and ever only capable of capturing one side of…
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• Because of what they could not or chose not to give, as it had not been given to them, whether it was time or love or praise… Because of this, I know I look for it in barren places. Places it must be scavenged for.. dug out from dark and depths and men wary…
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• yes sir • he says comeor cumand my bodyrefusing to refuse himwithor withoutmy permissionwill always respond the blood& the bones
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• i am a rib cageall bonesand half finished wallsfor a once hungry heartand windows where a bit of light leaks throughbecause somehowI am still something soft and good tooI am bloodand breathand a kind of loveand even painwelcomed or unexpectedunderstanding more than anythingthat a life without it would not be livingbut I am not…
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My back is pressed against the bed.. Curved into the mattress and the rails. One warm and soft and the other cold yet not unpleasant. My face turned upward as my trembling knees settle into the plush of the carpet. He has explained, so matter of factly, that very soon he intends to make me…
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they wantperfectionand IwellI am chaosmessyflaweduntamedwith scars they can seeand far too manythey won’tand some daysI love this about mebut whenI am leftto walk alonetoo free to be heldtoo wild to be shelvedwhich is mostly alwaysit’s those daysthatI don’t the blood& the bones
