#readables
If I could tell her all the things she needs to hear, I’d start with how the stars sleep in her eyes. I’d tell her there’s a warmth in her belly that spills out when she laughs. I’d tell her she grows blossoms from bruises, that she mends herself when she breaks. I would tell her ink stained fingers mean so much more than bloody wrists, that crumpled pages carry more truth than a crumbled soul. I’d tell her to carry her bones with strength, they’re the only home she’ll ever keep. I’d whisper the winter out of her heart, clear the way for spring to start. I’d sing the sorrow out of her, drain the pain from her skin. I would remind her that the war in her head is only in one hue, she’s so much more than just blue. If I could tell her all she needs to know, I’d have her face the mirror, show her all she needs is here.
Isabel Cabrera / self love
I can’t keep digging myself out of this grave each morning. The weight of misery mounted on my chest is too much. This bag of bones, this mess of mind and hair, this ink stained flesh; all too heavy to hold. The hope is slipping out of my fingers, threads cling to broken nails, get caught on sharp edges. Seams stitched just to come apart again, scars heal only to be reopened. I am a melted and mended child. A tattered and torn up soul. I can’t continue to drag my feet across this earth, it hands me nothing but broken promises. I’m sick of walking on shattered wishes. I am a corpse gone cold, lying in a bed made for giving up. I heal only to hurt, love only to lose, live only to survive. Let me lay here, let me forget to come back to life.
We are quiet lovers, free in the streets. We hold hands under tables, and make love in the light. We carry each other’s secrets along with the weight of a world. We hang onto hope, dangle on dreams, we sleep in the clouds and string together our seams. We fight for the good, bury the bad and fix the broken. We’ve learned to strip the lies, fish out the sadness in our eyes. My love, with you I have grown. With you, I found a home. In your arms we formed a shelter, in my limbs I tangle you before you tear. Every word I kept locked in my throat, you’ve heard, you’ve read. Every moment I dread and fear, you make sure to be here. You fall, I bruise. I cut, you bleed. We are a single soul split in two.
There is a song in my mind, and she sings in sorrows. Some days it’s a quiet melody, a simple hum. Other days it’s a mess of words, a scream into silence. It’s a raging voice, reckless and ready to ruin me.
There is something within me that does not sleep, does not tire. An endless muscle working at wearing me down. A monster trapped between bones, gnawing and clawing. This voice in my head is disguised as my own, it whispers worthless words, wishes death upon my soul. I have no control. Pills down my throat, a razor to wrist, a scream into abyss, it’ll never be enough. It’s getting too big, taking up too much. There’s no space left for me, no room to heal or grow. I am a visitor in my own mind, a prisoner in my own shell. I’ve taken on a new meaning of personal hell.
My bed feels more like a coffin these days. Holding this sleepless shell of mine, holding this heavy hollow heart. A body so empty of life, the warmth ripped out of my bones. My veins carry a shade of blue, painted from the sadness; strokes of red against my wrists. I am here, a haunting presence, a shadow of a soul, but I am also gone. A lost memory, a quiet voice faded and forgotten. I haven’t felt alive in awhile, I’ve been hidden in the dark, wandering outside the locked door. Too terrified to knock, too hesitant to ask for help. I watch from the window, who I am has drowned in the sorrows that sink my skin. My reflection might as well be a stranger, a face without a name, a story unheard. What is suppose to be my home might as well be a ghost town, a shelter broken and burning, we abandoned each other long ago.
when i look at people older than me, i often wonder how they made it here. how life didn’t swallow them whole. i study their faces like a map, i see the pools of weariness in their eyes. i see the way wrinkles dangle around their mouths, how the lines seep into their skin, little reminders of how long they’ve lived. i glide my eyes over their hands, the signs of growth and age splattered on their knuckles. i wonder about the stories they’ve gone through, i wonder if they were the protagonist or the antagonist. i wonder how they managed to wake up, to sleep, to exist through so many days and nights. i get overwhelmed. ican’t even fathom the thought of tomorrow, i can’t look at it with willing eyes, i can’t embrace it with open arms. instead, i dread it. i look at all the days i’ve lived, and they hang around my head, all the old memories, they haunt me. and so i wonder how they did it. i wonder how they’ll continue to do it, until death decides it’s time to take them. i wonder if i’ll ever get there. if i’ll ever look in the mirror, and the fine lines growing across my face will be normal, welcoming. i wonder if my days will be worth waking up for, if the thought of tomorrow will become a gift i’m lucky enough to receive. i can’t picture myself like that, aging, embracing. i can’t muster up a version of me with gray hair, and crepe skin. i’ve always thought i’d be gone too young, that this sadness would sink me into my grave before a wrinkle could settle into my fake smile. i’ve been convinced i won’t make it out of this battle alive; that this darkness is too strong, too thick to break through. i don’t know if i’ll ever be an old soul. but i do know i’ve been a drowning one. a lost one. a dying one.
You know what I hate the most?
I hate you for always being there for her as much as I want you to be with me. I hate the way you look onto her, the way you hold her because for a moment, I felt like she was holding my universe. I hate it when you always have to leave me just because you will need to fetch her and ask her out. I hate the fact that even when you left me, I am still a fool waiting for you to return. I hate it when you ask me about what she likes, about the things that make her uncomfortable, I hate it when you always pay attention to the things she love to do, while I am stuck here, seeing how persistent you are on waiting for her. I hate the smile you wear as her name flashes your screen. I hate the way you misses her. I hate the way you talk to her, I hate the way you bring her name on our conversation. I hate the way you tell me how much you love her and the things you are willing to risk for her. I hate it. I hate how dense you are. I hate the fact that after all these years, you never noticed me, but I am still clinging onto you. I hate the fact that I love you as much as you love her. I was here even before she came and I will probably be here if she decided to leave you one morning. The fact that I have to support your love for her and I can’t compete with her because she’s way better than me, slowly kills me.
I was waiting for you to look at me too, but maybe I will stay like this, loving you in silence.
—the danger of one sided love j.a
I tried giving up a lot of times.
But then my eyes kept opening
and my feet continued walking,
not wanting to leave me hanging
without giving life another try.
One more time. Let’s give it another try. // ma.c.a
Sometimes you’ll find comfort in what your mind says, even if it doesn’t fit with the answers that your soul is truly asking for.
I don’t know what you’re capable of // ma.c.a
“I want to wake up to a sunrise that doesn’t mean another day of struggling to survive.” she said. “Am I the only one? Who wants a naturally tranquil and pleasant life?” she said, wondering if anybody thought the same thing. “You know how much I love the sunrise, but lately I’m sleeping too much, but it’s not enough. It seems that I’ve lost sight of how beautiful a new day was.”
Heavier // ma.c.a
You’ve been with yourself from the very start, so if ever you’ll wander away, you can always come back.
I’m a little lost // ma.c.a
when things are not FINE // ma.c.a
“You know, I don’t want to be like this, too. I’m trying, and I know some people haven’t seen me do that. Because sometimes it’s not visible to anyone.” he said. “I wanted to be so in love with life that I will have no more time to overthink about what will come next. I wanted to have a clear mind that there’s no more chance for me to worry about anything.” he almost laughed, then continued, “I mean, who would never want that?”.
I don’t want to tell you, but here // ma.c.a
“And I realized that what I want to end is not my life.” she said. “But what makes me hate living.”
It’s that time of the year // ma.c.a
when things are not FINE / ma.c.a
when things are not FINE // ma.c.a
Chasing your dreams starts with taking one step to move forward—no matter how little it may seem.
You don’t have to run, at the beginning // ma.c.a
It’s not that easy to believe that things will get better, when all you’re feeling in the present tells you that nothing will ever change.
But the world still revolves around—the storms will eventually stop, and the sun will continue to rise over and over—again.
give it a chance // ma.c.a
And if you could find something to admire about someone else, I hope you’ll at least try to do the same thing—to yourself.
why would it be so hard? // ma.c.a
Sometimes it’s going to be suffocating but give yourself some time to breathe. You’re moving according to your own timeline and no one can do it best except for you.
Beautiful things take time // ma.c.a
