The fact that such horrendous, disgusting, hateful violence is allowed is sickening. It just makes me so fucking angry.
Always summer?
No, of course not.
But you’re learning and growing and young still.
You have to remember that.
I watched your fingers curl inwards as your hands clenched into fists. It hurts and it’s scary and I know.
You’re biting your lip now, trying to contain it all: the frustration, the anger, the hatred. The sheer terror.
The feeling that you’re falling into yourself and that you’ll never, ever be able to climb out.
I can see the fight in the tilt of your head and the hunch of your shoulders. I can see the way you feel as if you’re about to implode, or explode, or both. I want to reach inside you and tear it out, but some battles have to be won on your own. All I can do is say “I love you” and “I’m here” and “I believe in you” and hope it works. Because I’ve got nothing else.
I’m sorry.
Darling, you can do this. You’re strong enough. You just have to keep going.
Because apparently some people actually write good stuff when they’re seventeen.
Go check him out at audioboo.
(EDIT: Just to clarify, he is now no longer seventeen, but in his mid-thirties. Just in case you were wondering.)
Your name is beautiful;
it makes me think of
dew soaked grass and
summer days.
Are you bleeding a lot?
Yes.
I bet you’re beautiful too-
soft but strong like leather,
you heavy-metal girl.
Put pressure on it.
(I don’t want to) Okay, darling.
You can survive this.
Blowing out the birthday candles one more time
is not far off.
You’ll be free,
one day.
Is it still bleeding?
A bit. It’ll stop soon though.
Okay.
I don’t know if it ever stopped.
ONE DAY MORE
ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER DESTINY
‘TIL I CAN BREAK THESE BOUNDS OF DRUDGERY
THESE TEACHERS WHO DON’T CARE ABOUT
ANYTHING BUT END RESULTS
ONE DAY MORE
I DID NOT THINK UNTIL TODAY
THAT ALL OF THIS WOULD EVER FINISH
TOMORROW I’ll BE WORLDS AWAY
AND LIFE WILL FINALLY HAVE STARTED
ONE MORE DAY WITHIN THESE WALLS
(I WILL NOT MISS THEM WHEN I’M GONE)
ONE MORE DAY WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE
(WALKING SLOWLY THROUGH THE HALLS)
WHO I HAVE TO SMALL TALK WITH
(WILL YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE)
EVEN THOUGH I DO NOT CA-A-A-A-RE
ONE MORE DAY UNTIL I LEAVE
(NO MORE STARING INTO SPACE)
AT THIS DEAD-END OF A SCHOOL
(THERE IS NOTHING HERE TO DO)
WHEN THE BELL AT LAST WILL RING
(I’ll NEVER HEAR THAT SOUND AGAIN)
AND I’LL FINALLY BE FREE
THE TIME IS NOW
THE DAY IS HERE
Because good music.
She used to hug the chimney. It was warm, you see, and she could wrap her limbs around it and press her forehead to it and feel, almost, safe. It was sort of like that experiment they did where they took a monkey away from its parents at birth and raised it bereft of any affection and so it would just cling to this ball that the scientists had hung from the ceiling because, well, it was the only thing to stop it floating away. And this girl would hug the chimney for the same reason, not because she’d been deprived of affection, but because she sometimes needed something to root her, and she sometimes needed a source of external flames because the internal ones seemed to have been extinguished.
I saw your face, once.
It was gutted and chipped out of stone.
I wanted to take it,
caress it,
smooth it out into smiles,
but I couldn’t.
I’m sorry.
I was too busy trying to free my legs
from the trees that engulf them;
my roots reach through the earth and tie me
down.
(Though I know that’s no excuse.)
More excellent radio drama.
(Warning: only a day left to listen. Go, go, go.)
(Although it is available to download from audiogo for £1.99 if you run out of time.)
I missed you so much that my heart hurt
aching with each indrawn breath and
touch
of my skin against the sheets
(lying in the darkness and feeling
your hands down my back-
ghost hands, ghost heartbeat)
The day you left was like the trees turning gold
at the end of another summer;
it was beautiful, but I wish
I wish
you could be here with me
why aren’t you here with me?
curled hands and toes touching
and crinkled smiles
God, I miss your smile
I miss your smile
I miss your laugh
I miss your hair
I miss your hands
I miss your life
I miss your soul
I miss your faith
I miss your wit
I miss your..
I miss your…
I miss your heart
and your pulse, and your love
and it hurts, love,
it hurts.
this is what heterophobia would look like if it was real. if you believe that heterophobia is a real thing that exists, please watch this because you will see that it simply doesn’t exist, that it never has and never will.
tbh I think everyone should watch this anyway because it’s very clever and very powerful
Whenever I see someone’s written “idk”, I always read it as “I dinnae ken” and then have to rethink it and go, no, wait a minute, “I don’t know”.
Does anybody else experience this?
