Leftovers (4/5/19)

toritorytorie:

By the time I left you, 

there wasn’t much of me left to leave. 

Hearts heal, 

But it is miles more difficult to mend broken pieces of a subconscious together. 

It’s like doing a puzzle without the guide picture or all the pieces.

You picked pieces of me off like a sticker stuck desperately to a newly purchased mug. 

Tore and scraped and washed 

Until only remnants remained 

And I was unrecognizable. 

I wanted to yell that it wasn’t me. 

That I was trapped inside the prison of your expectations.

My eyes screamed and no one noticed. 

I couldn’t blame them. 

I never spoke up 

but how do you speak up when you’re pushed back down every time you try? 

I found it easier to give in,

allowing myself to become a blob of clay you could mold and

a sculpture you could chip away until I was your ideal masterpiece.

You didn’t break my heart,

You shattered my being. 

Empty (2/27/18)

toritorytorie:

So this is what it feels like.

Blurred words and hollowed thoughts.

Why do I think I’m the right one,

When I’m obviously so wrong?

I don’t know what to do. 

I don’t know what to think.

Everything feels so numb

Yet I feel every little thing at once 

My blood racing,

my heart pounding,

my breath stinging. 

How do I change who I am,

When I don’t know who I am? 

untitled (1/30/19)

toritorytorie:

I knew when I met you I was made to know you.

The glistening blues.

The soft greens hugging the black.

Like a clear pool of rippling water,

I am ready to dive deeper than imaginable.

You are my life jacket,

My buoy,

My submarine.

The small flecks of grey scattered throughout,

Like a Van Gogh painting that belongs in museums.

To observe,

To admire,

To fall into the smooth strokes and patterns.

I knew when I met you I would always know you.

gremlins (5/3/19)

toritorytorie:

I awake by microscopic gremlins coating the film of my body.

“Good morning!” they screech.

I flee to the sink, let the water flood my hands.

“Drown! You parasites!” I plead.

Violently scrub soap into my pores until my skin turns red and cracks.

It works. A sigh so full of relief it overflows into tears.

But only for a moment.

They emerge back to my skin,

Having the time of their life. Swimming through the oil that resides

And playing hide-and-go seek in the hair that sprouts.

They adore me and the playground I provide.

I despise them. I yearn for them to evaporate with the water I use as my faulty murder weapon.

All day, all night.

Every second I am awake I feel them filth my body,

Stealing my breath each inhale I gasp.

I can’t see them,

But I know they’re there. Taunting me. Using me.

I wash my hands, body, hair.

Six, seven, eight, thirteen times a day

It’s never enough! “Please!” I shriek, “Cleanse me!”

More and more water, more soap! They’re inside me now!

I swallow hand sanitizer gulp by gulp

“Kills 99.9% of germs!” They mock.

Fine! Hydrogen Peroxide, Bleach.

They’re laughing now, I have built them a new swimming pool, given them a waterpark.

Tear by tear squeezes itself out, each filled with gremlins.

This is their favorite ride, they race down the slide that was once my face.

My hands bloody and infected,

My eyes red and bloodshot,

My skin transparent and yellow,

My throat dry and raspy.

“Please, I beg you” escapes.

My hope halted by their glee and oblivion.

Floating (3/30/19)

toritorytorie:

The world comes to a calm
Like as if earth has stopped on its axis.
Tears are welling in my eyes.
Tiny plump droplets drip down my cheeks.
So happy.
Happiness soars from every pore of my body
Like a perfect hot air balloon floating alongside the clouds.
I wish I could trap this feeling,
Bottle it up.
Keep it safe and secure for a rainy day.
I am surrounded by loved ones
And fresh air.
The sound of laughter swarms my soul
Comforting me like a warm feathery comforter on a cold winter night.
I want to remember this when I feel so low and worthless—
feel this ease and safety when I feel like life itself is too much.

home (8/1/2019)

toritorytorie:

This morning I woke to the humming of a lawn mower nearby.
The tune almost brought me to tears imagining the scent of fresh cut grass.
I felt so at home.
Which is odd because I am exactly 378 miles from “home”.
Today I find myself in the middle of no where—
Maytown, Pennsylvania to be exact.
I’m lying butt naked in sheets that many have slept before,
Occupying a stranger’s home as it is mine.
The house is bright and warm,
Welcoming is an understatement.
The sun is acting as a spotlight for an American flag that covers most of the wall to my left
And all I feel is free.
But it isn’t because the mower is singing
Or the sun dancing
Or, God forbid, the just-a-bit-too-big flag.
It’s the person next to me sleeping with ease.
It’s his fluttering eyes and subtle snores lifting and deflating his sternum with each
Peaceful inhale and relieving exhale.
It’s the chest hair that gets caught in my mouth as he pulls me into him in a daze
And the gentle hands that caress my stomach
(A stomach that I would suck in to be taut at an instant, but for him, I let droop).
It’s how he holds my hand when we sleep
And pulls the comforter over me to assure I’m warm.
And when his pale ocean eyes shift open
and he sweeps my hair from my face
Meeting his soft lips to my oily forehead,
I don’t even mind the stench of his morning breath when “Good morning” timidly stumbles out.
And suddenly, for the first time, I am no longer daunted by the thought of a family and babies and bills.
Instead my body is swarmed with eager goosebumps,
And I crawl into his embrace, into my home.

god’s rain (4/17/19)

toritorytorie:

When I was young I told you

the scent of rain smelled like God.

That it provided safety and warmth to have such a secure feeling in my heart that I was resting in

His large, soft palm

As a cat in a plush blanket purring peace.

I told you His air blowing on my face taught me to breathe

and His paintings in the sky taught me to see.

We went to the big white building every Sunday morning where

The air smelled of damp Earth from the dew that kissed the grass.

Our little family made our trek through the aisles

Where old ladies sloppily smooched my cheeks staining them fuchsia

while the men firmly shook my tiny hands that smooshed my fragile bones

as we ventured to our usual wooden pew.

Gold, violet, vibrant red

blazed through the colored glass.

You told me that was God thanking me for coming,

I told you it was the sun happy to be sharing Her light.

We let the preacher preach his peace,

Yelling and spitting as he grew more passionate.

I would cry and shake as his voice escalated.

You lulled me, telling me “It’s okay, it’s God speaking through him”

But I couldn’t understand why God was so angry.

Years of oblivious servitude to this old white building,

Curious thoughts would creep in and out through adolescence.

You always told me not to question Him

But if I didn’t, I would now believe you would go to Hell for your sin.

And, I, too would be damned for carrying the weight of your lies.

My small mind couldn’t fathom why God would preach love,

but the words were filled with hate.

Now I’m older and I’m scared to tell you

I still smell the rain, but I don’t smell God.

neckwear:

officialfrenchtoast:

mysteryho:

yikes

preserumsteve:

jump into the hamiltrash can with me

chrspine:

_{@VancityReynolds Call me old fashioned, but sending a dick pic is disgusting and lazy. Real love means sending a nice bouquet of penises.}

badtalents:

love me a girl with glasses. bring that blind ass here ma. no…over here smh