c0g1t4t10n

[c0g1t4t10n]

I’m going to miss you I think, maybe one day, but right now I’m moving on

[c0g1t4t10n]

Sometimes I feel like a wild animal, paranoid and ready to lash out or run away. When my mind goes to its furthest depths I become that wild animal again, I lose my sense of humanity and devolve into something more primal. All I feel is the most dumbed down version of emotion, when that rot blooms in my chest again all I know is there is pain and ache, ready to lie down and let the rot consume me. I’m so tired of fighting the pain or defending myself, oh so very tired and wishing for a means to an end that’s as simple as possible. I know it’s not achievable, the rot is messy and dirty and can hurt outside of just my body, it can infect those I love most. But sometimes the rot can be fought, it will never fully heal, but devotion can ease the pain. You tend to me when the rot comes, you’ll bury your heart in my neck, no care for how close you are to the heart of the rot and tell me you love me a thousand times over. You’ll pull me close and tell me how much you love me and how pretty you think I am no matter how much I protest the statement. But every time somehow you fix the rot in my chest and mend the wounds no matter how temporary the fix.

[c0g1t4t10n]

you know i don’t love anyone but i love you

[c0g1t4t10n]

My mom played with my hair for a few seconds last night and I almost cried because I don’t know the last time she’d done that and I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that again

[c0g1t4t10n]

I often find myself having the desire to wander into the woods behind my house but I’m never left alone long enough and fear wandering eyes of the men who live near my house

[c0g1t4t10n]

Standing under scalding water,

Just to feel warm when I miss you,

I don’t need it like I used to,

Old comforts die hard like habits.

Brushing my hair slowly,

Just to mimic the gentle feel of your hands,

I act like you’ve been gone months,

You were just here yesterday

I feel myself becoming more attached every time you leave,

I hope that when you don’t have to leave you can still stomach me

[c0g1t4t10n]

Sometimes I find god in the backroads of my hometown and suddenly he’s not so scary anymore

[c0g1t4t10n]

It is hard to love when I’ve been left in the cold

[c0g1t4t10n]

Sometimes I miss girlhood in the oddest of ways, not in the sense that I long to be feminine again. In a way I want sleepover nights from middle school back, I want to hear my friends tired giggles in the dark, I want to watch horror films with them one more time. I crave the night walks we’d take, the cool air and sense of adventure that accompanied us knowing we really shouldn’t have been out so late. I miss the conversations that went everywhere and nowhere, that sense of belonging and acceptance. The games we’d play together devolving into lively conversations and jokes.

[c0g1t4t10n]

Sometimes I feel it, that familiar pang. The rot taking root and blooming in my chest again begins to burn, festering with red hot searing pain. It turns flesh into infection, rotting me from the inside out, climbing and fighting its way to my brain. Maybe one day the rot will win and take me wholly, I hope it’s perceived as peaceful, as I know it ultimately won’t be, a messy and ugly process. Others left to clean up what’s left of the rot will wonder why and I cannot tell them. They won’t know of the pain I couldn’t endure anymore, how my bleeding heart suffered. Unknown to the ones left to pick up my pieces how the rot turned my soul ugly and indigestible, how I felt pain and lashed out, all they’ll see is what’s left of me after the rot and wonder why I stopped fighting

[c0g1t4t10n]

I think I throw myself into being the older sibling for people I feel need protected because despite being an older sibling I was never made to feel loved or protected by the older siblings I did have, I was ignored, seen as a toy, and viewed like competition and I want to be the older sibling that makes someone feel loved and protected even at the detriment of myself

[c0g1t4t10n]

I think I’ll always compare myself to a stray dog, because it makes everything more palatable to think about and process. I’ll always be a hurt, kicked, and cornered dog lashing out when I feel my wounds being opened again. A wandering vagrant who can’t find a comfortable place to stay for long, it never lasts long, as soon as I think I’m settled and happy it gets forcefully ripped from my grip and I’m left a wanderer again.

[c0g1t4t10n]

Sometimes I feel like I don’t have time to slow down and be a human, I crave the slow mundaneness that life has to offer