jovie-poetry

[jovie-poetry]

I WANT TO TAKE MY HEART OUT OF MY CHEST AND BREAK IT MYSELF SO IT WON'T HAVE TO STRUGGLE THROUGH THE STEPS AND MISSTEPS ANYMORE.

in other words,

the same shit you've felt before,

of how futile love can be and how imploding.

and how futile it is to be devastated by what the whole world is devastated by.

and how lonely to mime screaming in bed in sync with the hundreds of others who must be doing the same. how good of an edit that would be.

no, bite harder, hit yourself harder, turn over, hit that and that and that, harder, and spend a few more dozen hours on it, pride yourself with it, eat more shit and worry about it, spend hours and hours in the shower, be completely fine for a while and then stop, fabricate a new philosophy where you'll be fine and loved, stop the spiral now and let it flow next time, walk a little faster, cow, lose your anchors to the world, recoil at your own face and at your own odour, redo the organisation, the cleaning, the drying, the trying, do some useless things and smile a little more, then smile a little less, then smile a little more, terrorise yourself in your own head – who doesn't like to see pretty things suffer – be completely normal for a while and then fuck it all up again, because you need something to believe in, you need something to feel and you have a lot to fill, you want to mean something, you have to, anything. spend a month's money in two weeks, eat your nails and eat your skin and of course, don't forget to replay the whole film

the whole world's doing it, it's the key to success

always more where that came from but i digress

thank god for consequence or i'd have been something messed up infinitely more

[jovie-poetry]

when the sun will shine down on me tomorrow, i will, with light, untether.

it's hard not to hate yourself when you can't do even the most basic tasks, when you can't uphold the duties and responsibilities that you volunteered for, when you get crustier every week, balder, slower. it's hard not to feel like a girl shaped monster made up of all things wrong when you feel like your star shaped, all devouring, super selfless and super selfish love for one and all is all going into the abyss, and the abyss keeps sending back four dimensional pain your way, pain like you haven't felt since you were twelve years old and completely, utterly alone. it's hard to learn everything you've already learned so many times, and do it over and over and over and over again without feeling like the stupid, fucking pathetic, weak. but you're not weak. you're still going, even if you're not walking straight. you feel you don't try, but people who don't try don't slowly kill themselves over the guilt of not trying hard enough. as always, it makes sense that this is your current state, god fucking damn it all to shit. but you weren't born to suffer. everything went all wack, too much happened at once, you exhausted yourself, desperate for belonging, for self-actualisation, desperate for the things at the top of the pyramid, but you didn't have the things at the bottom of the pyramid, idiot, and it collapsed on you, bystander victims and all. and it feels like all the good things from before are gone, but most of them are still there. you are a fucking mammal, don't forget. and we like comfort and we go insane outside our comfort and we will bathe in suffering if it means keeping our nervous system chill. you're trapped in a cage of your own making but you're not tainted, you're not unsalvageable, you're not changing beyond recognition. even if you were, you have to accept change eventually! nature changes every day, it flows, in constant motion, and that includes all the ugliness and all the death that we ignore when things are good. good things die. so it's okay to be bitter. i think you've earned the right. it won't consume you like love has. it's okay to be tired, it's okay to not give a fuck. you always give fucks about the things worth fucks. stop giving fucks about the things not worth fucks. consume yourself with love for yourself, and do it forcefully. do it brutally. force feed yourself love as if it were a torture method. do it like a paramedic. the errors with the method are for later. you can't be perfect when you're slowly forgetting what you believe perfect even means. the sketch is almost always ugly. the drawing's only just started being drawn. everything beautiful is made from layers of questionable quality, questionable morality, questionable value. be questionable. fuck it all to hell and come back from hell with newfound power. eat yourself whole.

[jovie-poetry]

hi. i have an instagram where i post poems. i think i kinda need a blog where i can do that. so that's what this is