meowmeowmeow9

[meowmeowmeow9]

you are hot to the touch; a forbidden thing

a scornful, grating image of disgrace

you are a sin, bird

and i am your kennel

to kiss you, the taste

of loose change, of chipped copper

of old and rotten erosion

you, bird, are my ugliest trait

i despise you; i abhor you; i condemn you

but at least we are in it together

[meowmeowmeow9]

i very much feel that i lay myself bare for people. it’s an ironic thing, because what i crave beyond anything is to be discovered, to be found, without handing myself over. there is so much of me, if you would only look. it is not until i am a thing of one’s past that they start searching for the artifacts that i have left in plain sight all along.

and i think that is the only way to truly love me. to search for me, in all that you can, so that in some way you may return to my arms and say, “i have discovered so much.”

something will cross my face that you have not seen before. i will hold your hands and they’ll be soft, and here you are, so dear to me. i would like to tell you just how much that i adore you. i would like to tell you that i am thankful. that you know me a certainly great amount better than many, that i would like to keep you here, for ever and ever, but there is no special way of saying it, no statement that does true justice to what i feel better than simply this: “you found me.”

that is how i would like to feel: found, discovered, and loved, as i have loved you, i have seen you in everything. i have listened and touched and witnessed all that i have been offered the opportunity to, of you, of what you love and see. i would like to make an entity of you that exists beyond likes and dislikes and thoughts and opinions. i would like to feel you, so that when there is a heavy breeze, your soul passes through me, and when i miss you dearly i can pay you a visit by touching my heart and closing my eyes, to relive our fondest memories of one another. you are more than what you are, you are an experience, you are an artwork, a being beyond humanity that i hold very close to me. you are my beloved friend and a gift i could never repay.

find me. i am looking for you always

[meowmeowmeow9]

out of sight and out of mind

i am quiet and ashamed.

the fool learns by losing

[meowmeowmeow9]

beloved

i never forget

i have grieved you already,

all of it already

i have grieved myself

she before her,

before and after

i will grieve you again,

her again

all that has been done and touched

and created and killed

all that you have seen

i have grieved it

i will grieve again, the world

and the breath that leaves me now

shall remain with her:

a pillar of everything, as everything has been and will be;

nothing at all

[meowmeowmeow9]

pretty little dove upon a tree

pretty little dove right next to me

what is that above?

i swear i see:

a pretty little dove upon a tree

[meowmeowmeow9]

the cold makes my legs shake; she makes me numb; she makes me vulnerable. it hurts, almost, the most pleasant kind of hurt, a hurt of love, how badly i love her, so much, i love her so much, and there or no words for it. sometimes, i make up my own, just to capture it: that pleasant hurt.

[meowmeowmeow9]

a telegram! i wonder of my sender and her spouse.

i picture us like standing opposite one another in a very crowded room, how two towers in a cluttered city gaze at each other from afar.

old friend, i'll take the tube as my pinky finger's cardinal thread feels the tug.

save your concern. all that is temporary. not me; i am still. still, i am, still, and yet, closer than ever

don't worry. winter is my time to be. i was built this way. my door stills ajar, i think of you while driving. you have taught me many things and with that you'll exist forever

[meowmeowmeow9]

i'm aware the diamond's brassed but i still possess the thought: regardless of your past a shrew, you are not.

i have considered the lilies and the sailors, and the sins i've pondered all the vanities, and the women, and the men the princes, and the brutes, and the cursing uncles tall and the friend who rarely checks in if, that is, at all.

it's frustrating, yes, but irrefutable: there's a warmth in my heart for each and so, i think, in another world i met you on the beach.

and that is where we spend our time laughing, dancing, worrying not drinking liquor lipped with lime and talking quite a lot.

[meowmeowmeow9]

i am the rib of adam

and i feel the turning of the wheel

prey, pet, parasite, regardless

it’s all the same blood when the book closes

let me be in the water: daisy fresh

let purity be where i lay

virgin and washed

and fragile, and small.

when you come into my room

and slip on the crimson

tell my mom it’s not her fault

[meowmeowmeow9]

[meowmeowmeow9]

september. what a spectacle of a month. were she a woman, i can imagine her long and snide, a tone about her that is off-putting, but not deterring. september, she gazes down her nose at you, eyes narrow. pensive maybe? that's the worst of it. you wouldn't know.

"a long year it's been." she'd say, and you'd agree with a silent nod, not daring to voice it. yes, we are all tired by now, and nobody looks forward to september--she's without holidays, unlike her triplet cousins (october, november, december), and without that flair of summer's youth, which is claimed proudly by her brothers and sister (june; july; august). she's a haughty, flaming phoenix of a woman.

september is the woman that men find themselves drawn to. she's damaged, they say. i can fix her. september is the woman that those men are wrong about. they're attracted to her pale skin and to the spider tattoo on her arm. she waits to be asked about it, but never is. even if they did ask, she'd probably answer with "i like spiders."

but september is more than that. she feels the gaze of passers by knowing that they don't think twice of her. on some days, she finds her face twisted in hurt and discontent, but quickly schools her expression, steeling herself before it can be noticed. her fear isn't to be forgotten: it's to be ignored.

she's an awkward shift of weight between summer and autumn, and a quaky pivot by the heel of passage into the ending quarter of the year. an honest answer about the tattoo might be that she has spent her life in the shadow of her cousin, and people seem to enjoy all hallows in her own month, and that the spider is her only sense of identity among the family. you'd consider telling her that the spider belongs to october, as it is in the spirit of october's holiday, but you'd be best not to. september is a girl of icy eyes and vulnerable heart.

yes, i see past the act of the spider-inked. conclusively, i'll say this and leave it to remain here, at the cusp of her sleep, as in 4 days she will rest and her cousin will be greeted with cheers: don't forget about september, and don't ignore her either. she is as lonely as you are.

[meowmeowmeow9]

24 september, 2024

it is late and i lay awake feeling restless, and sad, and strangely all nostalgic-like, so i've decided to write something because what else would a jane like myself do?

today has been different from other days. not majorly. i went about my usual day-schedule for a tuesday: arrive at school, attend class. turn in my chair and talk to my only friend in creative writing, and hope that he also thinks of me as his friend, and hope that he lingers to talk to me a bit after class ends, and watch him walk straight to the elevator not to. this is okay, i take the stairs. walk to my acting class in the locke building (my dreadful, terrible, drawn-out acting class that has no business being 2 hours and 20 minutes long). attend, stay afterward to spend time with my friends. text my mom, drive home, lay in bed. i don't think further explanation is necessary, i've rambled enough. you get the point.

and so i find myself today thinking more. this happens sometimes. it's not my favorite feeling, i wish there was a word for it. it feels tight, and heavy, but loose as well, as if i am clung to a cliff's edge by the pads of my fingers, weighing only feather-light on my own but hanging laden with sandbags by my ankles. if you were to hold your breath and clench your fists very very tightly while watching a leaf fall languid against softly cast sunlight, maybe that would replicate it.

there are moments in which it is almost too much. when the warmth of an anxious flush becomes scorching, and i worry that if i look down at myself i'll be bright red and peeling; when it starts to feel like thorns, blistered and piercing, are lacing themselves along me as if probing for a soft grip of vulnerable flesh. or maybe blooming from the inside out, curling long, clawed fingers at the lining of my heart-space, and after failing to make scraps of it, instead closing itself in a collapse that sends shocks and waves and a terrible caterwaul through taut and torn summer breathing. and god it's like swallowing a thick pill, one that stops on its way down determined against being flushed out with water.

i'm not making any sense. in short: feeling bad.

i have a habit of thinking that if i can find some pretty words to put to my suffering, that it will become interesting. i've quickly learned that "interesting" actually means "worthwhile." i've been out of pretty words for months, and there is nothing interesting about suffering. when you suffer, it is just that. it is not beautiful. it is not romantic. it is suffering. no, i've run out of pretty words. i have regular words. regular words will suffice. and with regular words i'll ask that you imagine me looking you in the eye, sighing between some sentences, and wrinkling my nose a bit awkwardly as i continue.

i took my last breath a year ago in april. spring has always been thick and furtive. think a shrill violin, untuned, beneath the grip of an inexperienced player. that is the so-called "charm" of spring and i have never understood others' favor for its ugly face. i'm distracting myself: april. i was in england, the ephemeral distance of being in a world separate from my own distinctly more apparent with every moment that passed me by. i know that i am still there: on the jubilee line, changing for waterloo and city lines, and national rail services. doors open on the right. this train terminates at stanmore. the train screeches as it takes away. "screech" isn't an exact word. it bellows like a bloated and angry bear. or mother. i am swaying at the movement, watching the lights gutter out over the backsides of blue carpeted seats, and where there are usually people, there is empty space. for a while i let myself believe i was the only person in the car, but that was unrealistic. the point is, that is where i was last seen. i have not moved from that spot since.

i have yet to truly comprehend the tragedy that is my own death. i know as well as anybody that death does nothing but entail birth, which i have accepted--but i understand better now what purgatory is meant to be. purgatory is the train car i cried on at 11:13pm in london, UK, a hard copy of the fifth science in my lap as i stared at my reflection in the dark glass window. purgatory is the shaftesbury bedroom with its back turned to the sun, hunched with arms wrapped over its trinkets, rings and dice and miscellaneous items that it knew i would snatch up for my own keeping. it is the moment in death in which you realize you've stopped breathing, and cannot if you try -- but have no need for it either. does that make sense? purgatory is a land far far away in which a large part of myself lingers, and shall remain.

maybe i do not understand purgatory. the irony of this is the paperback of dante's inferno that i had been gifted by the shaftesbury bedroom, but have not yet read all the way through. maybe i would understand it if i did. i'm getting ahead of myself.

i have felt for over a year that i am in some strange dream. as a child plagued with nightmares, i am capable of waking myself. this is no dream, presumably, this is the real thing. but something that i talk about often, to be fair possibly too much (my apologies if you've fallen victim to my rambling of this), is that i am a wonderer. i have always been, and still am, a wonderer. wondering to me comes easier than blinking and faster than waking. and so, i wonder: why this dream? this dream is no hell. it is no euphoria. i am regular. i go to regular school in a regular car, with regular classes and regular classmates. i know the answer, and it's "regular" that gives it away. this dream is brimmed with beauty, that one must look for. it will not be handed to you -- nothing will be handed to you. it is a plane of wanting and chasing, as the body sways so does desire, and as time balks at easing so does the human condition.

i have refused to pull the leash that life has held the end of, and so i have seen with my own eyes the stagnancy that instills, and i have despised it passionately.

friend, if ever life swings at you, do not submit. i implore you to turn the other cheek. should she swing again, extend your hand. if life is so bold as to land blow upon blow on you, there only one thing to do: smile. this pain is not pointless. life is a fickle fox and will take from you your brass when she is ready to offer gold. she will balter as you cry because she knows your tears will bleed into benefit: she knows you watch her. people only cast their gaze on the fox when she takes from them, and they watch her plainly. study her. life is no enemy. life is no friend. life is your counterpart, and what she wants is simple: to play. the fox favors defiance. raise your fist and life will laugh.

in simple words: to live contently is to accept the give and take. expect nothing. appreciate everything. and enjoy.

[meowmeowmeow9]

2 april, 2024

i thought i’d post a couple bits and pieces from my diary on this day. things i underlined are in italics. might not make much sense but i wanted to post something.

april 2

been a minute. i’m on a train. reminds me of london. it’s green out. with [cure]… and [man]. got a feeling he won’t last long. LOL. sorry [man].

headed to SF. should be interesting. i’m excited for the beach. i love the ocean. it’s like one big mystical creature. i’m best friends with the ocean, in case you didn’t know. you should ask. she’ll tell you all about me.

hung out with [pony]. wasn’t bad. we were (are) going to have a sleepover on wednesday. they wanted to cancel, so they could hang with their friends. that hurt my feelings. am i boring? technically i’m only here with [cure] because she needs me to be. but i feel like me and [cure] are getting pretty close. won’t dwell. i’ll talk to them about it. then go from there.

i miss london. the UK. maybe i could get mom to take me as a grad gift. i miss chinook too, but that’s not grad gift worthy.

—

pigeons break my heart. i saw one limping earlier. so sad. i’m not sure what to do now. maybe i’ll sit by the seals. nobody has dr pepper in the bay.

i feel like in big public spaces we all develop this crazy tunnel vision we don’t even realize is there. and we only think about ourselves. and even though we’re aware of all these people, they don’t exist. they’re just complements to the environment. like, accessories. and sometimes something happens to break the illusion, and suddenly someone is real, and it’s the strangest thing in the world for a time. and then you go and the memory removes itself as insignificant.

when the illusion breaks, the person becomes real, because now you have a relationship with them. earlier, it was you alone, you and nothing. but the interaction changes that — now it’s you and a stranger. for example:

there were a lot of people at the pier. i was alone.

‘a lot of people’ just describes the pier. picture that statement: you don’t think of the people. you think of a crowd.

someone ran into me at the pier. they said sorry.

‘someone.’ a person. ‘they.’ now you have a relationship with the stranger. they’re “the person who ran into you.”

i think that is very cool. i like strangers. and pigeons.

—

5pm now. god it’s cold. and windy as shit.

it’s not half bad, being alone somewhere. i really, really love the ocean. i should write something about that. i don’t know why i feel the need to make everything i write something utterly profound. i guess it’s because i’m afraid it’s not worth reading, if not profound.

i wish i would meet someone. tunnel vision is a curse. am i pretentious? would a pretentious person worry about being pretentious?

i just think that people are so beautiful

good day

[meowmeowmeow9]

i lowered myself in and cut the line

the moon, the sun, and the withered pine

have written you in gold up in my mind

so, what happens next?

is what i’d ask

i prefer the old fashioned ways

the breath, the touch and the way you look

i’ll show you what it is, i’ll show you what it is

and i’ll never ever forsake you

[meowmeowmeow9]

the rain is nothing, it’s you i wanna know

i have worn enough

to know that it is me, to ask the meadow

are you happy there? and can i see you?

in the water, you’re what i look for,

you’re what i look for

in the words, in the pages

“pumpkins for the ages”

and “for the ghosts”

still, come pale, come snowfall

you’re where i last saw you

say it with your chest or don’t say it at all

maybe i’m the fool who loves you too much

[meowmeowmeow9]

carrion

the death hound, he follows me home

i welcome him inside cos he’s got

no place to go

he says, “lady, you saved me,

and i’d like to pay it forward”

with his tail between his legs and a

wrinkle in his nose

“i love you to pieces,”

to the death hound, i said

“stop taking lives and take

my love instead”

so he wore a collar

and swore he was mine

for the rest of my life, and for

the rest of time

[meowmeowmeow9]

little love giver

little delight, whiskers of white,

little happy-life-liver

my best friend ever

with a mind so clever

and a chipper little call

that can make any song better

you’re the love of my life and the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen

i love you