#excerpts from a book i'll never write

[scriptastra]

[survivingthehorrors]

I am my father’s daughter.

Except… I’m not.

I’m not cruel.

I’m not reactionary.

I’m not unfair. Or unwilling.

I’m not scary. I’m not angry.

I’m not the werewolf in my dreams. The one that lurks, and preys, and waits until I let my guard down to eat away at me.

I don’t demand people’s fear because I’m too afraid I won’t earn their respect.

I have empathy. I have emotional intelligence.

I’m not my father’s daughter.

No. Not at all. Not even a little bit.

Except…I think that maybe I am.

I think about that time when I made a girl cry in middle school because she made me feel small.

Or the time I called my landlord a cunt because she made me feel weak.

How many times have I taken someone’s power

to stop feeling powerless?

I think I am my father’s daughter.

I think he’s in every part of myself that I hate.

I think that maybe he was his father’s son.

I think he’s tried and failed to cope with his monster.

I think I’m destined to repeat the cycle.

But fuck destiny. I’ll create my own.

I’ll scratch and claw away at the monster he's made me until it learns to fear me.

I’ll eat that monster down to its bones.

I’ll swallow it whole.

I am my father’s daughter.

But I’m trying not to be.

[beforeyearning]

quiet musing in the kitchen. click for better quality. full transcript under the cut.

I love you. I don’t know what to do with my hands. If I stay

idle I think I would spontaneously combust, so I nervously

clean the kitchen. I put on the kettle, and heat up some

biscuits. The kitchen is a great hiding place, so I say it again,

I love you. You won’t hear it over the roar of the kettle &

hum of the air-fryer. At times, loving you feels like a

balancing act, because yes, I’ve forgotten to eat today

but I worshiped you in a hundred novel ways.

There’s a certain intimacy being hunched over a

couple of ripping hot pots and pans, transforming

the raw into something delicious. Maybe that’s why

I feel comfortable in the kitchen & with loving you—

love as an act of transformation, so I love you more,

so I can be anyone else but me.

[rizuuspoetry]

[heretoobsessstuff]

“we’re all gonna miss major Cleven, sir”.

Major Cleven John thought bitterly. Gale. Sweet beautiful Gale. Gale who was there. In the cockpit. Fighting for his life while John was sleeping next to a random woman. Gale who was falling from the sky. Living his last moments. Losing blood. In pain. Scared and cold and alone. While John was here in London. Drinking and coaxing a random woman to spend more time in his bed. Where was Gale now? His Gale. Laying on the dirt and mud somewhere? Lost in some distant German field with no one to look for him? His ocean blue eyes forever closed? What had become of him? Of his Gale? Was anything even left of him?

John felt sick with anger. His thoughts ran wild with no one to tame them. I should’ve never left him alone. I should’ve been up there with him. Protecting him. Looking out for him. It was supposed to be me and him left up in the sky. Not me in London and him lost somewhere I can never reach. It’s all my fault. I failed him. I failed him. Grief clawing at his throat. Suffocating him. His eyes stinging with unshed tears and the lump he had swollen down a hundred times with the alcohol. He needed to go. Avenge Buck. Or find him. Or join him. Wherever he was.

“Don’t worry Kenny” he said. Jumping into the Jeep. Hands shaking. “I don’t even feel it”.

[hakaan05]

Im not asking for the world, only you.

Come to my doorstep soaked and I would have had everything I asked for, muddy my carpets and invade my home with everything you, and I shall buy carpets in your favorite color

[evergreenwords]

The ever watchful eye.

The ever watchful I.

The watcher on the westward wall

The wretched on the sky.

Crested on the burning lips.

The Red Sea thrashes foam.

Its waves etched you in pages

In eternal, wretched tome.

Boiling in our waters we created to observe.

Cast in our productions we are sure that we deserve.

- s.z (They’re Watching)

[amitoobroken]

I’m afraid that the parts of me that feel broken will be too loud, too dark, too messy for him to keep loving

[booshoos]

i think i’m healing— but it still feels strange to breathe.

i move through the days with lighter steps, carrying less of you than i used to.

but sometimes, when the air forgets to move, i remember what it felt like to be loved by you.

and for a moment, the weight returns— heavy as regret, a shadow passing through my chest.

but then i laugh, and it no longer tastes like guilt.

i’m finding pieces of myself i buried deep— parts of me you never let me keep.

i feel the light of the girl i used to be— the one who laughed too loud, was a bit too wild, a bit too free.

the one you never let me be.

[scriptastra]

[tinysoultimetravel]

[mynameshouldbeadirtyword]

[rizuuspoetry]

[hakaan05]

There are still bits of pieces of you, residue of pretenses disguised as promises that linger. I am over you, yes, but you have stained me like glass, colored me in your ways that could only be removed by shattering. I like the way I turned out.

[amitoobroken]

My brain doesn’t know how to hold love that isn’t laced with conditions. It flinches at the softness, waits for the twist, expects the door to close. Because somewhere along the way, it learned that love always meant shape-shifting. That to be loved, I had to be different—quieter, easier, less. So when someone says they love me just as I am, my brain doesn’t trust it. It’s not because I doubt them. It’s because I’ve spent so long doubting me

[thejourneyblog]

Time was infinite and scarce with you. Infinite in the amount of ways I wanted to be with you, Scarce in the amount of time there would be to do them.. but lets try anyways