when you take a shot on a party night, and to your surprise it was the last drop that sent you to shit.
Its
the swallowing motion that uproots the horizon line
The shot that gave the world permission to unhinge at the seams and slowly drift into pieces of itself, merging and melting into etcher.
The skyline becomes diagonal and you stand without footing.
a cloud to the left,
and the sun to the right,
blinding.
And there I am, unable to keep my stomach juices in agreement with the world
they riot, they fight gravity as they claw their way into my esophagus
and I am winded.
numb and unable to move.
Disgustingly familiar.
So I don't
and I sit there, I lie there, forced to think without train of thought.
What did he tell you? What do you think happened? Did he convince you that my hurt was bigger than his? that I am crazy and making these things up? That I crafted this night of uprooted mess?
The night where pain an nausea were conquered by denial. The very night where my body began a civil war in protest, to keep me away...
Did he tell you I was the one who did that? Did he tell you I was never into you? That I never felt love for you?
... Did he tell you the truth? Did he say that I used you -- that I hurt you out of fear?
Or did you piece that together without him whispering in your ear.
Could you see through it? Is it cause I hurt you?
Because
regardless,
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I hurt us. I'm sorry this happened to me. I'm sorry I did that to you.
Over time I've been able to put it into words and
It --
he
-- turned my hands and tongue into blades.
I tried to love, I tried to live my own and just grow...
to continue, onward.
I'm sorry I didn't realize that I had blades.
They're fingers now. and I want to believe that your blades towards me were his making.
That you haven't grown attached to them. That you remember who I am. That you remember us.
I want to believe you're ok. That you're safe.
That he stopped before you became a couple. Before you first kissed.
Before he made you feel safe.
I've heard that story too many times. I know. I was there. I was safe, too. I thought. I think...
I, don't
really know. I just. I just want it to be over. I want that part of him, of them, to be over. Too many of us have blades that we didn't ask for. And cutting people only makes more of us bleed.
If you ever need someone to remind you that you are your own kind of beautiful,
fuck that.
If you ever need to be reminded that you are your own...
I can't do that for you,
But I can be there kicking people away until you decide who can come near.
Who you want to see.
Who you want to touch.
Who gets to talk to you.
I want to believe that you don't need me. That you don't need this interaction like I still do.
I want to believe that you hate me for my actions and not for his words.
That I hurt you.
That he hasn't.
