Posted in Personal Blogging

A Shorter Note

I cut/trimmed my nails because I broke two the other day and writing with short nails on a phone keyboard when you’re used to long nails is the fucking worst ever. I keep tapping the wrong button every time I type. I’m used to writing with the side of my finger because my nails stopped the rest of my finger from touching anything… And now when I type like that my entire finger just jams whatever the fuck it wants and sometimes not even autocorrect can figure out what the hell I just attempted to write.

That is to say, I just typed that last post on my phone while in my bed, crying like the pathetic excuse of a human being I am. So if I missed any typos, sorry but my eyes and hands are not being very cooperative.

-L.

Oh, ps: if anyone I know in real life is reading this, “hi! Don’t ever mention any of this to me or I’ll probably die of shame.”

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Posted in Poetry

Above it All

Above it all,

I am a coward.

And I don’t mean it because the dark makes me breathless

Or because my brain conjures up

A thousand and one ways I could die.

 

I’m a coward because I cannot face my flaws.

I’m terrified of losing people

And because of that I keep them at arms-length.

 

I don’t like being reminded of my flaws,

I don’t like having flaws.

I don’t like second and triple and octuplet guessing my every move,

And hurting people because of that.

 

I’m a coward because I hurt you

Because even now I can’t explain why

Can’t talk about how tight my chest gets

How stupid I am for forgetting it all.

 

And I can’t even say I’m sorry.

-L.

 

 

Posted in Poetry

Fragments

I know that life and circumstances

Have made you into who you are,

Pushing pieces and shrapnel until they fused into a weapon.

 

I understand that you are a part

That you’re not whole

And what it costs for you to exist fractured as you are.

But it’s hard to love like you do.

 

Pulling and pushing and tearing

You turn everything into shrapnel

Mincing and grinding the world into something you can understand.

 

Because possession and desperation are not love,

Cannot be.

Should not be.

But that is how you hold onto things.

 

You sink claws and teeth

Until there’s nothing left

Until there’s just you and your poison

Coursing through a tired system of lies

Whose only crime was to try to love like you.

 

Buy who could love like you?

Who could love you when you think love equals pain?

 

And I understand that circumstances shaped you

In part

Into who you are.

 

But I also know that the ocean can soothe marks on the sand.

It can erode the sharpness out of rock and shattered glass.

 

You never had someone teach you how to not be glass,

But you held an ocean in the palm of your hand.

 

It didn’t drown you,

You wouldn’t let it.

But you consumed it.

 

You made it impossible to love you

By poisoning the waters that were made for healing and soothing.

You drowned in bitterness the one thing that could hold your fragments together.

 

It is hard to love like you.

It is impossible to love you.

-L.

Posted in Writer's Block

An Excuse

This isn’t an update. This is an excuse.

A long one.

Yeah, you see what I did there? ha!

So I’m done being pitiful (refer to my previous post for an explanation about that) and now I’m being a dick.

So you probably noticed (I mean if you are one of the 5 people who constantly read my Secondary Sundays) that I’ve not updated in a while. And yes, I know I said that was due to plot reasons. And the first time it was.

Now I have two shitty excuses for my lack of updating:

  • My computer fucking died again.

Should I get a new one? Probably, but I’m not swimming in cash around here and I have to save money first, so D:

And yes, I had the arcs mapped out in a notebook and some snippets of stories in a google drive. Buuuuuuuuut I’m an annoying person and (I don’t know if anyone feels like this about their writing) I don’t like losing things! Even if I end up changing everything from the preliminary drafts, if I don’t use that preliminary draft I feel like something is missing. I don’t know, but it feels like it could’ve somehow been better? Like whatever I wrote first is infinitely better than anything I came up with afterward.

So yeah, I suck.

  • March has been kicking my metaphorical ass.

Yes, yes I know: But Laly you haven’t updated since at least mid February! You promised to be better and have another story by now! 

Well, I suck.

And March has been kicking my ass since mid February. Since February, 16th to be precise.

My brain is just a mess and I’m very jittery all the time, to the point that I annoy myself.

I am working on all three projects right now and I’ll update as soon as possible. With the Paranormal stories I don’t mind posting them all together, since they are basically chapters of a story, but Secondary Sundays, because of plot, must be updated once a week. I might break that rule and post two SS together this weekend, or not. I will see later.

And those were my two excuses! Sorry about being shit and all the delays. I can’t promise I’ll become Ms. Responsibility from now on, but I can assure you that I feel immensely guilty about it all 😀

-L.

Posted in Personal Blogging

An Update

Hello strangers from the internet.

This is not an excuse. This is an update.

A very small update.

So, March has been absolutely kicking my ass in a way I did not see coming. Mostly I know it’s all in my head. But the problem of having something in your head is that it distorts your view of the world and it feels like it’s real. Even more so if there’s vague but undeniable evidence of it being sort of real.

Yeah, I know what Dr. Strand would say, Apophenia “the tendency to perceive a connection or meaningful pattern between unrelated or random things (such as objects of ideas)”(According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary). Oh, Dr. Strand is a character from the podcast The Black Tapes.

So, yeah… I’ve been feeling a bit down lately. I think most of it has to do with being back home and away from my friends.

Friends. What a funny word for someone who didn’t believe such a thing was even possible for the longest time.

I do believe I have friends now but… well, this is where the fucked up things in my brain try to mess everything up.

The thing is that I remember.

I remember what it was like to have long stretches of silence, only broken by unkind words. I remember what it felt like to be sitting in a room full of people, thinking, believing, that at least one of them was my friend, but no one talked to me. And I remember what it felt like when the person who shut me out, who ignored me and even talked about me behind my back, came back for me.

I remember what it was like, sitting there in the dark knowing that hers was the only hand I would ever get to hold. And I knew that she had power over me, that her hand was never freely given. I knew that her friendship had conditions (my silence and complacency chief among them).

And I remember liking it, and then not.

I remember harsh words, truths that had never being spoken. I remember the tears and the promise to never let this happen again.

Never again.

I remember how it felt to hold myself in a space so small it was a wonder that people could see me. But people who don’t like you can always see you. And they see right through you, right through lies and defenses, and they can hurt you.

I remember being hurt.

And I remember friendship like an alliance, a bond to keep each other afloat.

Nothing was ever sincere. We didn’t exist to share and be kind, but to form a shield against the world. But this friendship also had conditions (silence and pretenses).

We were okay.

To this day when we meet, we agree that we are okay.

But we were all made of different jagged pieces, and  I know that in another universe, without a broken heart I could’ve grown to love them… and maybe they could’ve loved me.

Friendship is not about who laughs with you, it’s about who laughs and then shares the world with you.

My world is terrifyingly small, plagued by shadows, and ghosts, and fears that not even I can understand.

I am terrifyingly small.

But I did make friends later on. I did share my world. And I gave myself away in between panicked breaths and broken pieces.

But I can still remember all that came before. I remember the tears and the pain, mistrust and being shut out. I remember thinking “Oh, this is how dogs feel, I guess.”

I remember she loved dogs.

And now I’m here, where present and past are being mixed together by a stupid brain.

I know it’s not the same but I still feel like somehow, I’m still the dog. Like you can talk to me, and call for me, and shut me out, and only pay attention to me when you please, and I’ll still be here.

I will always be here, because in this universe, in this broken version of myself I do love my friends.

And it’s not their fault, it’s mine. It’s my fucked up brain.

And I know (and hope) no one I know will ever read this, and that’s why I’m writing it here. I just wanted an excuse to be pathetic and pitiful, just this one time. Because when I talk things through, or say them aloud, they lose their power over me. Or, maybe I realize how silly I was being.

So, I guess this is my short essay of a life update: March is kicking my metaphorical ass, my friend (Jenna) is still mad at me, but I guess that is fine. I have to apply to a scholarship to be able to go away. My cousin is better than she was before. I have not self-harmed even though I wanted to. And I’m still looking for a job.

Yay.

-L.