Just The Kind Of Thought, youtube mp3 indir
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kind of just thoughts - original poem
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I remember when you repaid me by walking ahead of me in the streets of New York City so strangers thought you didn’t know me.
I remember the days where I couldn’t distinguish between my love for you and backhanded compliments from my childhood.
I remember attending to your insults like a little girl who missed the goal and forgot to bring her pinny to practice.
You threw things at me and I was conditioned to catch them, but not to clean up the blood dripping off my body—rather just so you couldn’t yell at me for missing that, too.
You pulled my body into yours every night, but not in the name of love;
Were you ever able to wash the day away?
I know I got tired of brown water circling the drain.
Here’s to the meals I didn’t take, the lines that won’t fade, the dead-skinned patch on my elbow from eating just the concrete in my last effort to make you stay.
You’re as heartless as ice, as temperamental as the seasons, as lost as balloons in space.
You’re duller than the razors you tried to destroy.
You’re more bitter than apple cider vinegar and more pungent than straight chlorine.
You’re more of a dick than every man I shouldn’t have been with,
and yet you’re more fragile than grandma’s fine China and weaker than the drugs that still couldn’t get me through the day.
Your commitment to showing love resided in the Christmas lights I used to tie your totaled trunk closed.
The one before you hurt me too, but I still remember sunny days by the Jessamine Creek George of Wilmore, Kentucky.
I hear your name and I feel a cold, bloody ground, I see middle fingers in the back of cop cars, and I wear your laundry that I should have never kept in my drawers in my room.
You have burned every happy memory in the name of arson.
Your face is deformed in my dreams in the name of vandalism.
All you ever did was fucking take.
I’m across the country, but I still feel your hands mangle my ability to let him touch me sweetly.
I dissociate in the shower, like I’m still scrubbing you off.
I wish these were kind of just thoughts that come and go, but they’re nightmares, they’re terrible test scores, they’re the declining number on the scale, they’re the shots of vodka and the toilet seat I use as a pillow. They’re sleeping pills, they’re flights that cost too much, they’re the times I went to his house this summer just because you never wanted me to. They’re mixed bowls of hair dye and holes in my ears and social media platforms I only keep to stay a step ahead of you. They’re letters I’ve ripped, emails and texts that I’ve typed and deleted. They’re knocks on my door from my father, pity hugs from my mother, and coloring books and stress balls from my therapist. They’re rules I never wanted to abide by and coerced meetings with a woman I secretly wanted dead who never had a single ounce of real authority, but every stick known to mankind up her ass. They’re the breaths I wanted to take less and less each time someone told me to calm down. They’re the ways I schemed how to be worse each time someone told me I was bad. They’re the times I was told to stop acting and to just kind of have thoughts instead.
I still remember how you were all of me, and I wish I could forget how you were nothing like me.
And now that I’m kind of just thinking,
rot in fucking hell.