At Least I Sleep Through the Night

I dreamed we found the figure skater you told me about, and we watched her fly over the ice in an arena that was half-rink, half-stage. She was so young, younger than you'd said she was, and though she was charming, she couldn't match the adults who came after her in grace. "She won't be able to cash in on being a child much longer," I said. "She'll have to gain more skill to rely on." You nodded, sadly.

I dreamed there was a three-story house where a lonely old woman lived. It was falling down around her, but she was too frightened of her own memories to leave it. I tried to repair it for her, but my efforts only brought the walls down on us. Then he arrived, no doors to keep him out, and I learned what she had been afraid of. She told me it would do no good to fight, or to scream. I did both anyway.

I dreamed of all the gods from all the stories gathered in one place for a battle that would finish most of them. I was there, too, but they sent me away. There was no place for me there, they said. But since I couldn't go home, they made a new world for me, where I was someone else and everyone around me had the heads of animals. It wasn't what I wanted, but as the kind man with the lion head led me through shimmering curtains and candlelit tents, I remember thinking, "I could be happy here."

I dreamed the words tattooed on my wrist were disappearing one by one. I smeared my skin with ink from a blue ballpoint pen as I tried to write them in again, but I couldn't remember what they had been. Every new word I tried was wrong, and all the combinations were wrong-- God, they had been important, I knew that, but they were leaving me, leaving me, and I couldn't remember why.

Living Arrangements

It’s better to write that you want to give up than to give up.

It’s better to say “I can’t do this” than to stop trying.

It’s better to get it out. It’s better to get it out.

This exhaustion hit me like a semi. I don’t know. I don’t know. Funny how people can be so different. From themselves. Funny.

I was okay five minutes ago.

I can do this, though. Yes, I hear you, little voice at the back of my head. “Sure you can, but what’s the point? You’re not worth it. You never amount to anything even when you’re trying. Just give up. Give up. Give up. You give up on everything else, after all.”

Yeah, okay. I hear you. I also remember that we have an arrangement. You stay on your side of the line and I’ll stay on mine. No, I won’t come over. You have nothing to offer me.

Maybe I want to give up now. Just from…being tired, really. It’s an exhaustion thing. Give up and you won’t have to fight anymore. Right. But you know and I know it doesn’t really work like that, just like you know and I know that giving in to the urges doesn’t make them go away permanently, and the next time it’s easier.

Fuck you. I am not making this easy for you.

“Want,” okay. Right now. But not “ready to.” I am not ready to give up. I have too much to look forward to. You are not ruining this for me. Fuck you.

You stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine.

I’ll take time. For myself. I’ll take it from you. You watch. Maybe I’ll miss some assignments. Maybe I won’t always make it to class. Sometimes I need that. To hell with perfect grades if getting them means I have to break this semester. I’ll take what I need. I’m worth it.

Yes, I am. Yes, I am.

To everyone who's ever told me not to care about them

Don't you dare tell me you don't matter.

You matter to me. You matter to me.

And don't you say you shouldn't. Don't fucking tell me what I should and shouldn't care about. Don't you tell me what belongs in my head and in my heart. Don't even. Don't you dare.

Don't tell me your story's not worth continuing when I am hanging on every word like reading my favorite book for the first time. I am, I am. You trust me, say you believe in me, yes--then don't tell me what I'm seeing isn't real.

This ain't no hallucination, darling. I'm wearing down my fingertips, pleading myself hoarse for this. For you. For you. For you. I'm not wasting my time; don't insult me.

You want to make this about me? Let's go. If this is all about me, if this is about me being "kind" and "deserving to be happy," okay. Okay. If you just want to make sure I don't get hurt, then don't hurt me, darling. Don't. If what I want is all that matters, then treat yourself with the kindness you'd treat me. That's what I want. But don't you sit there and tell me I can't see you when your light is hurting my fucking eyes. Don't tell me I can't fall a little in love with everyone I meet. I do. I do.

Oh god, I do.