Note: Sorry, lovelies, this post is far too late - I've been fiddling with my wifi for the past hour and only got it to work now, so that's why!
Two things came back today, both of equal importance: my mother (from the US), and the blood test results (from the doctor)! One was extremely jetlagged and the other was relatively normal, so I'll just leave it to you to guess which was which. ;)
Ding ding ding! Turns out I was right about the blood test - everything is average. No odd hormones or anything, no abnormal blood sugar levels... zip, zero, nada. I had a hunch the sadness was mental rather than physical, and turns out I was correct. It's also worth mentioning that my mother was a sport and dragged herself out of bed at four in the afternoon to take me to the doctor, so that's always appreciated. ;)
On a slightly less jovial note, the relative peace from yesterday didn't last. I was on shaky ground all day at school, and then after we went to the doctor I caved in. I think my family was worried - none of them really know how to deal with it when this happens, so they sort of hovered, which did not make things any better.
If only figuring out the mental side was as easy as the physical side.
But alas, I can't just stick a needle in my brain and withdraw the necessary information to make it all better, so I suppose poetry has to be good enough instead! This week's Friday Poetry is an idea that's been bouncing around in my head for the past couple of weeks - I wasn't quite sure how it would translate in words, and I actually love how it turned out!
Before I post this, may I disclaim: what's portrayed in this poem is not a healthy relationship at all, but I simply enjoy playing around with (read: torturing) very sad and self-doubting characters, even in my poetry. Just deal with it and enjoy the pretty metaphors. ;)
I think the title for this one is more powerful if you read it at the end, so as such, I've put it there instead of at the beginning. As always, feel free to let me know what you think - I always love hearing your interpretations! I'll see you on Monday - have a wonderful weekend. x
know that his heart is a scarred thing, a beast snarling from behind metal bars. kiss him at three in the morning when his breath tastes like cigarette smoke and you can’t tell the colour of his eyes. when you are both drunk on something larger than alcohol, he will look over and ask you your middle name and whether you have nightmares. stare down at your mothbitten hands. lie.
see the smoke gathering in his chest, billowing out his lungs, hands like gravel biting into your skin. allow yourself to believe that maybe all along you’ve been the ghost, tap dancing until your bones fall apart and not even you can find a home in the eye sockets. he will ask you if you are okay and there will only be one answer.
know that he’s walked through hell with a smile on his face. know that he’s an angel anyway. pluck feathers like truths from his pockmarked back. say his name over and over like a prayer until it turns into a curse, until the breaths he takes are nothing more than caricatures of the demons you thought you’d been running from.
later you will remember what it means to conjure halos out of kisses, and you will wonder when you forgot. when he asks if you believe in heaven, lie.
learn him as he really is: a skidding heartbeat, an open road, a kiss like murder, like midnight, like blood dancing around twisted bones. taste something too close to heartbreak on his lips and allow yourself to believe that maybe you’re not in love with his eyes so much as the colour of what they hide.
find your heart in the backseat of his car, nestled between whisky and wings. ask yourself what gave him the right to take it. search for the answer. find it in the feathers he shed on your jacket.
ground note, panic: taste him, like gravel and whisky and unsaid words. some part of you will want to tear him to shreds, but a bigger part will know there’s no use in bothering. he’ll beat you to the punchline anyway.
he will ask you whether you believe in ghosts and angels and love.
look at the colour of his eyes.
- An Ode to What's Already Broken