Life update: I sang a Cartel cover. Runaway is perfect, so I had to do it.
"For me embracing my own power is about embracing my right to be an individual" - Hayley William
I’m so fucking frustrated because I’m being treated like crap, I’m tired, and even though I’m eating healthy I haven’t lost any weight in over a week. Like, come on I have so much further to go before I can be okay with that. I don’t want to work, I do not wish to smile at customers and no you cannot touch my hair. Fuck everything right now.
The truth is that it hurts a lot. Not all the time, I’ve learned to shove it all back, I’ve buried it inside of me so that I don’t have to feel it all the time. More often than not I know it’s there, lurking like a ghost in my head. I’ve learned to paint on a smile because there’s no use wasting time being sad. My deception could be a god damn art form. One day people will write about this in history books; the girl who choked on her own smile.
The truth is that every person who left me left scars all over my body and I’m never going to be free of them. I’m never going to wash them off, like tattoos, they’re always there and someone will always ask how that happened. I am not beautiful, I am so marred by all the places you touched, by all the ways I was made to feel worthless, by all the things that made me recoil and shut down. One day they’ll write songs about it, the girl who had more scars than skin.
The truth is that I’m weighed down with baggage. I never learned to let anything go. Not the people who hurt me or the things that made me angry. Every single thing I picked up along the way is still in my hands, on my back, in my heart. At the end of the day, if I am so tired I cannot speak, cannot think, cannot even move it is not from what I did, but all the things I carried with me as I did it. One day they’ll tell stories to warn the children not be become like me, the girl so weighted down that she sank.
The lines of my ribs
And the valley between my breasts
The place where my hips curve smaller
Where my thighs part ways like the Red Sea
Inviting you between them
But all I can see
Is the softness
The offensive roundness
The way it shifts and moves when I breathe
The widening of my nose
And the pores of my skin
And I wonder if maybe
Your eyes really do play tricks
And if people really do only see
The things they expect
And I wonder whose image is right
Yours or mine
And if it really makes a difference
To either of us.
1. Lay on the floor of your shower until you can breathe again. Water will always love to love your skin.
2. Start writing with the intention of filling up one page. Write until your pen stops working.
3. Reread a book that once made you cry. Learn something new on every page. Notice how different chapter make you sad. Notice how the book didn’t change and grow; you did.
4. Sleep with your windows open. You can hear both the rain and boys drunkenly singing Frank Sinatra on their deck. Both are equally good.
5. Don’t forget that honey will always taste sweet, but the best way to eat it is off your fingers, laughing.
6. Remember that, sometimes, getting out of bed is enough.