Tag: confidence

I Will

Scars mark my skin all over like waves of August heat… from scraped knees to razors dragged into the meat; teeth sallow from the nicotine, heart wary from the ache of latent hate. I lean with the creak of floor boards, pliable to the derecho winds that rip roofs from homes and ease from wills. I ache with the constant tick that reminds me and plagues me of mistakes decades old.

I want to be that girl that blooms in the barroom smoke with crystal eyes with will of fervor shining like pearlescent wings of some detested pest that thrives in separate airs.

but I am neither. I am on fire–letting my skin be licked by flames, letting my skin melt and peel like petals. My lips are velvet, rubbed over by decay–crushed scarlet from the flush of someone else but dried up. Wasted.

I’ll paint myself with the colors of someone famous and strong. I’ll sidle their spine through my flesh and stand tall with their strength. I will prop my arms strong with the proposition that I’m all I need. I can force feed myself disappointment. I need no men to help me with that.

Shouldn’t we all be feminists?

I feel like writing about women, as if we are opposed
from any other vessel of human emotion or blood
and guts or sex. I am no fragile fuckin flower, but I fuck.
I outwork some men and I wear it on my teeth.
Social construct,
I learned the term from liberal arts school–I wear it
as a brand on my breast plate—that rigid bone
you have to break to save lives. I’ve had more men
cry on my shoulder, clutch me as they shudder—
than women confide in me.
I hold my shoulders straighter than I ever have,
eat my emotions to hold me over for dinner.
I don’t need to feed another
off these breasts. I’ll feed myself.

 

Honestly… this is inspired mostly from watching Girl Code and too much wine. I’ve only watched the show in the past couple days and seriously… that shit is hilarious. I could legitimately throw in my liberal arts education as well. I had one professor in particular—he was raised by his mother and grandmother and doesn’t believe in gender roles. He taught me so much. He wrote one of my recommendations for grad school so I love him eternally.

It Goes On

photo (8)

Life has been just nutty these past few months. The last time I shared a bit about my personal life I was still fractured from the break up, very confused and still timid.

Since then, an old friend and I have sparked a highly charged romance. We’re crazy about each other and he’s home for good in just two weeks. It was completely unexpected because this guy exited my life for nearly half a decade. Then he shows up at my door a few days before Christmas. We have drinks. We have dinner. Bam! We’re inseparable.

He’s in the Army though (that is, for two more weeks!), so he had to leave two weeks after we hit it off. I visited him in Nashville for his birthday in mid February. He visited me last weekend. I was prepared to wait until mid May, when he was supposed to be discharged… but he’s coming home early! I received this news today and I am a happy kid.

Other news I am incredibly and speechlessly happy about?

I got accepted into the University of Balitmore’s MFA program for Creative Writing and Publishing Arts. &I am finally going to go do what I have always dreamed of doing. I got the acceptance email exactly one week ago. I spent two months on the portfolio, right around the time I started seeing Matt.

I’ve always been incredibly insecure about my writing, as well the actual act of writing. I’m not sure why. It’s such a competitive field. That’s what I kept telling Matt when he told me not to be nervous and not to even worry. He didn’t even have a clear concept at first of what the program was or what type of writing I was working on. For someone that has been a very close friend of mine for ten years, he had absolutely no clue that I “write creatively.”

I sent him one of the poems I posted on here—one of the angry break up ones. Ah, it was the one I wrote in the chair of the bookstore before I actually broke up with my ex. I edited it for the portfolio and ended up texting it to him (FYI, that was a bitch). I was tempted to send him the one I’d written about him but decided nah.. that can wait.

He was so confident that I’d get accepted and kept telling me to have some faith in myself. I assured him I had some, otherwise I wouldn’t apply at all. I didn’t want to build up an expectation just to be let down though. They notified me only two weeks after I applied. Crazy. Matt was even in town when I found out. He was so proud of me. &I’m proud of me too!

Go me.

It’s terrifying though, absolutely terrifying. I am terrified.

but I’ve read, if the risks you take aren’t terrifying, you’re doing it wrong. so I really and truly believe that I’m finally doing it right. I’m going to have to quit my job, move out, find my own place, get another job. I get to live in the city, something I’ve always wanted… but I always resigned to living in this small shit town and pretending like I was okay with it… it wasn’t meant to be… I’m meant for small city life and teaching high school English.

VOMIT. No. That’s not for me. I want to study creative writing and get into the publishing industry and live on my own in a city. SWEET JESUS I AM HAPPY.

Sometimes I can’t even believe I had enough courage to break it off with my ex. Sometimes I’m driving in my car, windows cracked, seat warmer on, bad 90s music blasting and I can’t even believe that I’m single… much less setting up a future of my own. I never would have applied for an MFA program with my ex. I never would have moved out of my parent’s house. I didn’t even write, not unless the conditions of being with him made me so desperate and depressed I wrote to keep from my slitting my skin open.

Yeah, harsh. I wish he died from his brain aneurysm.

He called me last week. I was actually at a bar with Matt, drinking and getting annoyed at him. I left my phone at the hotel and saw I had a voicemail while Matt was in the bathroom. I just started crying after listening to it and immediately deleting it. He walked out and I just fell into him and he naturally held me. I guess he thought he’d really upset me that badly because I didn’t say anything.

I didn’t know how to tell him why I was upset. I’m not used to being able to tell a guy why I’m upset without some sort of accusation or embarrassment or being made to feel guilty for being upset. I didn’t want to seem melodramatic or ridiculous. I didn’t want him to get mad or upset because that’s the reaction I’m used to (that seems so ridiculous now that I see it in words. Goddamn my ex is a fucking jackass.)

I told him the only way I knew how… all whimpery and pathetic and blunt and to-the-point. &He did what boyfriends are supposed to do—hold you, kiss your head, wipe your out of your face, tell you that’s all in the past, try not to let it upset you, but it’s okay to be upset. &I still just can’t believe this guy’s timing. Every time I have absolutely needed him, he’s been there… even though he lives eleven hours away. Every Time.

He says he’s just lucky. I’m lucky.

&I quote Robert Frost,

In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.

That quote is just everything to me. It goes on and shit just fixes itself if you have the strength the endure the hardships. I sacrificed everything I knew four months ago and let my life fall apart completely… but life went on. It gets better. It goes on.