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Literature Text
being scared isn't at all like being nervous. it is opening the refrigerator door at three am, closing it. falling asleep and not realising you have woken up. wanting to disappear completely, and realise you could probably do it if you tried hard enough; making yourself stuck in your own mind. it is realising you could tell all your secrets to every soul in the world, and in the end it is still only you, sitting in that room and waiting. alone.
everything becomes insignificant. any feelings you may have felt before. you don't even remember anymore why you were sprawled on the kitchen floor that night, drunk and crying. mumbling something about capsicum-monsters and sitting in the middle of the road and a car is coming. you probably haven't eaten for days, but in your mind it is still that moment and it keeps playing like a scratched cd.
you stop regretting that time you contemplated not braking, your attention slipping to the cracking red nail polish on your fingers.
it is like being scared but not at all. you feel like an elephant in a room. big and awkward, fumbling with the curtains. you try to make conversation but everything you say comes out backwards; then they look at you and you can only manage to comment on how you burnt the pizza because you forgot you put it in the oven.
that night there is a black out, and you feel your way around the house. feet sliding on the ground until you find the first step, hands caressing corners as if they are questions and someone is yelling at you to work it all out and then throw it away. it is like all of a sudden you realise what everything is for. you can recite the names of your bones, all two hundred & six of them - clavicle, carpal, spine, ribcage; and then you know nothing at all. you run through fields and are smiling, and then you are standing there and you feel like a deer who stopped just to see the headlights close up.
and that's all you do. one moment you are and the next you are not. you are lost in the galaxy of your mind, where shooting stars loop your thoughts in circles. you are standing there and you can feel each and every single breath enter your lungs and then pushed out, your blood beating through your skin and the way your spine is contorting forward, hunching like a flower ready to kiss the earth. you are standing there and you are not. you are and you're not.
everything becomes insignificant. any feelings you may have felt before. you don't even remember anymore why you were sprawled on the kitchen floor that night, drunk and crying. mumbling something about capsicum-monsters and sitting in the middle of the road and a car is coming. you probably haven't eaten for days, but in your mind it is still that moment and it keeps playing like a scratched cd.
you stop regretting that time you contemplated not braking, your attention slipping to the cracking red nail polish on your fingers.
it is like being scared but not at all. you feel like an elephant in a room. big and awkward, fumbling with the curtains. you try to make conversation but everything you say comes out backwards; then they look at you and you can only manage to comment on how you burnt the pizza because you forgot you put it in the oven.
that night there is a black out, and you feel your way around the house. feet sliding on the ground until you find the first step, hands caressing corners as if they are questions and someone is yelling at you to work it all out and then throw it away. it is like all of a sudden you realise what everything is for. you can recite the names of your bones, all two hundred & six of them - clavicle, carpal, spine, ribcage; and then you know nothing at all. you run through fields and are smiling, and then you are standing there and you feel like a deer who stopped just to see the headlights close up.
and that's all you do. one moment you are and the next you are not. you are lost in the galaxy of your mind, where shooting stars loop your thoughts in circles. you are standing there and you can feel each and every single breath enter your lungs and then pushed out, your blood beating through your skin and the way your spine is contorting forward, hunching like a flower ready to kiss the earth. you are standing there and you are not. you are and you're not.
Literature
the things we'll never say.
1.
snakes crawl out of my mouth,
hands like sleep waiting silently
for me to give into them.
i toss words like rocks
across my tongue, skipping
across the lake, and we reach,
hands outstretched, for the sun
but it's a shame it's all empty.
2.
listen, if you loved me, you
wouldn't try to fix me.
if you loved me, you'd paint
butterflies across the wall
to make me smile. listen,
if you loved me, you'd give
me handrails to hold onto
on the way down. you'd tell me
that right now, i'm a caterpillar
(but that caterpillars become
butterflies.) listen,
if you loved me,
you'd love me broken, too.
3.
don't speak.
sure, you cou
Literature
opposite's day - collab.
i. today i ignored the dismal beating
in my chest [it held me closer than
you ever did] and chased after you
like a lopsided puppy,
watching your skylit legs sink into
shin-deep puddles with indefinable
bottoms. i looked as you left me
miles behind as i shouted
nonsensical wishes and
honeycombed thoughts to you.
[let's drop anchor and stop
this off-course ship with
a handful of windswept lies.]
ii. your eyes are like my mirror -
reflective, deflective, and unforgiving.
[the only way you'll speak to me
is without words.]
one of these days i will write
'ugly ugly ugly' on my forehead
so that on opposite's day,
those baby blu
Literature
dear self,
1.
tomorrow is not worth waiting for.
sure, there will be sunshine (with
a slight chance of rain) and sure,
some kid will be smiling, and yes,
life is still
moving
on,
but it's not like anyone cares.
2.
you just want someone to love you,
misery and tears and all. maybe you
could spend saturdays curled up
under the covers, memorizing
the patterns of breathing. maybe
you could count the seconds but
the problem is that there would never
be enough, the problem is that
there's nothing there to love.
3.
no one is listening.
4.
i'd write you a letter, but
you'd never read it. i'm stuck
screaming into my own heart,
wonderin
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you know, just when you're really fucking scared about something. and you feel so helpless and just lost when you don't know what to do about it.
so instead of doing something about it, i just sat here and wrote this all morning.
so instead of doing something about it, i just sat here and wrote this all morning.
© 2009 - 2024 juliatrotti
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I love your writing... and this piece sums up the feeling of anxiety so well