Everything You Own

Things you should throw away, but can’t. 642 Things to Write About prompt.

 

I hate the way I still cling to the remnants of our past. The way your essence is permanently faded into the threads of your old sweaters. The ones that line my closet floor. I can’t bear wearing them. The smell reminds me of you, of us. The way we used to line your bedroom floor with pillows and blankets, in a cocoon of warmth and love. The way you used to look at me. The way you used to love me.

But I cannot think of throwing them out. As much as I would like to use them as kindling for a fire – the thought of seeing all that I have left of you go up in flames makes my heart quake.

One Week to Live

Prompt from 642 Things To Write About.

If I had one week to live, I think I’d be living in ignorant bliss. Of utter contentment of knowing there are no more mistakes to be made – this is it. A time in which, I could be honest, about who I am. No more secrets. Or hiding. But most importantly, no more wasting time on the things that do not matter.

Death puts things into perspective. A perspective we cannot see until someone we love dies, or we ourselves are dying. Of course; we all are dying. Everyday is a day closer to death. However, that is not how we live our lives. We live our lives worrying about the past and future, rather than the present. We could die tomorrow, but today still be caught up in the events of something that happens months ago. It’s how we are. We have forgotten how to live as humans. But instead walking bodies filled with regret. There’s a downside to everything, everything has a consequence and life seems to be easier had you not existed at all.

In that one week, I would leave my mark. For everyone to know that I was here. I would make damn sure that those I loved and needed by whole life, have done their job. The gratitude I feel towards them is everlasting and will go to the grave with me. As hard as goodbyes are, they must be said. I will cry and calm their weeping eyes with honesty: that I am okay. It’s a part of life, I needed them for mine and I hope they continue on without me to be the people they have the potential of being. I want to go out with truth. I want people to know, everyone whose hurt me, or anyone who’s ever hurt anyone, that it is not okay. Life is too precious to throw away over intensive torment. It’s not worth it. Why would you drive someone to do that? I would tell everyone that people suck, but that isn’t going to change. So you need to fight your way through the chaos to find those who make you happy. Start being proactive. Stop worrying about who you were and love who you ARE and focus on who you’ll BECOME.

We are not made to live forever, no man, nor woman, not child is immortal. We are born to die. But perhaps, before our time comes, there is something we must do. The time we spend from our first breath of screeching air to the time your eyes close a final time – that’s life. It’s what you do with it that counts. The thing you were created to do, the mark you make in the people whose lives you touch. That’s living.

If I had one week to live, I sure as hell wouldn’t waste it.

Eat Less; a short story on body image.

She stood looking in the mirror, eyes fixed upon herself. The prolonged self examination was not one of vanity, but of insecurity. Many hours she stood, undressed as she was now, simply cowering under the scrutinising gaze of her own reflection. It was as if her reflection snarled at her, the way she looked, who she was. Not only was she self destructing, but she felt as if she were imploding and taking everyone else down with her.

Keep Swingin’

I’ve never been able to let them tear down my old swing set. It’s odd enough that I only started using it again avidly, a few summers ago. I’m not sure why. There’s just something about being out there, flying through the air, that’s peaceful.
In that moment before you come crashing down to the earth again – you’re free. There’s nothing but peace and serenity.
It’s one of the few things that remind me of my childhood in a positive light. Simple things do that. And sometimes, we forget to take pleasure in these simple things.

I Once Knew A Girl Who Wore Three Pairs of Socks

A very short story based on something I heard in a passing conversation. Sometimes, those small things you hear, give you the oddest but most interesting kind of inspiration.

I once knew a girl who wore three pairs of socks  Perhaps her feet were always cold. I’ll never know. But this girl, she was special.

Not in the weird way, I mind you, but in the unique way. The way she would smile at the flickering of the night bugs, or wince at the full moon. She crinkles her nose at the smell of roses, preferring dandelions.

“We are the weeds of the world,” she would say with a distant look in her dusty green eyes. I could tell that they were once as bright as the grass in mid July.

Is This What We’re Going To Let Define Us? A pop-song for the ages.

Modern Beauty a companion piece explaining ideas behind  ’21st Century Beauty’

The media likes to cash in on low self esteem. They write songs for girls who think they’re not good enough, that they’re broken, but this perfect knight in shining armor will be there to save them.

I mean, that’s fine and dandy, the songs are catchy most of the time so you may ask, what’s the harm?

21st Century Beauty

I’m not sure if you notice,

But I see all the tragically beautiful things you say.

To the naked ear, they do not have an undertone,

But all I hear is the despair and heartache.

I also see the things, again so sad,

that remind me of you – but also the way you see

Not just yourself – but everything else.

And that breaks my heart too.

I notice you, noticing me,

Not you noticing me noticing you,

But I notice you picking up and reading me,

Have I become your favorite novel?

How long will it be before I’m stashed away?

Hidden under dust, and false smiles,

Distant glances in the hallway, pretending,

That none of this ever happened.

You don’t think I spend the time wondering,

About everything involving me and you in everyway.

But I do, and you are sorely wrong to believe otherwise.

For I am just as insecure as you.

We are both broken and in doubt,

That we do not deserve each others love.

And I promise you, I will continue to love you

Until you believe that everything you do is beautiful.

-SJH

Puppy Love

It’s all calculated. Every conversation. Every movement. Every touch. Every kiss. It’s not passion, it’s mechanical. Necessary. Confusing, but it’s keeping me alive. Somedays. Except now, I’m not sure. It’s more draining than any sort of relief. These secrets, these mistakes, maybe I should’ve finished this long before I started. We were never meant for eachother, I was never meant for anyone. I can’t imagine life without him though. Not being mine. He’s been there for me… even if it’s frustrating as hell, he was there when no one else was. Who’s going to stop me from killing myself now? Not him. Certainly not me.

I don’t know what to do. Love is such a fragile misconception that gets tangled because people just fucking suck. At the end of the day I don’t think any of it is worth this. This inner conflict, self doubt, self loathing. I’ll always love him, no matter what. But I have to be around him, close proximity for the next year and a half. Maybe I can just keep it all inside. Eventually he’ll find someone I know, and move on. But at least then I won’t have any other option. I can’t make decisions for myself anymore without them being under the influence, of someone or something. I have the right to make decisions based on my feelings, but when I don’t even know what those are anymore – what am I supposed to do?

It’s high school… So much fighting for someone who you’ll be with for what, a few months? I guess to some a few months is better than temporary social exile. I’m not going to jeopardize anything for myself, for anyone. Not now. Not when we’re all so young and foolish. We’re not worth it. No one is. The important thing is learning to survive this, then I can worry about forgetting about it.

-SJH

 

Boys Don’t Cry

It was sometime in preschool, out on the playground,

The kids were kicking sand in my face, and dirt into my lungs.

The tears sprang to my eyes before I could fight them,

I didn’t have the strength to defend myself, from them, or anyone.

They told me boys don’t cry.

It was sometime in class, in the midst of an argument,

A one sided war I had no intentions of fighting for, or winning.

The weight in my stomach was dragging me down,

Lost and confused, with nowhere to run once again –

They told me boys don’t cry.

It was sometime at home, screaming my guts out,

The stabbing raw pain in my throat, matched that of my heart.

Fists flying outward, colliding with bones I never knew I had.

No one said sorry, just covered the bruises and said,

That boys don’t cry.

It was sometime alone, victim to the darkness,

I sat by myself, my mind racing, with burdens.

Every mistake I had ever made, coming back to me,

Haunting and hunting me like a deer in the dark.

But boys don’t cry.

But as I grew older, love tried to change me;

I fought back with everything I thought was inside.

There’s the love of a lover, or a sister, or mother.

But love is watching someone die,

It was the day I learned, that boys do cry.

-SJH

Destroying Something Beautiful

I hate the way my heart plummets at the sound of your name. I hate the way my gut twists and my heart leaps up in my throat when you speak of her. I hate the way my face twitches into a grimace when they speak of you. I hate the way my heart breaks from retaining it’s seething anger because I vowed not to stoop to your level…

And that in itself is a conflict I cannot compose into words I will ever understand. For I want you to hurt. I want every fiber of your soul crushed into dust and every last heartstrings torn into a thousand shreds. I want your heart to bleed the words the same way my body did from the wounds you gave to me. I want your stomach to rot with guilt the way mine imploded upon an active attempt for an early death because of you…

But wishing that pain upon you… wouldn’t that make me as evil as I believed you to be?

It’s truly a terrible thing. To invest your life in something so small and fragile praying you’ll get some kind of happiness from it. But you won’t. Because at the end of the day, the week and this life, we are all selfish vessels fueled by greed and pride. Such outlandish things that make us believe that we are worthy of a throne, only fit for liars. And you, my dear, are nothing short of the King and there sits your Queen. Sly as a wolf in sheepskins and by God, I cannot wait to see her rip your blackened heart out with her filthy claws.

For someone so praised, with integrity and morals, you are the darkest scum of the earth. You are the bane of human existence and it is your kind, the Monarchy, that would make me so violent as too…

No. I can’t… Such gruesome thoughts reside in those only willing to act on them. Though I would be willing, such crimes are against my moral conduct. And perhaps God may smite me and deny me his gates for such angry… Anyone with a thread of humanity would understand the all consuming malice that thrives inside this heart of mine.

A heart, now a lonely vessel. No love, nor blood, flow inside of it. It’s punctured by thorns you so intricately weaved in your arrogance, that any form of life that dwells within me leaks out from the tears. And so it is with this hardened heart of mine, that the shattered fragments, so sharp… I will line my words with them. I will make you feel something so evil that you yourself are corrupted.

You are the guilty ones my dears – for my feelings are justified. Yours are malicious. Greedy. And your actions towards me prove just how shallow you are, that there is no room for a drop of anything other than lust. So when your bridges are burning, I will not dowse the fire with the cooling waters of greater good. No… No. I will lynch your very souls to hang in the gallows.

You will regret yourself. You will reject yourself.

As of today I can no longer call you a friend, neither you, nor her. You were once the most beautiful part of me, the love I thought I deserved. And maybe it was… the twisted vile, manipulative lust that tore my self esteem to threads as you took your wicked ways and still played victim while I lay here dying. So selfish… So selfish are you both. Though they say that love is the most important thing, you cannot love without having the seeds of humanity inside of you. And after what you’ve done, you are hardly human. You are a monster. A lying, raping, monster that sets fire to everything that gets too close.

I don’t know why I complain… She may go forth and chase the ruins of my life and pretend that I never heard all the words he will whisper into her ear before. She can act like he’s never said “I love you so much” to anyone else. She can act like he’s never “felt this way”. She can act like I wasn’t there first before she was – paving the way for the very inkling of any of his romantic plots. For every memory she may have with him, I also share. Except for one.

For I, unlike her, own two things: his innocence and his conscious. Before me, he was not a man, and if anything now he is nothing more than a child. He is everything I helped him become, and I am everything he has turned me into. And for such a unforgivable deed and ripping my purity from my grasp and for lining my grave with the thorns of doubt… When the time comes to own up to the truth only then will you realize… for the rest of eternity, as you look upon my carved stone… You will know you played your hand in my death.

 

You are nothing to me. You are nothing but the scars left on my ribs from where I once was fragile but have since grown stronger. You are only the burdens that keep me down. You are not worth this pain.

 

-SJH