Update
Stories by: mbee15
43 stories
hansel and gretel did it better
For a long time now, I've taken the crumbs of affection I'm given and convinced myself I'm full. Convinced myself the scraps of acknowledgment are enough to keep me satisfied. They give me broken promises, lies, and text messages on "read". I tell myself that's good enough.What more could I need, anyways. Commitment? Communication? That shit is for chumps.There's a pattern of me not believing I'm worthy of getting what I want. Besides, when it does seem too good to be true, it is. Every time I find myself gnawing at my own bones instead of asking for more, with that hollow feeling deep in my belly, it feels like home. I'm finally there, in a palace of misery, at least finally I'm a princess somehow.I follow the trail you left me, of brushes of hands and quiet laughter. Little looks that last longer than they should. Your thigh, against mine, too warm and too close to truly be on purpose.But it wasn't.
coincidence
Isn't it funny when you're talking to somebody about someone you know who just had a birthday and they know someone whose birthday is also that day and all of a sudden these two people are connected but not really. I'm looking through the one spot in the foggy mirror I wiped away with my hand. My hair is slightly curly and very damp and hanging past the towel wrapped around me. Our brains are always trying to make connections and find patterns,at least that's what I tell myself when I'm disappointed- again.I'm setting myself up for failure, my therapist believes. Always anticipating the worst. So, is it just bad luck my preparation always pays off? It's one of those days where I'm having a hard time settling into my skin.I'm exchanging the taste of my morning coffee for a fresh mint. If I was just a little bit more patient, I wouldn't have so much leftover makeup smeared under my eyes. But, I'm not patient. And I can't just trust anyone. I hate to be alone and yet I've never been comfortable enough with someone to let them be here with me. I think the world is just too cold, and I have sensitive teeth.
spin
I feel like a tireGoing round and round All this nervous energy, no traction Like a washing machine Circling back and forth Two forward, one back,As they say Maybe more like a listful snowflake Loop-de-loops as it falls Destination unknownOnly thing guaranteed is the journey Either way I'm spinning Out of controlI have to feel this, I whisper to myself Leaning away from the weed and the half bottle of red wine by my door. I have to feel the hurt, the lonliness, the despair
green
My anxiety is ivy green. I feel the vines creep and crawl up my arms and constrict my heart. Like I'm running too fast on rolling hills of warm grass. Slip, slip, sliding through the mossy ground. Fresh buds on bare trees sway in the wind, whispering promises of beauty and sweetness. Someone planted trees in my tummy, it's climbing up my throat. Rooted in my guts, pushing through my lungs. I can't breathe, I can't see, I'm suffocated by the growth. I promise I'll do better next time. Leave space to learn to live with the leaves pushing at my teeth
spring cleaning
I found a sock. I left it at your house, and picked it up the last time I saw you. The last time we kissed. The last time before it was over. You washed it for me. I was cleaning you from my life. Spring cleaning, my room and my heart. Dusting your crumbs from the nooks and crannies I didn't even know you knew about. I threw away your toothbrush, and how your smile always made me smile. And I found this sock. It smells like you, like your laundry soap, like comfortably nuzzling into your chest. Turns out you still have the other sock, left behind twice over. Do I hold onto it, keeping the hope that we'll be together, someday? That we'll match up, a complete pair? Or do I throw it away, pretending like I'll never see you again? My nose itches from the coarse fabric pushed against it. It's so familiar, but so uncomfortable. There's so many other pieces of you, twisted into my life. I have to peel you away, find myself in the dust. It all comes down to this sock. I want to keep the good memories and treasure our time. But I need to move on, move forward, and it's hard when everything reminds me of you right now. I can always get more socks.It's not a metaphor. It's a damn sock.
one morning
The dawn's light hasn't touched the trees outside your window, full bloom in the darkness. You're awake, and I'm barely there. You kiss me before you get out of bed. I'm more awake than I let on, eyes open as I hear the shower run. You come back to change, sit on the edge of the bed to put your socks on. I roll to face you, pretending I'm more in dreamland than reality.There's no other sounds, your roommate snores but I can't hear it with the door closed. The cat is sleeping, and so is the neighborhood. An occasional car goes by, but people still need their coffee. You think I'm asleep, but you kiss my forehead.As you grab your jacket and step deliberately to make as little noise as possible, I mumble, "love you".I put thought into how I'd tell you. The expiration date on our relationship rings loud in my ears that morning. But, as I told you at the beginning, I wanted to feel something, anything, please, besides the despair. I met you two weeks after the worst days of my life.You whispered back, "you, too".You're back from work and you wake me up with something caffeinated and sweet. My palms start to sweat around the hot paper cup. I have to know if it was a platitude to a sleepy girlfriend or the truth. I tell you, it's just how I feel. It doesn't matter if you don't feel the same.You don't.I sip cautiously in case it's too hot, and deflect. Well, it's just my feelings. It's not about you, anyways. We both know I'm lying but you're gracious enough to let it go. We make plans for breakfast, and I cry in the shower.
liar, liar
I have to feel this,I whisper to myselfLeaning away from the weed and the half bottle of red wine by my door.I have to feel the hurt, the lonliness, the despair I can't write anymoreIt's emotional constipationAll of my feelings blocked up by regrets Slowly slipping through the cracks made by broken promisesYou said you wanted meYou said you cared for meYou lied
how to cry
i know how to crywhen i was younger, i'd go into the bathroom at nightturn the fan onand lower myself onto the rug with the cool ceramic of the bathtub behind mei could see myself in the mirroreyes clearquiet chest heavingand sobs that should have resounded in the small spacei know how to cryflat on my back, in collegeso my eyes wouldn't be puffy in the morningso i could replay every awful moment i never wanted to see againso i could cover my face, like that would make it all go awayi know how to crybut for some reason, lately i can'ti can't find that one moment to let it all outi know its time for me to have a big cry againwhen everything around me makes me tear upbut i can't cry like i used toand i don't know why
cruelty
I can't remember what it's like to be in your arms any more. I know I loved it. It made my heart feel warm, and settled the buzz beneath my skin. It made the stress lift, as I settled into you. I can't remember what it's like to lay on your chest. I know your heartbeat blasted in my ear. Your tummy made funny noises we giggled at. Deep breaths soaking up your comforting smell. When you stood up, I felt cold. I can't remember how it felt to hold your hand. I thought I was grounded. You were just along for the ride. I was convinced we were connected. I can't remember how it felt when we fucked. It got better every time. I think it's what we were best at. The last time, I didn't know it was the last time. I've always loved your name. Now I say it, and just feel numb. All I feel now is empty. It's such cruelty, to forget what our love felt like.
about a text i sent
I don't know how to ask when I need you. I texted you that, it makes me feel weak. It's simple for you to tell me. To interrupt my day, I'd drop anything for you. I never want to bother.I'm afraid you'll just get sick of me. I say "I need some of your goodness". I mean "please don't leave me". You say I'll never lose you, but we're walking a dangerous line. Between love and lust. Friendship or maybe more. I don't want to use you to avoid my sadness, being alone. Don't we all use each other in different ways? If we both know what we're doing, is it so wrong? You haven't texted me back. I can see that you've read it. "Maybe you can help me learn sometime," I ask. Help me understand how to love you, I mean.
out of order
t seems to be hard to tell if I'm falling apart or pulling it together. They just don't build things the way they used to, you say, knocking on my heart to see how hollow it is inside. It's a fixer-upper, I respond, still spending nights deleting contacts and messages from ex-lovers and missed connections. The foundation is strong, under these scars, freckles, stretch marks, and bruises. The violence of others weighs heavy on these good bones. I'm a danger, watch your step. The floor boards will trip you, my insecurities will test. I should be wrapped in caution tape and do not trespass signs, but for some reason I keep welcoming in those who would rather tear me down. Make a bid, the asking price is low. Been on the market so long, you swipe through photos, making judgement calls after a few well composed glimpses. Buyer beware.
permanence
There's no expiration date on art. A creation exists, until it does not. We want to great something that is strong, That is sturdy, That will last forever. What does that mean? Forever? My forever is a pinprick in every life that has or ever will exist in our universe. For me though, forever has a weight. I'm young, it feels like that's all that's ahead. Plenty of time to be better, to be happy, to feel good. Plenty of time to get hurt, be sad, feel pain. My mental illness is extremely familiar with the high highs and the low lows. But I'm also scared of the monotony. Days and days of just living. Being alive. And for what? To die?
What does a broken heart feel like?
Why are we so enamored by decrepit americana? Whispering souls and impressions of life twisting around splintered wood and chipped paint. Thinking of the lives that were, and are still untold. Broken buildings returning to the earth. Nothing lasts as long as we think. We see something we made, and think less about the end. Algae grows over amusement park rides , ferns pop up in the corners of institutions. It's almost melancholic, tracing steps of strangers. This day-to-day panic, it won't last forever. Everything I do will be erased with time. Nothing is permanent. Everything ends.
helen
Nobody knows how to merge in Washington.I hate standing in line, to board the boatMoving like cattleThe mornings I see Helen are my favoriteMondays and TuesdaysComing around the corner, I look out for herI make my way to that side of the squeeze of people trying to score the best seatI'm willing to sacrifice first dibs for a moment with her.My heart feels lighter with that soft Spanish accent when she tells me she loves my lipstick. She compliments how it matches my skin tone or my outfitEvery morningI tell her the brand and color, always a drugstore bargainShe keeps her straight black hair in a long ponytail underneath a regulation ferry worker capIt's a warm second in the cold mist of dawnBefore the too-bright fluorescents keep me from taking a nap on the hour-long tripWe catch up quicklyI tell her how tired I amShe talks about retirementI leave when the boat starts to move, so she can do her jobI find someone new to sit withTo talk to, to get out of my own headI want to hear how other people get up every day and just.. do the damn thingLive. Work. Sleep, every night, without nightmaresKeeping an eye out for her, of courseDoing her rounds on each sailingWhen she passes by, she can't sit down, but she leans against the end of the booth while she talks about her husband and grandchildren. Her ponytail waves back and forth as she talks with her hands. She wants to see the scarf I'm working on, or the book I'm reading, or hear about the dates I've gone on lately I've got anecdotes ready- I want to make her laugh, a little too loud for how early it isBut it pulls a smile across my faceMany days she'll give me a quick hug as I pass her to start my walk to workI know I'm not the only person she loves a little extraBut I feel grateful she finds me worthy
expiration date?
There's no expiration date on art. A creation exists, until it does not. We want to great something that is strong, That is sturdy, That will last forever. What does that mean? Forever? My forever is a pinprick in every life that has or ever will exist in our universe. For me though, forever has a weight. I'm young, it feels like that's all that's ahead. Plenty of time to be better, to be happy, to feel good. Plenty of time to get hurt, be sad, feel pain. My mental illness is extremely familiar with the high highs and the low lows. But I'm also scared of the monotony. Days and days of just living. Being alive. And for what? To die? I'm so enamored with decrepit americana.Whispering souls and impressions of life twisting around splintered wood and chipped paint. Thinking of the lives that were, and are still untold. Broken buildings returning to the earth. Nothing lasts as long as we think. We see something we made, and think less about the end. Algae grows over amusement park rides , ferns pop up in the corners of institutions. It's almost melancholic, tracing steps of strangers. This day-to-day panic, it won't last forever. Everything I do will be erased with time. Nothing is permanent. Everything ends.
alive // dead
The fog sits heavy in the tree line, and I am acutely aware of every breath I take. I drive down a slick hill, past the green cemetery. Why is it so green? Most things in it are dead. I'm stuck in traffic, stuck in my head, with the window rolled down.The red light, like blood, like anger, like justification, is refracted in the water on my windshield. It smells like fresh dirt and wet pavement. I stick my hand out the window. The droplets caress my hand, to the inside of the door, to my thigh, down to my heavy bones. Damp clothes stick to my skin, like all the things I still blame myself for, and feel ashamed about. Feels like I'm only a backseat driver in my brain. Later, in cold winter darkness, in bed, I'll crack a window. I want to hear the night, smell the clean wind, taste the open sky. Feel the chill, feel alive, feel anything else besides squeezing and twisting in my heart. The water droplets glide across my windshield and glows green as the cars roll forward. I pull my hand back into the car and watch the cemetery for a second, in my rear view mirror. I guess parts of me are still alive, even when I feel dead inside, too.
8:36pm
It's 8:36 pm and I've brushed my teeth and washed my face for an early start tomorrow. I'm smoking some weed, trying to find a spot under the porch where the rain won't soak me. I can hear it pattering on the trees, a soft background white noise to the few birds still chirping. It's not quite bright outside still, but it's dark enough the porch light came on when I stepped outside. In my little corner, of the lower level of the porch, with one of my fine four for six dollar joints, with that crisp summer rain smell, the blackberry bushes that have just flowered are glistening up at me and I can pretend I'm happy because no one can see me and prove me outherwise. It's 8:50 and my brain is warm but I miss the feeling of a body pressed against my back. I'm watching Netflix and it's fine but there's something about that closeness that settles my heart when with a deep breath warming my neck and tight arms around my waist. I'm fine but it's 9:01 and time keeps going and I keep writing trying to figure out how to be alone when all I want is to be loved.
faith
The sky is blue, and the sun is bright. I'm at a red light, waiting to turn left. My elbow rests in the open window while my hand lazily waves in the breeze. There's a man set up on a cornerg with large signs proclaiming "Jesus saves!" in red or white paint on a bold white fbackground. The light turns green, so I start to make the turn, and I hear him shouting "God loves you!" he insisted as I straightened out and continued driving. He seemed to have conviction in what he said. I appreciate the faith. I just have never been good at it. I can tell you I've never felt more loved than when fucking on soft white sheets in the afternoon light, calling out to his god. The day is basically over, then, but not yet, so while the sweat cools and the sun sets we can pass quiet smiles and half a joint. Find some wine and toast to the crickets. That's where my beliefs lay, I sigh as I turn the next corner and his signs fade in my rear view mirror, in the small scraps of contentment. That's what saves me, is the temporary dopamine kicks, because it seems like nothing good is ever real, I don't have that faith.
drive me
We are the gaps in the clouds. The winds whistling and pushing the rain in through the windows rolled down just a crack as we speed home from the dark skies. All day in bed with the rain pounding until there's nothing left outside those doors to bring us down. High up in the blushing and blood stained streaky sunset as the last rays glance across the windshield. It's a taking turns too slow kind of night, cause it's harder to steer the wheel when I'm holding your hand. You look at me at stoplights and probably when I'm watching the road, too. A version of myself without a mask on to perfectly present my emotion. You want the unguarded smile or a small lip bite in concentration I struggle to tear down my walls to finally invite you in. You promise me Mac n cheese and sunflowers and books from foreign authors which makes me feel too small for your goodness. I'm so used to assuming the worst in everyone, I didn't stop when I was looking in the mirror. For the first time, im more afraid of breaking a heart than being broken. But maybe that's because I wonder if hidden between Tupperware and inked pages there's glue and scotch tape waiting to mend the cracks in my soul. Every sunset makes me think of your beauty, the soft kind no one sees. There's dirt under your nails but a warmth in your eyes and a blush on your cheeks that says "kiss me". Every dusk brings a twinkle to the sky and your gorgeous eyes that makes me want to tell you I'm thinking of you.
burn baby burn
I continue to dream of flames licking the edges of paperbacks and bedspreads and photo albums. It's a tumultuous indecisive kind that won't burn. Match after match goes out and I wonder if I will never be able to light that fire beneath me. I close my eyes and see cleansing and renewal that sits firmly in an almost. Sparking question after question to see if I'm good enough to rise from the ashes, if I'm good enough to burn those bridges, if I'm good enough, am I good enough? Am I good enough? I close my eyes and hear the pop and crackles teasing me as it consumes my the hours. Too hot to touch but too cold to love. I crave the comfort in absolute destruction. If there isn't enough oxygen to breathe then how can I tend to the eternal flame? After all, I provide the kindling, not god.
whole souls
I went for a drive yesterday afternoon. Puddles reflected the sky on fire aboveThe road glistened Dusk nestled between treetop and skylineI can't control anything Anything anyone else doesHe told me it was some "fun times" I realized there wasn't anything left to save I am on a path of healing Of self acceptance, of growth, and of strength I admit I got caught up in trying to protect myself Avoiding the hurt, fighting for something that never existed Truth is, I'm going to be okay It fucking sucks A different time, a different place, wouldn't matter I can't rescue him. I can't settle. I'm looking for fulfillment, and satisfactionI need someone willing to do the work On themself, first I don't want any more half finished souls I am not your savior, your babysitter, or your crutch The work is hard, and heartbreaking It never stops And yet,I miss him It hurts so bad
dem bones
I kissed uncaring strangers in the vain attempt to get your taste out of my mouth. Swallowed sighs from bitten lips as if it was a revelation. Finger painting on my skin and covering up the marks you made with new ones. Just because I hate the way my skin stretches over my bones doesn't mean you should, too. All I want is for your face to flush and your teeth to peak out at me. I want to find glory and happiness in your eyes crushed closed. I've been a lot of places, but never in love. So I stay up late drinking of you.
algae, good weed, sea anenomes
My anxiety is green. It's the algae at the bottom of a clear pond on a sunny day that kids keep fucking throwing stones at to see the ripples. It's picturesque and it's not telling your therapist about mixing weed and benzos cause you'll never be good enough. I guess I just I like the way men look at me with their fingers in my mouth but either way I'm not afraid of catching feelings. because it's more about the ones I have towards myself and I want to still wake up in love with myself like you are, for whatever reason, trying to be. When I kiss, I want fireworks and happy sighs but all I've got are those little poppers you throw at the driveway to piss off your parents. I want to see galaxies in your eyes and fall asleep in your arms. I calm myself down with my ear to your chest to time my breathing with your heartbeats and pretending the circles you're tracing on the back of my hand are meaningful. So I'll pray to a god I don't believe in when I'm already down on my knees crawling from one bed to another