They found a flower growing around my lungs and taking root and the nurse tells me it's a sort of wild flower. I woke up with a petal on my tongue and pressed it in my notebook to keep it, because it's most likely the most beautiful illness to ever plague me. The doctor told me it could be dangerous, that he would have to pull it from my open mouth, because everyone knows what happens to flowers in a world like this, nobody wants to look at flowers anymore.
Is there ever to be a place where even the smallest whimper does not sound like a roar, or a place where I don't feel as restless as a mare? The whole world is so big and I am so small inside of it, like a girl with a medicine that doesn't let her leave the room. But wherever I go I find the smallest, heaviest thing tied to me which leaves me inert and unable.
I am just so sad at how beautiful the world is and how unbeautiful some people are to it and to everyone.
(I found a key to something that was once yours, I pressed it hard inside my hand, to blood, and then to keep quiet labelled the key "Temperance" and locked it inside myself. To you - if you do read this, you are as Awful as me.)
If i belong to everyone, does this mean that they belong to me, too?
"And you, what do you dream of?"
"When I grow up, I want to be a memory!"
sleeping in gardens, adorned with flowers :
the roots and vines collecting the worst,
(on flowers, a note :
i met a tulip in the yard today and i named her cordelia,
she is yellow and i envy her)
medicinals (n, plural) :
my reaching for the wounds,
only to find them quite gone.
mg (unit) :
in regards to medicinals,
too much is often too little.
"Unlove me," I say to the air,
as though the wind currents could leave a whisper in your ear,
my smell on your pillow.
For those of you who want, since I secretly adore you all, I want to send you gifts! Either physical copies of diary pages and photographs things like this or I can scan them and send them to you if you don't want to receive strange things in the mail!
She lies in bed, wonders what her body is like from inside :
- just a smallness?
- a great expanse?
Like this, she makes lists until medication makes her sleepy.
He, heavy, awake.
(Because the nurse forgot.)
girl of my dream:
the plastic flower, my twin.
(link on user page ; new self portrait, old words revisited)
I wished for six wild horses
and you, somewhere else.
Such unbearable lightness, you gave me!
As though by some curse:
You'll save anyone who needs it,
but not me.
Never quite in the way I need,
never quite in the way I want.
lull me into perfect nightmare, sing me to daydream,
kiss my wrist, say i'm not bad
in seven years, your body cells shed and grew new, completely ;
isn't it strange, to think that four years from now, you will have never touched me?
I want to clarify things, I don't hate humanity. I am (usually) shy towards other people and sometimes I don't like talking much to others. Sometimes I am disappointed in people. But I don't think I hate anyone. My comment in my previous journal was self-oriented. Let's look at it again :
"Something about not eating is so appealing to me, because it's so non-human and alien, and my humanness is one of the things I like least of myself."