Clenched Soul

Saradactyl · 11-10-2009, 08:54 AM

These are the things I tell myself. Burning uncertainty gets the better of me, and in the turmoil of those utterly confused and desperate moments, I must regain my self-control. I must tell myself these things.

I am Neruda's daughter. I will make it. I have always made it.

I radiate that, the first word I ever spoke. "Light." I am stronger, sharper than a diamond. Sarah the Poet. And if you decide that you do not want me, and if you are too stubborn to let me persuade you, so be it. I don't need you.

But I have a mind like a steel trap. You know it. And in the end, every blind fool knows that without love, he is nothing.

Hear me. I will speak quietly so that you really hear me.

I get so desperately lonely sometimes that I feel breathless.

I feel as though I've run out of passion, out of strength, out of air. I feel as though a thousand wills were pushing me, shoving me, through the crowded streets, and now they've stopped, and now I'm on my knees. And I'm gasping through my mouthful of dirt, "Where has my power gone?"

I drink, and I drink heavily. I let the blood run from my thighs. (Yes, I'm still ashamed of that. After all these years, still repeating myself, still hating it.)
But I have more bad habits nowadays than I have stories,
And I think I believed in more when I started.

I will let you hold open my wound and I will let you believe that you adore me, in vain. It's the only thing that distracts me from the fact that I hurt.

After all these years, still crying. Still crying because you. Still hating it.
I bet you didn't know that.

I have never been so in pain, so sad or so alone. I can't remember what I used to want.

I used to have lust for everything. It used to ignite my bones. Now I'm no longer drunk, now I'm out of words. Now I'm out of friends. Sometimes delighted, sometimes delightful. Out of cigarettes and out of hope.

But I will rise above this ugly incident.
I may no longer hold some favored position, but I am just as proud of myself to be hated as I was to be adored. People are pathetic, obsessed. Kindness is fickle. Kindness is irrelevant. I could give you so much more than kindness.

I am their beheaded queen, their bleeding, slack-mouthed Antoinette. Let them learn a lesson from my sacrifice. Their ridicule. Their hateful speeches flung up at the platform as I stand alone.
"Long live the queen," I'll murmur as the blood seeps from my lips.

There is such a huge difference, my darling,
between dying and giving up.

plax77 · 11-10-2009, 10:01 AM

That was very intelligently written and it gave me goosebumps. It's so much like what my ex used to write before she was about to break down... Sarah, are you ok? do you need to talk?