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  • Writer's picturemelissagoodrich27

She could’ve been a poet, or she could’ve been a fool

Tragic menorrhagic, don't you cry, just cross your legs and hope to die. Not long ago you were a callow ingenue saying stupid shit like, "I get everything I want". Famous last words. It’s so hard when you’re trying, and so easy when you’re not. Sometimes you get what you want when it’s not the right time to want it. You can't pause time. You can't double-dip. You can't terraform a barren land to make the pieces fit. You can't dance in two worlds. No, you can't have everything, even when you look like the type who gets to be anything. Erudite activist, Queen of hearts, mommy, mom, ma... If only you could just stop hemorrhaging. Nobody likes a bleeder.


You laugh hard at the absurdity, at the lack of certainty. You deliver self-imposed gut-shanks inside Shawshank cages you've built to imprison the guilt. Consecutive losses and concurrent sentences. One day you'll be out on good behaviour. Acclimate to your new surroundings, to the shiny things. Carve out the pieces you no longer recognize, try a new you on for size. Each time you let go of something you love, you emerge somebody different. The world looks nearly identical, it's just one or two hues off from the colour it used to be. Somehow, your eyes adjust accordingly.


It's like it was before; nothing's really wrong. The little people still love you, and the post-punk dance parties are still going strong. You assuage the hungry ghosts you feed, taking stock of all the things you never knew you'd need. Seems like you might get them in the end...


Are we every really free, anyway? The big question nobody likes to ask. They put on a mask, pull a disappearing act. Hiding in plain sight, not ready to fight. But not you, you're ready to be changed and rearranged. Ask away, dance in the fray. You've had that magic since you were a kid, that thing that draws people near. The ability to find the lesson, to get close to fear. The clairsentience to see right inside. To see what lives, to remember what never really died.


No matter how much blood is lost, nothing ever really dies.


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