'how can you talk like that about your own mother,' i'm being asked, 'how can you even consider not reaching out for this day where every mother should be celebrated'

i would laugh if it wasn't actually quite sad how nobody thinks about me and all the other crying children who never had a loving mother but an abusive parent a scary home no compassion

but listen — this is important: just because she gave birth to you doesn't mean you have to thank her just because she gave birth to you doesn't make her a mom

and mother's day is a social script a ritual that simply doesn't fit every single story and it is not a moral law you have to follow

if you've been through so much that you feel not contacting her serves you better than following societal norms i beg you go for it choose yourself now that you can

you don't owe her anything.

#poetry #fortheghostsicarry #somestillbleed

it feels almost outrageous to even consider not to send greetings for today

there are so many things society tells us to do all that cultural conditioning that makes it hard to listen to oneself

but every fiber of my body resists the idea of celebrating this day of showing you gratefulness just because you birthed me

the idea of a mother being inherently sacred because she gives life because she loves unconditionally because she sacrifices so much for the well-being of her child it all makes me sick to my stomach

where is the space for the unhappy children in this narrative where is the space for the bruised souls and the broken hearts

#poetry #fortheghostsicarry #somestillbleed

011 | no grave of mine

i'm visiting the grave of my “father's” parents; but my father is not my father, and even if i didn't know it back then, i never called them “grandma & grandpa”

we were never quite as close as i was with my other grandparents – the gods know my other grandpa plays in a whole different league than the wholre rest of the family, but still -

and there was always a creeping feeling of distance; like i don't truly belong, like we have nothing in common.

now, my “aunt” – who is not my aunt - asked me to look after the grave because i live closest and she doesn't trust her brother, my “father” and because she lives on another fucking continent while i live one village away

and i am standing at this grave staring feeling nothing

even the guilt about that has disappeared

it's like looking at a stranger's grave

it should still feel fresh, though? my “grandfather” passed away last year – or wait, was it the year before? it hasn't been that long, is all i know and it's not like we never had a good time together

but still i am standing here feeling nothing

back at the car i already forgot the year my “grandmother” died, again

but i finally feel something something else i feel free?

and a tiny bit of guilt for not feeling guilt for not feeling anything

this is hard to share because it paints me like a monster; but if finally being able to leave something painful and devastating behind makes me one, i shall embrace it.

(is this my villain arc?)

(no)

(no)

(this is the part where i wake up and choose myself)

#poetry #fortheghostsicarry #somestillbleed #whattheflowersknow

isn't it curious how when things get bad we think it will never get better but when things get good we fear it'll get bad again soon

#poetry #fragments #fortheghostsicarry

#poetry

• should be self-explanatory, although i'm not always sure what i write should really be called “poetry”

#fragments

• short poems, (unfinished) thoughts

#fortheghostsicarry [for the ghosts i carry]

• often paired with #poetry
• posts about things relating to past selves/views/experiences

#somestillbleed [some still bleed]

• always paired with #fortheghostsicarry
• is meant to make you aware there might be mentions of potentially triggering subjects
  • these may include but are not limited to mental health, especially depression, anxiety and ( c)ptsd; unhappy childhood; gaslighting, emotional abuse, emotional neglect (ties in with the childhood); identity loss (will be tied to the specific issue of finding out your social father isn't your biological father rather late (i was almost 30));

#whattheflowersknow [what the flowers know]

• things i am learning as i am rediscovering myself
• often but not always rather positive, pushing forward, hopeful (but not in a toxic positivity-way (i hope))
• sometimes paired with #fortheghostsicarry
  • then often about past behaviors/beliefs, and how i am un-learning them

#thisferalheart [this feral heart]

• you will find sensual topics here
  • possibly explicit, tread with caution
• for this reason, if overly explicit, it will be posted at the beginning of an entry, not paired with any other hashtags (the only exception to this is the post titled “this feral heart”)

#againsttherush [against the rush]

• reflections on fast-paced (internet) culture
• resisting the feeling to constantly have to create, produce, perform; resisting “content creation”
• trying to reclaim slowness, breath and truth

i've always been “the soft one” and i tried to shapeshift this softness into whatever was needed into whatever i assumed would be liked best

when you do that for a long time for whatever reason – for me it was survival - you forget who you truly are

you unlearn what you really want what you need what would be fun to have or think or say or do

you just fill the molds prepared by others and if you don't fit, well squeeze a bit harder maybe cut a piece off yourself here and there

but there will be a time a day, a moment, a year maybe within which you realize no this isn't who i am

you will see the scars where you cut off parts of yourself and you will see the bruises from squeezing into spaces that were never meant for you

that is the time where you have to decide is it still worth it do i still need to do this or am i ready to leave it all behind

to step away from the molds to let myself become something else to see what shape i take when i'm not forced to fit in

#poetry #fortheghostsicarry

did you know caterpillars basically dissolve to become a butterfly.

but a brimstone, a swallowtail, a map caterpillar - they already are a brimstone, a swallowtail, a map butterfly.

the goo inside the chrysalis is still a brimstone, a swallowtail, a map.

becoming is not pretty; it's cruel and painful and scary.

but during all this time, no matter the state, i am still me, becoming.

#poetry #fortheghostsicarry #whattheflowersknow