excuse my mistakes. i wrote you me in hopes you remember me right. i am living my life for you simply because you are not.



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One day, I will teach my daughter to never be or love:

1. The Lover. The type that loves more than anything else, the kind that’s too positive. There is so much love out there and yet they choose to add on to the love. One day you’ll learn that you have to hate something. Not everything that you do, you should love. You shouldn’t love rape, you shouldn’t ever misinterpret aggression. Love bites and bruises on your neck are two different things. The words “boys will be boys boys” is sexist, wrong, incorrect. They are boys but they don’t have a goddamn right to kiss you rough when you need them sweet; they cannot fuck you if you only want to make love. They cannot give you their last name if you feel as they have handed you chains and shackles. You cannot expect them to sway you to sleep, to sway you when you dance: everybody knows the dance of death, the dance of rape, the two-step punch. They can be beautiful, they can be what you want. But this, this lover, is not beautiful. You cannot love everything.

2. The Taster of Death. You can’t dance with death a thousand times and expect to live. Run from your lover if they ask you to dance with death because you cannot kiss death on the lips and not expect it not to take a bit of you away. I understand that you want to have fun in your life and that you want to do stupid and reckless things but all things have to come to an end. you are not supposed to be drinking booze and dancing like a fool when your children are at home drinking water and dancing to the slow wail of homework. You cannot dive without a helmet in hopes to live. You will die one day and you can’t just taste death - you can’t just taste love, you can’t just taste things you shouldn’t. You can bleed out but your body will always give you back blood: your skin will scar, your body will heal, but you will join death. The world is a hook. You are its prey.

3. The Asshole. You can’t just be rude to everybody. Although you cannot be the lover, you cannot be hateful. There are things in this world you have to love and accept. You can’t just love one person but hate the next: you cannot hate your left hand, and love your right because one lets you write and the other does not. You cannot love a man and hate the other because he is not the one you love. If you must, let your hate seep in slowly, let it color in a square or two. But do not let it fill up so many squares that you have yourself a quilt that you can cover and hide with. Please don’t fill yourself up with anger, with distaste just because you are not extended love. Not everybody is love. Yet people shouldn’t be love.

4. The Object. I knit you bit by bit in my womb; my body kissed you with life and gave you life and my only hope is for you to be human. You are not his, you are not hers. Slap your lover and leave them when they ask you to be “theirs”. You are not theirs. You are yours. Your heart is yours. Love is not giving your heart, love is giving time and accepting. Please, baby, don’t you ever think about giving yourself away in hopes to make somebody happy. You placing yourself in a box to feel smaller, to feel lesser, is not okay. You are not weak. You shouldn’t cross your legs and hug your purse to let the fool next to you have room in the subway box. I did not birth you into a box, I birthed you in the world. The world can be in a relationship with you: make it work. Make things work, make love work. You are not an object to be tossed about - physically and metaphorically.

You can be whoever the hell you want to be. You can love whoever, you can be whoever. But the world is a balance, and you are its master. You must balance what you want more in order to weigh in with what you hate. You can love. Please, baby girl, please love. But do not hate more than you love, and love more than you hate. You can be in love, but you cannot be loved in an objective perspective. You are meant to have love, you are meant to be happy. But baby girl, BE WHO YOU WANT TO BE. THE WORLD IS YOUR FRIEND IF YOU PLAY ITS CARDS RIGHT - BUT WHEN YOU PLAY ITS CARDS, PLAY THE ONES YOU WANT AND ARE WILLING TO COMPROMISE. YOU MAY BE CAUGHT UP IN THE TORNADO THAT YOU MIGHT THINK WILL KNOCK YOU OFF YOUR FEET BUT ONE DAY BABY GIRL SOMEBODY WILL BREAK YOUR FALL. ONE DAY YOU WILL BE ALRIGHT, AND YOU WILL BE YOU. YOU DON’T NEED TO BE THEIRS - YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BE THEIR PREY. BABY GIRL, YOU ARE RIGHT THERE AND THE SOUL YOU WILL LOVE WILL BE RIGHT THERE FOR YOU: PLEASE GO FOR THEM WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT, AND WHEN THE PERSON IS RIGHT FOR YOU. BUT REMEMBER THAT THEY ARE NOT YOUR OBJECT, AND YOU WILL NEVER BE THEIRS.

mhz, 2014. “to my dearest”.
"I swear things are going to get better but they almost never do. I want to tell her that she’s a bitch like her mom but that’s stooping down lower than I ever would like.
But my anger isn’t just this. It’s not just her being rude, being prissy, and not fair. My anger is in so much.
That’s the thing - the very thing those goddamn while oval pills with a line in the middle can’t numb, the very thing my counselor swears they understand but they too have not a goddamn clue what it is, the very thing that I can’t understand, the very goddamn thing that’s so big I swear it’s like the goddamn iceberg from the Titanic. It’s that. The pain that’s everywhere and I can’t seem to pinpoint it.
And sometimes you’ll push my buttons. I’ll want to cry but you’re just saving me somehow. I feel relieved. I start getting an idea of what the iceberg is, or at least where I walk across.
I know the walk isn’t going to be easy, and I know keeping you with me isn’t going to be easy either. That’s one of the things, I guess. Losing you. I’ve gotten used to you in my life and I frankly really like it. I want it.
And all I need are those three words. Eight letters. Cliché as it may be - but ‘I need you’ isn’t good enough. It never has been but it’s a hell of a lot better than any pill will ever be.”
mhz, “diary entries”
"Here’s your dilemma, kid:
School’s almost over for the year and you’re still struggling with yourself. You tell yourself that you’ve finally got it and that you’re gonna pull yourself together sometime soon but deep inside you know that you can’t because finals are around the corner, your inner demons are raging, and you know the facts: getting your hopes up gets you nowhere.
Screw that.
Today you woke up. You got out of bed. You got yourself together. Sure, you might not have had an amazing day. But you got yourself somewhere - school, work, in the kitchen, or maybe in the bathroom.
Somebody else out there did that too, today.
They’re doing it absently just like you are - but they’re doing it for you.
It’s a beautiful time guys, it really is. And time is only beautiful because of those who color it correctly. You’re beautiful, and you’re worth it.
I think it’s time you finally started to agree with it.”
mhz, "happier ramblings"

i apologize for an upcoming stream of angry, vulnerable, and harsh poetry. i don’t mean the words as harshly as they may come of but fucking hell i need to sort my shit out.

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