if you’re mad at me please just tell me what i did wrong instead of ignoring me
You are not your scars.
You are not the names he called you,
the words that seethed in the back of your throat like the rust you tasted every time he split your lip.
You are not the two hospital bracelets that scalded your skin like shame,
that tasted like his fist when you tore them off with your teeth.
You are not your memories.
You are not the cold sweats, the nightmares.
You are not the tremble in your hands when you smell his cologne.
You are so much more than all of this.
You are constantly being reborn.
There are parts of you that never knew his touch. There are parts of you that always will. This is okay. It all came from supernovas, and it will return to dust someday. Know this and love yourself for it.
Polish the last of his fingerprints from your bones.
You are too beautiful
to let him haunt you like this.
You are too good for his ghost.
What are you talking about? I’m still the same age.
It’s still 2009 for me.
I’m like Ash Ketchum.
THIS IS GREAT.
Perhaps the most ancient school still in operation, the Egyptian School for Young Sorcerers is a grand palace disguised to muggle eyes as an insurmountable sand dune that no one has ever had the audacity to climb. In the heart of the palace is a spacious courtyard with a kaleidoscope of blossoming flowers, meandering cats oblivious to their surroundings, and pools of glimmering aquamarine filled with a continual supply of water drawn through underground tunnels from the Nile for leisure use on days when the heat is unbearable. The school boasts a vast chamber of books and scrolls (a number of which were salvaged from the library of Alexandria), some dating as far back as the age of Hatshepsut. Students can often be found draped lazily over chairs and large cushions reading for hours on end. According to rumoured legend, there is a concealed room with hieroglyphics holding spells to prolonging life and communing with the gods, although its discovery remains nigh impossible as (unbeknownst to students) its location changes every day, and those who have had the luck of stumbling upon it by accident often find themselves with a sudden academic dilemma in great need of immediate resolution (although they never seem to remember what it was that sent them stumbling through their professor’s doors).
i hope you wake up tomorrow, get dressed, and look at yourself in the mirror before you leave
and i hope that you remember how ossim you are and you just look your reflection square in the eye and say
"I kick ass. >:(" Then step out the door to slay the day
Have some new work for you guys :)
This one is a gift to somebody— so the accompanying text/poem won’t be put out publicly since they haven’t even seen it yet lol