Roots grow as fast as weeds but they are underground. Pests when you trip on them and frustrating when they interfere. You cannot see them but they are there. They are in our daily lives and the vegetation that consumes our world and allows us to live, they are attached to.
You may not notice them immediately but they surround you. They are the building blocks of everything that stands. The green spindly vines that grow, wrapping around the rabbit's foot will eventually die. They resurface and trip and spine through the rabbit's bones. But, they all die too.
As Roots grow, I do. I think I've grown up to be crooked and misshapen but that can't be my fault. Yeah, It's my fault. My bones have been cracked and bent and bruised but I can seem fine unless you decide to open your eyes.
Everytime I say I'm fine It feels like more of a lie. Fine could mean I'm doing okay or it could mean Feeling Incapable of Needing Everyone. Of course, in a sarcastic connotation. I always need everyone or I just need someone. I'm too cautious for my own good, like a cervidae. I feel like a hammered piece of clay.
Butterflies shed their wings and flowers shed their petals. I still don't know what the difference between a petal/pedal with a D or a T is but "It's just grammar, I can figure it out on my own". The period comes after the quotation mark. That's important. Everytime I say that I imagine someone else saying it and pointing to me. That's just a daydream though, something that isn't real. We both know I don't matter.
I've been losing weight but if no one notices my wrist bleeding out then I guess my ribs poking through my skin wouldn't be a big eye catcher. Sometimes I like to imagine that the blood is rainbow so that It's more enjoyable to look at. I feel like that's how people like to think of me but instead of something pretty, I'm just transparent. I wish I could see myself that way too. Yeah, I hate me too.
I wish I were pretty. If I were pretty then I think a lot more people would like me. Maybe they would like me. Roots can be pretty, they can be so many different shapes and colors. They're like a painting. Oh, that reminds me. I'm late for Elementary.
(Skeletons can't be pretty. Not unless they're bleached but, I'm just eroded)
I'm stuck in a love scene, Isn't that always the case? I wish it were real but it's just in my face. "It's a phase." I saw two butterflies the other day. One was orange and the other was blue, they were flying together. They were so in love.
I wish I was in love. They were so beautiful and unique [just like Roots]. Sad, how one always dies and the other is left to mourn. Or maybe It's just forgotten, like me and my eyes that don't seem to shine or have color anymore.
I'm trying to speak but I can't. The words just don't come out. My heart starts to race as I realize I can't move. My lips are sewn shut and my body is cut up. Everything is encased in a glass cage, you can see everything inside [my mind]. That is my greatest fear. If people see inside me then they won't see through me, I prefer to be hidden. Of course, unless It's them.
I used to be scared. Scared of people forgetting me, but is it really a fear if It's already happened. I don't believe a rhetorical question ends with a question mark. Not if It's not meant to be answered.
The Bird's letter may never be received. Really, that's up to me. Maybe I will when we're gone at the end, then I won't have to see you and be embarrassed. I'd be embarrassed, she'd be embarrassed for me.
I know It's long but I don't know how to express it. You'll get the short version when it arrives if it does. I feel the need to let you know but just not right now. It's not the time.
I got a new neighbor today. I've known her for awhile but we've just recently gained touch once more. The trees in my yard seem to sway more toward her side. I assume the roots have just gone along with them.
I started reading a new book the other day. It mentioned cervidae. I felt nostalgic, it reminded me of the October I hugged you. Everyone stared and said "That's new," it was new but everyone knew I liked you. I still do.
Sometimes when I cannot sleep, I look up at all the green and I'll hear a song playing. I'll replay it over and over until I don't cry anymore. It doesn't make me sad and please do not worry but it makes me mad at all that I lost. I lost what once was and now it is gone. Serves me right, I couldn't have held onto it for long. We both knew that eventually the end would come to our song.
But, if it is our song then why do you sing along to it? Sometimes I think I could hear a sorrowful note in your voice. I'm sorry, I know that's not enough. I'm sorry I never was. My neighbor came outside today. She took a look at my plants.
All my plants are gone now. I guess they liked my neighbor more. Serves me right, I couldn't have held onto them for long. My neighbor gives them more water. They're bright and they're growing. I miss my Roots but at least they're happy.
If they're happy then I'm happy but I guess I grew accustomed to them. They helped me stand and wound their spines through my bones and blossomed flowers. I was missing them this morning. I was wobbly and tripping like a newborn deer. I'm going to miss them, aren't I? I'm going to miss them.
[End, Part 1]
A Bottle of Tears
It's like drowning in a bottle of your own tears but, It's not just a bottle. It's a whole damn ocean. You can taste the salt in your mouth and it never really goes away. It's so bitter and eventually you just become one with it. It's like an ice lake except it cracks. It cracks and you fall. The ice impales your lungs with the oxygen it lacks and it moves up your spine and numbs your nerves but your heart certainly races.
your heart certainly races.
You were just spinning on the ice. It was dizzying and you never wanted to come down from that feeling. You were cold to the touch but everything inside you said 'excitement' and it was a weird feeling. A fun feeling. Hot but cold. Ice but fire.
There's so many things that I can say about the ice. But, mostly the water beneath it. You're almost certainly trapped under once you fall. You cannot see beyond the murky black water that swallows whole and eventually it is just a soul-less pit of nothingness. Or maybe it's your mind and thoughts. It's really just up to you.
There's a lot of things that I've left unsaid. I'd love to say them but I don't want someone to break them. It's like a snow globe that you give someone but after they tip it over to see the pretty snow, it falls through their fingers and breaks. Now, look what you did, there's water everywhere. It'll ruin the wood floor.
It's like sometimes I forget that's who I used to be until someone says it. And when they do I fall in the lake, the ocean. I fall and I drown and I sink in my own thoughts and It's like I'm not really there. I most certainly seem like I am but I'm not and when you say it I will always disappear.
Sometimes it feels like Euphoria. It's a certain trepidation and It's horrifying but If I cannot breathe then It's all over. Sometimes that's calming, if you say a certain thing then It might just go that far.
I really wonder what I'd be like. Honestly sometimes I confuse myself for who I am and who I want to be. Sometimes I think It's already happened when It's just the beginning. And when you say that I am at a blank, I am floating in the lake and I will not come up until It's over. I'm always so close and then there's the hand of Trepidation. The hand that tells me I need to breathe.
I always wake back up right before I drown. It happens all the time and I feel like I'm just falling backwards. Oftentimes I feel like falling rather than floating. I'll forget that It's who I used to be until someone says it. I drown repeatedly in the lake of my own past thoughts and then I remember. It's still dragging me back and I'm still my own prisoner. It reminds me that that's not something of mine. Well, not yet.
And it hurts me every time.
[End Part 3]
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