hearts Nikole hearts's blog: "Poetry"

everything gets so romanticized with distance with time. . . there's the old saying about fonder hearts but i think it's more an issue of forgetting. a girl gets glossed over. like greasing the lens-- she appears angelic almost. it's not a sham so much as marketing maybe or maybe not marketing it's the desire to think that so far at least your life has meant something. it's the desire to think that everything has been something and it's been something beautiful. so you start blurring the edges and dimming the lights and before too long, with the fog of time and so many years all the nights alone and the broken hearts all the deaths and all the rejections get glossed over and you remember them just a little different. just a little better.

but what about a brain that knows it's being lied to? it can't be fooled--only confused. but what, again, of the other body parts? the body parts that can't separate now&then, truth&fiction. the hand the only remembers being held. the shoulder that remembers being kissed. the ear that remembers the rhythm of a heartbeat and warmth of the chest breathing against it. the hair that remembers being brushed aside, and is being brushed aside again. what of all the body parts that add to the brain, and make up a whole. what if all the other pieces of a person decided to band together, commit mutiny and they all said no, this is real and it's right again, and fuck you brain for thinking differently, fuck you brain. for thinking at all. and the brain, it's already been muddled by these stupid decisions and this refusal to move forward, and it gives up and gives in and says, ok little elbow that remembers being held, ok little chin that remembers being pinched, you go on ahead and function like this is the real thing, the right thing. you go on living in your dreamworld, shit, i give up and i give in. and in a few days when the dust settles and you're remembering how it feels to be an empty hand again, a cold foot and a bare neck, don't you let those sleepy, sighing eyes open w i d e in shock and don't you let that jaw drop. don't you come crawling to ME, the brain will say, when you figure out it wasn't real. we told ourselves it wasn't real in the first place, you should've listened... it's not my fault you couldn't let go of a few tactile memories and a desire for warmth. well, SHIT, my brain will say, you should've listened. and the rest of my body will say "oh brain. oh you sweet, silly little brain. it's funny you thought you had it straight and it's funny you thought you knew the truth. and the funniest of all is that you thought you knew this wasn't real you sweet, sad, silly little brain. it's funny you thought you ever knew anything at all!"

Victorian romance novels &potholes that fill overnight. our secret motivations like jealousies i don't understand blood/alcohol concentration. gas tanks, parking tickets &how I'll make ends meet. the smell of wet asphalt &how long til it's summer again (days here) dreamworlds &dead horses. him. me and my Grey matter. library books &that certain smell. love, space, time, faith math&limbs dirty bedsheets.

you're this wild thing, and i can't tame you. this is the sort of thing that's supposed to pass for romantic? this is the sort of bullshit i should accept in lieu of honesty? this is the sort of thing you'd say about me if we were living our little romance on a fucking movie set. news flash: this is the real thing baby. and i'm beginning to realize how ridiculous it is that i'm the one who's insecure in this relationship. it's ridiculous that i'm so afraid i'm gonna lose you, you won't love me, you're gonna leave me. fuck that hard. because i'm figuring out, baby... that i'm the closest thing to perfect that you're gonna get. and i'm as perfect as i'm ever gonna be. you're right when you say you can't change me. you're spot fucking on when you say you've gotta take the good with the bad. so start fucking acting like it. i may be crazy. i may be a little warped, a little loud, a little green. but i'm also everything you ever said that you wanted. and if i'm not enough... well baby, speak up. you'd be surprised at what i can pull out of my ass. you'd be surprised at how much i'd give you. you've just got to let me know. but the irony again--what's so fucking ridiculous--is i'm better off alone. i'm better off unbinded. i'm better off taking care of myself. as the song goes, i am flawed if i'm not free. but the thing is, and i know it's even more ridiculous... for whatever fucking reason i love your crazy ass. and you love my crazy ass. and we just love crazy asses. so i'm willing to go for it... but i'm pretty much OVER being so damn insecure.

sometimes i think you need a slap across the face not in the bitchslap kind of way but in the wake-the-fuck-up kind of way. what happened to you trying harder? what happened to trying at all? what happened to being more appreciative, and more responsible more reasonable and more grown up? not to mention less bitchy. shit, seriously, i don't know why i let you infuriate me still but god DAMNIT has it crossed your mind for even a second that you're pushing everyone away, everyone who cares about you, being absolutely unfair and MEAN to them? of course it crossed your mind... i'm not giving you enough credit! of course you knew you were being insulting (cruel almost) and unreasonable... and you knew you were taking a shit all over everyone (all over ME) and pushing us all away... but that was ok in your book, right? that was ok and it didn't matter who you hurt (you don't want to apologize for your actions, right? i'm sure they were SO fucking productive, no reason to be ashamed or regretful of them right?) it was ok because it accomplished a goal you got rid of anyone that might ever ask anything of you-- anyone you'd made fucking PROMISES to... anyone who might (for a red second) hold you fucking responsible for anything. god for-motherfucking-bid. you say everyone needs to grow up. everyone needs to stop being so childish and dramatic. well honey, change your name to everyone and start referring to yourself in third person, you might have it right. i'm not saying i'm so god damned perfect or so mature. i'm not saying that i was the worlds best friend or anything like that and shit we both know i've fucked up... and there were times when you were there for me... and there were times when you were fun to be around... and there were EVEN a few times when you criticized yourself for a change and said that maybe you needed to make some changes. (you did need to... but you never did... fancy that-- easier to hide from everything i guess) i'm not trying to make this about "everything i've done for you" or the psychological reasoning behind you sticking your god damn neck in the sand... it might sound like it, but that's not what i was trying for... all i really want is for you to get a fucking WAKEUP CALL and snap the fuck out of it and get help if you need it and... in your own words which you love so well: grow the fuck up.

there's this part of me that just wants to go to sleep. i just want to drift out and melt away. then there's another part-- and there are so many fucking things i want to do with myself. so many things i want to be capable of. so many things i think i can be capable of... am, even... and i want to do them. i want to fucking do something. i'm in a place right now where i'm just so crippled... and i can't. and i sit up late with a cigarette and a cup of cold coffee... and i can't move. i wish there were someone i could talk to but i can't... there are people out there who think they love me. but they don't know... they just don't know. i've been having hallucinations again. and i don't want to tell anyone... i've been so fucking disabled... so frustrated and so restless and so hopeless... and i'm just falling apart at the seams. and i've been staring longingly at the knife again, or at a pipe or at a bottle and i know-- i know that none of these are the answer. but that doesn't change the appeal... no... and i don't know what to do and i want someone-- want anyone to just look at me, see all of me and just... be alright with that... be alright with me but that's just... it's too much. so i just want them all to think that i'm ok-- that i'm capable of being ok... i want to put on this strong front and make sure that everyone thinks it's ok to put a little faith in me. and i really, really want to believe that it's true... but is it? i spend so much time pretending that i'm someone else that even i don't know anymore... i just don't know... i don't know which way is up anymore. and i want so badly to be right... i want to know the right way to be... but i just can't fucking find it. so here i am. sitting up with that cold cup of coffee again... and i'm putting this out there for anyone to see. consider this a cry for help. but what the hell am i crying for? and why the hell am i so confused? and why is everything so goddamned h a r d . it really shouldn't be. it should all be so simple... but it's not and i can't change that. i'm not a simple girl. i'm not easy. fuck, but i want to be. but wanting something doesn't change anything. not until you figure out how the hell to make it happen. so here i am, like i said... i'm putting this out there for you to see. and you can reconsider, i understand. i'm so goddamned hard. and i shouldn't be saying any of this right now. i should be putting on a happy face and fucking DOING something. and i will. i know i will but i'm just... still figuring out how... and that takes a lot of fucking patience and no one-- no one is a saint these days.

there are so many things i'd love to get off my chest. so many things i'd like to unload on you, but it wouldn't do an ounce of good. done is done and grown up is grown up and enough is about god damn enough. and most of the time i can keep it pushed down, i can keep it down but then again sometimes... when you see a certain scene in a movie or you hear a song that reminds you of too many nights... sometimes you're just talking to an old friend, and the edge of it comes back. but only the edge and i've got to thinking-- i'm tired of being someone that things happen to. makes me feel so shriveled and weak and i'm better than that. so you see, love, it's not that i'm trying to hide anything from you, or that i think i need to, it's only that... there's no point in dwelling on any of it anymore. and i am not damaged goods. and i am not a goddamned train wreck. and i do not need to be saved. but i would like a hand sometime, dear, and... i'd like to think you'll be waiting there with open arms.

&what if you don't get exactly what you want exactly when you want it? &what if i'm at home again and i want to blow my face off. not literally of course. please don't call the cops. i'm just saying lately (and i don't know why it is) there's something about this place... i feel like i'm suffocating. i wish i could figure it out i wish i could figure so many things out i wish you didn't always have to get your way. i wish i didn't always want to get mine. &what if he's too busy today he won't be he can't be he'd never-- see i've been bothered a lot lately by things that wouldn't usually eat me alive and i've been thinking like... but the air in here--the still, dusty... these are the kind of thoughts it puts into my head and makes me want to blow my face off. proverbially. of course.

it comes and goes. like the nausea the morning after when we drank until we could finally sleep but didn’t sleep woke up sore and shaky the next morning. and meanwhile i’m trying hard to keep track of all the time and all the times and all the anything. i broke my fucking hourglass and now i can’t sort out the sand. i’m letting it slip aimlessly through my fingertips and it just piles up on the floor. like what? fuck you. i’m sand and i represent your lost time. and i make daily attempts to appear less heartless and i bite my tongue when she asks if i’ll forgive. until i’m sick of the charade and take a proverbial bowling ball and chuck it into all the fancy little white lies i’ve set up. screaming “I’M A PIECE OF SHIT.” and fuck it, i never loved him, i don’t know how. and maybe i did but i don’t know and i should know, well shouldn’t i? and i’m confused now, and i’ve got so many tangles of theories and suppositions and epiphanies and bullshit and the times just piling up at my feet and it all gets kicked around and blurs together and i can’t even remember which way is fucking UP anymore and i don’t remember which way is fucking up and who’s getting fucked up and what they fucked up and who they fucked and what fucked up little things i’d let you do to me and meanwhile i’m still trying to figure out which WAY is fucking UP and i’m scared, and i’m scared, i’m scared, everyday i get more fucking scared that i’ll never begin to figure my own fucking head out and meanwhile, meanwhile the only thing i’d ask of any of you is just to promise, honey, promise me you’ll never figure me out. we’ll just fall asleep and maybe we won’t sleep but we’ll pretend and wake up sore and shaky and full of phantom pains, ready for a new day full of bullshit and fast talking and smoke and mirrors and caveat emptor. and fuck it. there i am getting off track again. swimming around the ruins, getting caught up in the past. still lamenting over mistakes i let you make and how i let you treat me like a goddamn lapdog. and when you finally let me go i feel like shit for falling out of love with you? and what now? and what then? and what the fuck? and what of the band-aids for our little scrapes along the way? we’ll buy gallons of liquor and drink until we can see straight. drink. until we can see. straight. through. alllllll the bullshit and by G-d! i’ve figured it out. and i’ve caught a grain of sand from the hourglass, and i know who i am, this time. and i know that i loved him, and i lost it but fuck it honey you can have your cake and eat SHIT i’m tired of supporting the facade of a house burned down. i loved you but i don’t. and you don’t and whatever. but tonight! i love the whole entire world, tonight. i just... need to remember this in the morning when i’m putting band-aids on my hangovers. sticking sutures in my open sores.

we've had many discussions on the subject, the idea that there is absolutely nothing more scary for our generation than getting your life together and realizing you're standing on top of solid ground. shitstorms, breakdowns, the buildup and the fallapart. these things we are bloody experts in. when the proverbial shit hits that fan, we know what to do. we've made our lives out of picking ourselves up and gathering all the pieces of our shattered lifestyle. picking up the shards of shattered glass. we've spent years climbing out of holes, cleaning up our messes, adopting addictions just to spend months getting over them... this is the familiar, this is our damn bread and butter. keeping ourselves busy. disappearing into a den of ridiculous amounts of drug use for six months, just to spend the next three years recovering. nursing ourselves back to health. i actually recall making the decision to start smoking cigarettes. it was the first night i hung out with will. he gave me a menthol. ha. and here i am, getting back into the groove, here i am trying to quit smoking cigarettes. thinking about, planning around, finding out how to NOT smoke eats up hours of my day. my whole life revolves around the absence of deviances which, to be honest, i only adopted in the first place so i could let them go. this is how i've come to be comfortable. this is how i've always lived. until. cigarettes, and maybe someday alcohol... these are the last bastions. these last few months are the first time in years where i've actually made an attempt at real progress instead of just catching up. this is the first time since i was... twelve? that i've been on solid ground long enough to take a few steps forward. otherwise, i'm digging or i'm climbing, but i'm never, never level. i'm in or out of an addiction. in or out of a horrible relationship. i'm looking for a new job or another place to live. i'm drowning in withdrawals or restraining orders-- sometimes i'm really on top of my game and i'm drowning in both. but here i am, free as a jaybird. and i'm giving up the one thing i always said i'd keep around. fuck cigarettes. and i'm finally going back to school and i'll have insurance and i'll have prescriptions. and i'm so tired of being stupid over stupid boys i don't think i can even stomach letting myself disappear into another fucked relationship with a sadistic alcoholic. i've got nothing left to drown in. and i'm trying. so hard. to keep my head above water. and now i've gotta start moving forward and nothing nothing could be more foreign or more cold. nothing could possibly scare me more. nothing could make me want to dig a deep deep rabbit hole and hide in it more. but my goal for these upcoming months, i guess, is to get excited about the solid ground.