Constellations

And I just can’t get the things to work-

It’s rather simple; it should be.

My life is fractals, and dried roses and food gone rotten,

And left over coffee, and bleeding pens-

It was a supposedly awful childhood.

I laugh and joke away the pain, lest it be brought back around

My mother could not bare it-

My dad has his same stoic sneer.

‘There’s still mom, there’s still Damage to do-‘

There were constellations made from broken ceilings

I planned out my life-

Made stories of dragons and captors and prideful giants.

The man with the pen who shot down the last dinosaur in the world.

I refused it for so long, and I hated all.

And I sit here wondering, what the reason is- how I could survive

And yet-

How it isn’t valid.

So so many have had it worse.

I must move on-

"NEVER LOOK BACK!" they cry out blindly,

The bastards they are-

They do not know my story, or anyone else’s for that matter

Cheerful slogans of optimism and supposed inspiration can only do so much.

They just leave a little girl lost, feeling as if she’s a monster for feeling sad

Wondering why she’s the one that lived.

Survivor’s guilt, I suppose.

I feel the need to tell Adora’s story, but it’s too self-indulgent and uselessly tragic-

Instead Rat has to suffice.

It doesn’t matter, what matters now is the question.

God, this is difficult.

Everyone has something like this, and yet it seems that no one gets it.

Your brother died?

Oh, how cute!

And what about your father?

That is the thing, and I don’t think I can ever explain it.

I chose pink.

He chose blue.

For years we didn’t talk.

I was only eight when I decided to hate him.

But I’m strong enough to let it go, although, sometimes I don’t know whether that was the best decision or not.

Well, fuck, it seems that I’m crying again.

And he may be coming back.

Just ignore and be decent-

What other choices have I?

I will just sit, and smile, and be the one who deserves to live.

I do.

I deserve to live.

I have never doubted it, despite others wanting me to question…

Of course they would.

Of course they would.

Of course they would!

And I am fine for now.

Catharsis seems to be all I have.

And honesty.

And cryptic sayings… some I can never tell.

And when I die, and some sad soul comes across some paper heart of mine, they will see it and think:

"Nothing has ever understood me more, the guilt for well-earned hatred, the insignificance and wonder…"

And they will know.

And I will love them, unbeknownst.

I am falling.

‘The world is full of things that are falling.’

And I cannot stop.

I should be gone by now- off pursuing my future.

Academia calls, but I am stuck here, 

At least for now.

My coffee sits untouched- sweetness, like that of my mother.

It’s her birthday today.

I shouldn’t be so selfish, then.

I do not deserve to be this selfish, not now.

My fingers freeze and my leg aches.

Dad will be over soon. 

He will watch TV, and sleep, and tell me to go to bed, lock him out, and be nice to mama.

I can’t go on like this.

One day this emotional volatility and stifling will make me explode

But I am here and I shall be alright for now-

What other choice have I?

I shan’t go on forever.

I mustn’t.

I’ll drink coffee.

Pursue academia.

Write my memories, as best as I can.

And see my father, and be more than just civil, and keep to myself.

It’ll be alright-

It’ll be alright.

Goodnight.