blehmy family isbleh by emimf
audio from the phone
and pixels on a screen.
my two friends are locked with me
in a house lease
they would leave.
my body is telling me
that it hates my mind
the world tells me it hates me
by not letting me connect
yelling at me for not paying attention.
i’m sorry i’m not a child of the land
i lie in bed at one in the afternoon
after buying spray paint from the market
spraying leaves gold
a rose gold
fucking tears rolling down as i drink coffee
with a couple who sit down on my table
and immediately regret
because i’m fucking insane
and they don’t understand.
i lie in a bush that smells of pine trees
it’s the most comforting thing in the world.
i want to text you right now
ask you to come and snuggle, no words
i feel lost without you
i don’t want to rely on one person so much
but you understood and made me feel less alone
you said it’s okay to feel flat
it’s okay to want to kill yourself
it’s okay to not see th
Fuck You.I go to Hand Rehab to get better, not to get bent over and fucked.Fuck You. by emimf
Sitting in the waiting room I am looking at all the hand products – ‘Are you equipped to sustain your hand rehabilitation between treatments? Want to buy and overpriced hand sling? A spikey, therapeutic, massage ball to loosen up your muscles? - when really you could be using the corner of a wall or other random households objects for the same effect?’ And the sign by the counter is a classic ‘Give us 48 hours notice for cancellations so we can help others’; i.e. we are a business and need an income; if you are not going to be here we want to organise someone else to come in and give us money.
It’s a business, operating under a façade that they are purely there for your wellbeing.
I hate being lied to my face.
The girl behind the counter has a fucking fake smile that makes me twitch.
I go in and the lady ‘helping me’ has a smile stretching ear to ear. There’s
Fucking poetic, romanticised painOh how I would love to be a fucking poet.Fucking poetic, romanticised pain by emimf
Words like delicate crochet; strung together to create a work of art
Beautiful prose, uplifting thoughts
Yet all I can write of is
My fried brain
Waking up at 3pm
Inability to function
Go for a ride and barely see the curb
Looking at the rust on a bin, confusing my curiosity for direction
Getting lost in the pattern of the rug hanging over our milk crates
Shopping for groceries but can’t put items into a logical order
It’s all streaming out at once:
Yoghurt now lentils now celery now milk.
No, reading. No, cheeseboards. No, writing.
We brought a bathtub back from the street. It’s sitting in our yard on top of bricks
I slept and fantasized about it being the location of my death