Words from Wild Edges spilled out of solitary sleepless nights and a deep personal quiet that I found in a deeper abyss, way down deep in my soul, when I really needed somebody, once. We’ll all need somebody, at some point.. yeah? Not someone to follow around behind us, superficially “fixing” shit.. I mean someone who listens. Listens to hear you. Because they want to understand. Never underestimate the power of letting shit hit the air. Sometimes that’s the answer to dissolve the problem. foreal, that’s it.. Sometimes shit just needs hit the air—to dissolve. Anger loses its power out loud, and having someone to lean on kinda drops an anchor, youknow?.. just a solid, steady presence.. A voice of logic, perspectives of reason in the middle of life’s chaos and mayhem... a soft place to land.. like the one I needed- the day I hit my bedroom floor, spilling over, unraveling. Coming absolutely unfuckingdone.
Years later, I still grieve some for the Girl on My Bedroom Floor. Totally inconsolable, that poor thing, just turned insideout. Raw. Misfit. Misunderstood. And babbyyy! Mad as a mfer.... MAD as ALL hell.
I would’ve unloaded both barrels on satan himself ... smilin like a vandal.. like “okay,catch me,bitch”
I say that I grieve for her, but... intended; I grieve for her.. on her behalf... I mean, shit.
Everything I’ve ever loved is broken, burned, or whispering back.....
....... and prolly still bitchin. They're always crybaby assin around about the claw marks.
................ As if the way that I loved them isn't what they loved about me.
And, besides that, if it’s something I’ve let go of, then trust & believe, it’s got claw marks on it baby..
I have always been this way.
You would think- by the time that I {rural asf farmkid - kneehightoagrasshopper} handled those newborn baby kittens too much, that I woulda learned a thing or two about lovin somethin plum to death.. Fucksake.
Sacrifice does nøt mean self-slaugher.
I wish you could’ve met the Me on my bedroom floor (not to be cofused with my Lady on the Ceiling).. whatever was left of me at that point, anyway... buuut, dearly beloved, we would not be gathered here today if you had..
You’ll just have to take me at my word, I suppose.. I was really a sweet girl.
sweet girl : jaded.
Turned-out raw, cynical perspectives showing heavy, and peculiar tendencies comin in hotttt. My bolts were all loose, wires were showing; whole nervous system fresh outta the pressure-cooker, crispy fckn fried... My insomnia grew a 4th head, my hair started falling out, my nightmares could suddenly run faster, go farther, JUMP HIGHER ... ... I felt like a severely overstimulated, rabid racoon trapped in a trash bag, and I just needed a hug so bad, man.. If you know me personally, I‘ve been the man of the house for a cool minute. I do not ask for help and I do not need help. Or consolation. Or hugs. From anyone.
Because once upon a time, I did.
I needed someone. Once.
The ghost of her is, inevitably, woven all-throughout. Wandering, of course.. Lollygagging, no doubt. Dillying &/or Dallying, but most likely both.
So if you see her in here, tell her I owe her one.
Tell her to go right ahead and love just as hard as she did.
If you get a glimpse of future me, tell her to love even harder.
Shit'll buff out.
𝒥♠