[imagines a character in the hands of better writers]
[imagines a scenario in the hands of better writers]
[imagines a whole show and concept in the hands of better writers]
“Suddenly, every song was about you.”
“This is to the first person who tried to kiss me – do not touch me. Do not touch me. I will shatter into a thousand shards, that is all. Please understand that you cannot touch me without the screaming bursting through.
And to the first person who tried to love me, to bottle me up in glass and sing the sea breeze like that would keep me in – you think I am containable. Do not mistake me for a star when I am a galaxy. You wanted all my problems to fit into your idea of ‘pretty’: I do not need to be pretty. I do not want to be pretty. I want to tear out your throat and spit up teeth; ‘pretty’ was never a place for me. When you write me into your poetry, write me bloody and ferocious, but do not write me pretty. I am not the kind of love you can keep on your mantel.
And to myself, the monster I shoved under the bed with the dirty magazines and old laundry, to the person I used to be – you will only ever be as strong as you believe. When the world is made of angry words, you cannot expect to come out unbent or unbroken, but you do not have to be a villain, baby, and you do not have to be a hero. Unfold the monster from that dusty, dark space under your mattress and hold them until their teeth fall out. You should not be afraid of something that will not hurt you unless you let it. Hang up the laundry, vacuum out the bad dreams: this no longer has to be a place of hatred. You cannot spend your life ripping up your thighs. You do not have to love others only as much as you hate yourself. You do not have to swallow the screaming for the fear of falling apart.
To myself – you can be strong.
To myself – you can be brave.
To myself – you do not have to die anymore.”