PMS Pardon my speech. As a poor, malfunctioning soul, pleasantries might not suffice as I pacify this major s*** of a time. Pre-menstrual symptoms popularly include munchies-- pizza and milk-chocolate-coated strawberries. Problematically, my sanity is progressively missing, so please my satiations and perhaps I might sincerely produce my pretty smile. - Sappy
Content warning: Obsessive compulsive behavior, gore
Washing Ritual
Close the door; lock it for privacy; check again, for privacy; remember to breathe; turn the faucet; let the water pour pour pour into the basin; watch the steam build up; pump the soap; press down one, two, three; like a cloud; scrub the palms and the wrists; the palms again; get the fingers: three, four, five; the frog webs or minor syndactyly—it must be one of the two: three, four, five; dig in the groves and under the fingernails that don’t have dirt under them but maybe they do, they always could: one, two, three, four, five; move to the left hand; one, two, three, four, five; one, two, three, four, five; one, two, three, four—the water should be scalding, just enough to blister, but not enough to regret; scrub hard, scrub very hard; scrape at the holes and the raw patches; rub away the fine lines, the creases, the folds in the flesh; keep going; the blisters will go away in an hour or two—maybe three; another pump: one, two, three; again—the right hand; the left hand; keep going; don’t stop; it burns because it’s working
The night I got stranded in Kyoto, the weeping willows charmed me more than the Sakura. I watched the streets crawl out of bed and join me greet the large crows. My eyes nestled on a fluffy one’s matching winter coat. Led by the screeching subways, I lead the way past the bridge away from a Family Mart’s jingles. The trains filled at 6:40 AM reminded me of the temple night and day with the club. The fleeting city trickled the compartments empty. The stragglers tickled my curiosity. Did they wonder about my journey or did I imposter their lives wandering? I questioned my life cycling in the ptptptptptptptpt of rain towards the fshfshfshfshf of waves. The night ended with falling off a bike hearing opera. The day started with falling asleep. - Sappy
Content warning: Eating disorders, binge eating, rituals
Feeding Ritual
Keep the food in the fridge and out of your mouth; disregard the growling; don’t consider the taste; come up with guidelines to follow to a T; that means no chips, no bagels, no pasta, no pretzels, no fried foods, no Diet Coke, no fatty meats, no butter on toast, no ice cream, no cone for the ice cream, no school lunches, no holiday dinners, no Krispy Kreme donuts (that one is important); bread is a trap; chocolate is a lie; don’t drink your calories; eat exactly half your meal; turn down the offer; it’s Halloween: too bad; it’s Christmas: He starved or bled to death (one of the two); it’s best not to consider the feeling of fullness; run to feel better; run until your legs burn; run until long after your legs burn; move at a crawl because your legs burn; don’t lose control; people are good at spotting those things; but search the cupboards and fridge anyway; grab something, anything, everything; don’t stop for air; keep shoveling, and it’s all well and fine; eat until the world has turned upside down; feel embarrassed; feel hateful; feel envious of prior bodies, of other bodies; be out of control; be angry; be ugly and spiteful at the world which births and suffocates; be proud of the mess; deny it all; keep killing yourself; don’t stop.
Whisper i remember thinking i could channel the energy of the earth in gym class while on the verge of losing dodgeball i crouched down and touched the sticky gym floor i don’t remember if i won or not only that at that moment i truly felt the power of nature and used it perhaps that’s one privilege children have their ability to ask favors from the soil burying their mother the earth that will one day bury them too - sappy
new year, old her
scared of nothing
worth the fear
who knew nothing
of the world
watched with clean eyes
lucky
she knew she was
but didn’t know
the possibilities that mold and fur
on the tongue
the promises of freedom
that smoldered
like the end of a cigarette
snuffed out
walking by
faceless people dying on faceless ground
turning heads away from death
kicking change from Big Gulp cups
because there aren’t any Coinstars where we’re going
where we’re going
some argue is already written
but the news is always new
always angry
spitting words wedged between molars
spoken without pause
not meant to be held by a head
how can shoulders bear
the weight?
waiting for the refresh to stop
circling the drain
staring at the screen
calling it a friend
because who has friends these days?
red veins where the whites were
it’s time to go to sleep; dreaming in blue
forget today and tomorrow
the next day
too—late for living
is this what the world always was?
we are told things were better
but were they ever
what we remember?
the skin she was born with
that was supple and growing
is no longer growing
but dying
bleeding with knowing
knowing all there is
to be scared of
and there is so much to be scared of.
