spit.

Published September 11, 2012 by April Fox

Came across a folder of things I wrote but didn’t publish, for one reason or another. Everything I write is somewhat abstract, and while the more positive things might be inspired by a particular person or event, the darker, angry ones almost never are. I go through phases in which I’m appalled by our society, public figures, ignorance, hate; I sometimes fall into memories that are tangled up with others, bits of nightmares and fears coming together in my mind and making it restless and shaky, until I have to put all of that rage somewhere. Those words are some of my best, but I’m still reluctant to publish them, both to avoid unnecessarily angering people to whom the words have no connection, and to avoid potentially hurting anyone who might think they were the impetus for anything particularly vile I might come out with. I don’t write with the intent to hurt anyone. I write with the intent to clear my mind, and when I’m in these dark and vulgar phases, the wrath is almost always self-directed, or the result of some horrid aspect of the world out there that I simply can’t cope with any other way.

That being said, I found this shit, and it’s good, and here’s a bit of it.

spit.

dear one,
with your eyes blacked and your lip split
bruises marking the path you’ve walked
in order to save face
does the mirror tell you
when to breathe,
to spit-
to swallow?

tie your laces together, sunshine
walk with tiny steps to where
you know you shouldn’t be
break the things you should have loved
to own what no one
wants.

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