Heart Imagery By Andrea Zantelli

let’s just stop time so i can read all my books without real life interfering 

Rare pity, mercy and compassion of the giants called humanity

all i wanna do is be an independent writer and publish my work one chapter at a time dickens-style so i can watch ppl post abt what they think is gonna happen next and then watch them freak out when the two gays finally bone.

"fuck you my child is completely fine"

your child reads classic literature for fun

I feel sick. Again. Not in control. Again. 

Shaken, misplaced, irregular 

I have all the words ready to spew out from my faucet, 

But they won’t come out, not right now, 

And not right. Just jumbled word vomit that smells like grief, aching, and anxiety. 

My insides feel all torn up. 

All messed up. 

Just like my mind. 

I’m currently trying to find out if I’m even alive. 

This stupid ringing in my ear, 

This stupid voice in my head, 

This stupid way that I look at him. 

Pushing my feelings aside. No longer shoving them down his throat, just my fingers that he loves to suck. 

My body that he loves to touch. 

My body that is hard for me to touch. 

Looking around to see others wanting me but I’m not sure if I even want myself anymore. 

Cause he used to want me in a way that made my heart fucking flutter. He used to want me in a way that proclaimed love was real. 

I promised to put myself first. 

I promised to love myself. 

I used to put myself first. 

I used to love myself more than I loved anyone else. 

I met him and fell down a landslide. 

Is it me wanting to get pleasure because it’s so easily accessible, or is it me wanting to get pleasure to erase those feelings, to take me to an out-of-body experience, to just make my brain empty and my body full? I want to be loved, and I want to be cared for. By him. But it’s not possible, not right now, perhaps not ever, just not in the way that I love and care for him. So I’m putting myself first. I will be organized, I will be on time, I will take my medication, I will make my bed and do yoga and see friends. I will have sex for pleasure and to fill that void. I believe that love just isn’t on the menu for me right now. Not right now. I know it will come, I vow it too. But I stop my beckoning. I hold off on the searching and the begging. I’m young. It’s about me. 

you know you really love someone,

when you don't hate them for breaking your heart

Remember that first butterfly?

That night we went bowling, then to

Sonic, then to Cook Out for some reason.

You had released that little guy

From your jar of hearts, then

He fluttered into mine

It was the migration of

Monarchs, an extraction of

Honey. A swarm of bees and things

When we first met.

i haven’t journaled in so long because i’m actually a bunny house wife and i’m busy feeding my kits. no but i’m so anxious to journal because once i start every single emotion that i’ve felt over the last few months will come out even the stuff i haven’t told my therapist and i’m not sure i’m ready yet to let it out… i feel like i need a breaking point, or a push at least

i love you because i don’t know how to love myself

because it’s so much easier than loving myself

“I have but one passion ; it swallows up every other ; it dwells with my darling books, and is fed by the treasures of beauty and wisdom which they contain.”

— Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Lodore