what could anyone possibly know?

what do you know of me, of my dreams, of my past, of my fears, of the blueprint that is me? it is not the blood that flows in these veins (please, one sister is a prefect, the other a super-high-achiever), it is not the friends i choose to surround myself with, it is not the close ones i share food and pillows with. it is the fundementals of what makes me today, and the reason why i think and act in the way i do. the single episodes that play repeatedly, over and over and over and over in my head–try as i might to remove them i can’t they come back to haunt me over and over and over and over and over.

what could you possibly know of my dreams–of my aspirations, of my hopes? what are hopes? recently the exboyfriend and i discussed (i scoff) the concept of hopes and what it means to have hopes and none at all, full stop, finish, chop stamp, no more, period.  what could you possibly know of my wants? sure, frivolities and bags and shoes and jackets and cars and puppies and skirts and shirts and earrings and bangles and chains and gold and jade and pink anythings and flowers and lacy underpants and bikinis and make-up everythings.  but what do i want? do you even have an inkling of? or do you just assume to know.

am i going through teenage angst, gee whiz celia you’re too old for that. that might have been frustrating, this is just fucking juvenile. one line then, stay the fuck away and shut up about the things you do not know about my life.

what do you know of the whispers of my dark, and the cold words in my ear. what do you know of the visions that play in my head. what do you know of my youth and what really happened out there. what do you know of death and proximity to deaths. what do you know of haunting, of one’s own fucking mind. what do you really know of my pain or why or when or what or of things you do not know about. what do i know of pain or blood or death or suicide or the not so fine line between anger and black hate.

so today was a bad day to cross me, especially since my sisters and i didnt quite have a wonderfully sisterly lunch.

poor celia, going through her ‘no one understands me’ phase. knowing and understanding are two distinctively different things. just as you, thinking you understand but there are so many things you haven’t even begun knowing.

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c

my world, out of your reach

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