I am so so so glad to have super nice friends. like i am lucky as the stars wtf here i am broke and saving every cent of my money for my savings for relocating to australia and to get therapy/anti-depressants and living off super cheap self-made salads and bread because its all i can afford
and yet here i have these amazing friends who offer and insist on taking me out to dinners and treating me to go out when we party because they know i am super struggling with my depression and i need my money FAST to move out of this shit-hole country which contributes to my depression yet they also know a human being needs an escape once in awhile and i cant afford that luxury now so they fucking take me out so i can get drunk and party and have fun and sip wine and have a break from stressful work and my loneliness despite having zero extra money to spare and they dont even let me pay for a cab they fucking pay my cab ride home even though i can just walk
like wow thank you so much guys
Went for dinner with Pierre and we ate fried pig’s brains. Who knew it would be good? Even he, a French chef, liked it lol.
That is all I remember.
Skin on skin.
You. Asleep. Awake.
Beside me. Legs sprawled free,
sprawled over me, under me,
draped around my thighs.
How you gave goosebumps
on my everything when you spoke me into
existence. Rubbing into each other like
two genies without a lamp.
Miles and miles of shredded skin
on your bedroom floor,
in your shower drain,
beneath the kitchen sink. Sink.
How it is when I was near you.
When all my chest wanted was
to sink into you. Melt into you.
Bodies sliding into each other.
Writing lyrics. Poems.
Sun-kissed, snow-kissed. Perfect still.
Skin on skin on skin.
The paintings on your breast,
the roughness of my curves,
the galaxies on your hip,
the lack of space for me.
All I am left with.
Your empty sheets. And my skin.
I am perfect with or without you. I am the spotlight that illuminates your stage. Without me you are a blank canvas, an empty shell, a brick in the wall. Just another ordinary boy. Boring, boring, boring. Next.
Kill the part of you that believes it can’t survive without someone else.
Start with the hands.
The feeble way they shake holding your morning coffee,
the way they did his dishes, his laundry, so willingly.
How they itch from the want of undressing his memory.
All lonely. All empty - you.
Cut them off.
Undo the trembling in your knees
when you licked the blood from his lips;
Undo the weakness in your feet
when he stole the breath in your lungs.
Stand the fuck up.
Go for the stomach.
Destroy the butterflies giving you
sleepless nights and make a painting
out of their corpses’ wings.
Spit him out.
You can eat fire if you want to.
Do not let his absence take away your magic.
You are not hard to love if you can love yourself
and no one has the authority to break you
You are a calamity, you are a force of nature,
and there is thunder crackling in your veins.
Can you hear it? This is your funeral song.
Now, burn -
Sade Andria Zabala (surfandwrite) | Phoenix
When you rise from the ashes, STAND ALONE.
"Facebook destroys relationships"
No. Facebook doesnt destroy relationships. People destroy relationships. Your lack of trust for each other destroys your relationship. Your breach of privacy destroys your relationship. And most of all your mindset of not making it “facebook official” because “we might not work out and i dont wanna publicize that on facebook” destroys your relationship because things dont fucking work out when you already decide from the start that it wont.
Dont be with someone who’ll hide your relationship online and untag the photos of you together. Be with someone who is sure of you and is proud as fuck to have you.
Deleting your photos was probably one of the hardest things I had to do in my life. The first step to moving on is to disable you from showing up on my Facebook newsfeed so I will not be reminded that you’re doing fine without me. You’re happy while I’m taking my time pretending you don’t exist, pretending you don’t exist, pretending you don’t exist.
I’m relearning how to love coffee because the smell of jasmine tea reminds me too much of you, and I’m trying to avoid the sun, the ocean, the beach, the streets we used to pass, and the friends we share in common, and basically people with the same country, language, and religion as you. I will banish myself into a state of self-isolation in an effort to forget, forget, forget -
Forget the photos taken together, the loving messages sent at 4AM, forget the dinner dates, and inside jokes, the green house, and tickle fights, the jungle party, the waking up together in the morning, or the weird way you sleep with your hands on your chest, and the way you hated the fact I snored. Forget how you feel inside me, the rock pools, the bike rides, or the roughness of your beard against my chin. Or how about the letters I wrote you everyday, or the late night conversations about the baggage in our heads?
Finally, forget I was your first love, and ignore that “First love never dies” bullshit, but let’s not forget to change our relationship status online. Then ignore me, and treat me like a stranger, make me feel confused, lost, and unwanted. Don’t reply to my messages until you convince me you never loved me at all. I’ll jump into the ocean and drown myself in whiskey, then by the time I reach my 8th tequila shot, I’ll make crappy poems to send you until I’d have nothing else left to say. And the next time I reach for my pen, it won’t be to write about you again. The sun will feel warm on my skin once more, and I will get drunk on the colors of the sky instead of tasting hang overs dripping from strangers’ lips.
I will not be a sob story.
I’ll make sure you’ll remember why you fell in love with me.
Sade Andria Zabala (surfandwrite) | The Process of Moving On
Rewriting because I miss you right now, Peter. But I’m glad I did my writing justice and managed to move on from you. After all of it, I’m finally happy.
The trap is you think you have time.
You have time to learn about things
you won’t care about four years from now
and you can grow old like
you weren’t this fragile breathing
piece of flesh like you weren’t aware
you were dying,
you are dying like
you don’t remember you could get shot
today or hit by a car tomorrow or
find cancer in your bone marrow
and eventually the ticking
The trap is you think you can have it all.
That this matters most and
this matters least.
Because you have time to make a career,
to make money, money, money,
to drop mommy and daddy and lovers
for now because you have time,
you have time.
The trap is you think you want love.
That it is easy and good and free.
The trap is you think you love me.
Like you can handle more than just
the idea of me when you can’t even choose
to love someone despite their humanity.
The trap is you think you can buy time.
The trap is you don’t realize this.
- Sade Andria Zabala (surfandwrite) | The Trap
Recording for spoken word.
Which of my poems would you like to hear me read?
sorry for lack of poetry updates and flooding of photos my friends are finally here and ive just been getting pissed drunk all week!!!!!!
Mood: I wanna crawl under a rock and sleep there forever.
The huge amount of pressure on young girls to let their boyfriends get away with everything and not to stand up for themselves, lest they stop being a ‘chill girlfriend’ and instead become a horrible, controlling harpy is such bullshit.
Stop teaching young girls that demanding to be treated with respect and courtesy makes them shrill, over-emotional, or unworthy of listening to.
Like literally this is how I felt 99% of the time with my ex and his friends