what sad girls talk about when they’re not sadtw: depression + sex mention Sad girls, when they’re not sad – they talk about love, and war. Their own unfinished poems, and mostly, mostly bacchanals for joy. Sad girls, when they’re not sad – they talk about washing their hands before touching their own wounds. They list each and every function for laughing hold parties, and throw pillows at each other – nobody ever mentions the way tears are now engraved on sheets, and so to sleep is now an adventure meant for sagacious lady sailors. Sad girls, when they’re not sad – they write less, and they dance more. They do so with no need for drunkenness – just like putting on pajamas right before going to bed. Sad girls, when they’re not sad – they talk about washing their own panties on time so they aren’t left with none. Sad girls, when they’re not sad – they don’t ever forget about sadness. They put together a small nest for her, with what’s left of ex girlfriends’ bouquets of flowers, and a canopy for her bed which they embroider with beautiful words. They care for their own sadness they breastfeed her – their chests cold they play being Mom and Dad even though they’re still scared of being able to have daughters themselves. Sad girls, when they’re not sad – they hoist less flags but that’s because, for once, they remember to read manifestos preceding them. They’ve got time left for something other than due soup, or worn out dreams. Sad girls, when they’re not sad – they fuck less they love less but they do it all a lot better. They moan at more sympathetic volumes for the sake of their neighbors’ work hours. They masturbate for some other reason than just inertia, or taught-damage. Sad girls, ultimately, are a lot more than just sad girls a lot less than healthy women but they’re forever going to remember themselves. That’s something nobody can take away from them. for us to gain much more than just bread(for friends at ASIEM, a mental heath org meeting I was invited to at my city; they're doing some wonderful work for mentally ill & mad people like me here at Valencia, so I wrote it for them all as an expression of gratitude for their invitation!) We basted loss on a worn-out cloth, and we tore the embroidery in order to find the needle we misplaced years ago. It’s no haystack but it’s close. We’re lord & lady knights for withered roses, and underground carnations, and bleeding poppies, and devoid-of-petals daisies. And we’re here, despite it all. Kissing life’s wrists, and finding tiny lights within the night, and embracing that which is dark out of our own insides, and making a home out of the edge of the wind. We crumbled prejudices within gazes, and we unleashed litters, and we took down spikes. There’s no prison left for this dream for getting better which we promised. For laughter’s our own sail within this ship – and tears are joy’s loyal companions. For hope’s squeezing our own hands with her caress, and to resist – that’s no longer the only thing we’re doing. Now – we’re also doing the living.
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