this morning i almost fell off my bed and woke up in the middle of a dream and the first coherent line of thought i could muster was koalas get their medication from pharmarsupials
who started this going around again what did i do to make you hate me
" kohlberg created this whole scheme of moral reasoning kohlberg killed himself. the reward: breathing no longer. the black: a grave your best friend reads her poetry at, the white: no one will speak poorly of you the full spectrum of morality: don’t kill yourself, and i know this because i’ve been where you are and i hope you’ll be there the day that i’m better
with three levels. when we are little, we take action with
the intent to gain rewards and avoid punishment. when
we grow older, we see rules as black and white, good or bad.
by the time we are thirteen, we are capable of constructing
a “wider picture” where morality exists on a spectrum
of circumstance and understanding.
the punishment: the pain it brings your family, your friends,
a stranger on the street.
we want to say “it would only hurt those closest to me”
but humans mourn as a whole, as a group, as one single breathing entity. what is lost to one person
is lost to us all.
we want to know your story.
this is why we hate book burnings.
standing in ballet flats with the mud sluicing up around her feet,
wondering idly if the grass growing over your plot
is fed by your bones, wondering if the dandelions there
are your way of listening,
knowing that you’re actually dead and you didn’t stick around
long enough to see her succeed, kind of hating you, kind of
jealous, kind of wondering what made you do it
because she’s pretty sure it was her own failure and
trust me when i say this will fuck up
every relationship she will have
from that moment on.
she will never ever be over this.
the demons in your brain might tell you different - that
we all move on, that we make new friends -
but she won’t be the same person. for years, she will be hollow
instead. you won’t be there to stop her
from getting way too drunk, night after night,
you won’t insist she puts down the sixth tequila shot and
she will end up in the hospital, you won’t
be there to sit with her on days where she needs someone so
she’ll just sit there, alone, you won’t be there
to stop her from dating people she knows are bad news
and she’ll do it all just out of want for the distraction from
missing you, just out of the desire to escape
from the six foot hole
you drove inside her.
for at least a month. no one decent, at least.
in fact, no one will speak of you at all
because your name will sit like a bitter seed on their tongue.
they will avoid talking about you because that’s what people
do with pain: they dance away from it until the bad nights
where the boxes they shoved their guilt and horror
and utter misery into will tumble down onto their heads and
suffocate them. this sounds great if you’ve been bullied.
good, let them suffer for this.
but the truth is, there are more good people than bad out there
and the good ones will blame themselves
more than the cruel ones ever will.
girls who are used to helping out the hurt little birds of
their classes will find themselves
wondering how they didn’t see you in time,
how it was possible one slipped through their fingers. boys
who just wanted someone to talk to
about how bad it gets will wonder if they should take that final step, too, because if you can’t do it
why should they be able to.
people who are kind
but have been too shy to approach you
will all sit in your classes and stare at your empty seat
until they want to puke.
not for anyone else
but because your story hasn’t panned out.
you are still in the exposition.
the greatest novels have the hero go through hell
in order to walk out forged by fire,
heart as strong as steel and a future so bright it burns to look at.
there is always something you are good at. there are people
you could save by sharing where you have been.
grow up to be a psychiatrist,
a teacher, a parent, an artist, a nurse -
make sure this doesn’t happen to kids anymore.
there are poems to write and kites to fly and
so many adventures to be had, so many
impossible moments you can’t even fathom, so many brilliant
tiny miracles that will keep you afloat for just a little bit longer,
just a little bit more
for the last month i’ve been in the bad place,
the utter dark –
but i’ve been able to get out of it
using my teeth and claws and the skills i’ve developed
after a long, long time of doing this and
i’m maybe not perfect but i’m getting stronger.
eventually, this disease
won’t control me anymore.
because i want to be there for you, too. we can both celebrate
our getting through.
kohlberg created this whole scheme of moral reasoning
kohlberg killed himself.
the reward: breathing no longer.
the black: a grave your best friend reads her poetry at,
the white: no one will speak poorly of you
the full spectrum of morality: don’t kill yourself,
and i know this because i’ve been where you are and
i hope you’ll be there the day that i’m better
i hate when you’re not in the same mood as your friend like when you want to slay your enemies and feast on their flesh and your friend wants to dance in a field of daisies and sing for the sake of singing like no stop that grab a pitchfork
" She wants to write. God, she wants to write so bad. But the ink bubbles in her throat and leaks from her pores and swirls down the drain in little black puddles. She tries. Oh god, she tries. But the pen twists and grins in her sweaty grip until all that remains are smudges and streaks and tears and fears, and she steps back and stares at this thing she just made. It has not a single word, but bears her heartbeat just the same.
When you suck at something you’re supposed to be good at
my friendship comes in 3 levels:
3) inappropriate sexual humor.