Poison Ivy

The toxic cycle of a relationship, may be one of life’s greatest mysteries. Why do we stay for so long?

It is human to find comfort in something that is “normal” for you. But that does not mean it is wrong to outgrow this comfortable space. After all, isn’t it stepping out of our comfort zones that makes us better? We go back time and time again, through the stages of pain and forgiveness, hoping to change something set deep in stone within a person. But within hope comes the great possibility of disappointment. Disappointment– not in your own ability to care for somebody, but disappointment in the fact, they could simply never be the person you needed them to be. So instead, open those doors for somebody who will appreciate you, not consume you. Consume you with the haze of darkness that they carry above their own head. Let in those who feel like the sunshine you have longed for all winter long. Let in those who re-teach you to appreciate the little things, and help you carry the big things when it feels too heavy. Your heart is not meant to be a toolbox, trying to repair the holes and leaks of others. Rather listen to your heart when it reminds you that after all is said and done, you cannot fix what you did not break, you cannot change what does not want to be changed. Butyoucanleave,beforetheivyintertwinedthroughyourownheartbecomes poisoned.

~ Ava Seymour

A Conversation Between The Heart And The Head

“What if we-?” said the heart.

“Not again,” said the head.

“We could just-” tried the heart.

“Not again,” said the head.

“But maybe just one more try,” urged the heart.

“Not again.” Said the head.

“Who made you so afraid?”Asked the heart.

“Who made you so brave?”Asked the head.

Hegdish

These were the days where the television created the ambience of home

Where I teeter tottered through piles of out of place paraphernalia

Cardboard contraptions left untouched unless encountered by the unfortunate toenail

The endless chasm of clutter dutifully defending each square centimeter from grime

They called it hegdish* but I called it home

My sequestered oasis

Accessible only after dodging the living room troll’s toll of cuddles and kisses

Was found within a cold glass table

Painted scrupulously by the many-fingered metacarpals of goblins

A wooden turtle lay resting

Marvelously decorated in greens, purples, and oranges to dissuade me of its true nature.

Its tongue lackadaisically hung to one side

Taunting

I grew courage after several months to yank that tongue out of its toothless jaws

For only one strong warrior may reign supreme.

It glared at me

Crafted so gently with precision, with purpose.

I could not be delicate nor small, nor lithe.

I sucked in my stomach

I contorted my corium

I breathed in so far that my exhales cued cacophonous convulsions of coughing.

My collections of wishes from stars, birthday candles, and dandelions could not save me.

Oh, how lovely it is to be little and carefree.

~ Brooke Bassin