Back to Top

There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

lora-mathis:

I cannot simply “sip” my drink.
I need to feel it sprint down my throat, fast enough that tiny tears
form at the corner of my eyes.
Someday I’m sure I will push all of my friends away.
My obsession with freedom leaves most gasping for air.
I don’t blame them. It is exhausting to constantly…

"You insult me
as if the worst names
haven’t come out of my
own mouth before.
But you could never
hate me as much as I
once hated myself.
Go ahead,
keep your tongue
heavy. I have already
survived the worst."

Can You Taste The Self-Loathing In This Poem | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)

"

-Ask yourself why you feel like this. Is it because of an event that has occurred, or are you down in the dumps because it’s the only place you know where to be?

-Sit in your room and cry. It is best, I have learned, to hide under the covers at an odd hour so that your mother does not come downstairs and ask you what’s wrong. Unless you want to be asked what is wrong. In that case, open the door to your bedroom and wail.

-Head over to the library. Drag your fingers over the spines of the books. Read the backs of some. Do not leave until you have a considerable amount in your arms to check out. Fall in love with a few and read them until you can accept that beauty is worth living for. Let the rest sit on your dresser until they have to be returned.

-Don’t leave the house for almost a week. Realize you have not showered in days when you go out to walk your dogs and are glared at by fathers pushing strollers. Fix yourself up out of shame, rather than the desire to.

-Fill up your calendar with things you wouldn’t dare miss: concerts, trips, your best friend’s birthday. Make sure you hang this reminder that things are going to be good somewhere you can see it. If you are quite sad, you might want to consider taping it to your eyelids.

-Use your sadness as an opportunity to create something truly beautiful. Not talented, you say? Please. Some of the best art is idea, not talent based. Find objects on the street and call them sculptures, like Duchamp. Fling paint at a canvas until you feel less upset, like Pollock. Stab the canvas a few times, no one will judge you.

-Start laughing at your depression. Allow it to turn you into a pretentious prick. Only buy jazz records and sit on your front lawn listening to them as you sip an espresso and glare at your socially acceptable neighbors. Give them something to call the cops about.

-Have a few secrets. Run down the street naked each night. Tell your friends, who you’ve also told you don’t believe in God, that you’re going to take a walk. Walk straight into a church just because you like to listen to others sing. Get a tattoo on your ribs. Lie when someone asks you your name. Tell them it’s Florence, tell them you’re a spy, tell them you’re happy.

-Fall in love with a boy because he seems safe. Fall in love with a boy because your mother hates him. Fall in love with a boy because he makes you feel alive. Leave him. Marry him. Forget him. Ask yourself how you will ever be able to stop kissing him.

-Live your life as freely as you please, because if you want to die, you’ve granted yourself a freedom you might not have been able to find otherwise. Quit playing things safe. You’re a bit crazy, let that work for you. Do as many things as you can without fear because you’ll be too busy saying, “Whatever. I could be dead” to be afraid.

-Find yourself beginning to have fun, until one day, you wake up to find your face sore from sleeping with a smile on. Realize that you are happy. Love how your bones tingle with excitement at the thought of living. And then, go. Live. Finally, you are free.

"

Things To Do When You Kinda Just Feel Like Dying | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)

"Today I am mourning
the death of all the
people I could have
been."

Epitaph For The Unknown | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)

"You used to curse
the girls with
graveyard mouthes
that you swore kept you.
But we are not sleeping
in your burial plots anymore.
We are not here to be your ghost.
Your excuse. Your noose.
We are not here
for you."

Your Excuses | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)

another breath

lora-mathis:

Here he is-
a boy, with youth still tugging at the corners
of his lips, his laugh still sounding the same as
it did when it ricocheted off the metal poles of the
jungle gym.

This is a photograph of him,
I explained to my hair dresser,
he with the thin nervous wrists
and long mangy hair.
He…