Sad Feminist – Mallory Smart

July 7, 2017

it ends with you in pain trying to be better

you will realize that you are me

and you should have known this all along

i will stand in front of you draped in my own securities

bubble wrap bubbles pressing against bone fragments of my broken skull

POP

i will pretend i am okay as i am

POP

i will think about where this all had started

POP

last night i got high again

POP

i thought about what it would be like to have my own Netflix show

i thought about what it would be like for people to binge watch me

i think people are basically just big disposable batteries

that’s how i feel most days

people are just the kind of dirt that breathes

i am the kind of dirt that breathes in the shape of one big existential crisis

i want to yell at the existential crisis

you are the existential crisis

i grab you by the shoulders and shake you hard

write out long tumblr posts about you

try not to be sad about you

scream at you, “fuck the world im here”

#ItsGoingToBeFine

there are things i cannot say

there are feelings i cannot speak

there are emojis for everything else

i talk to friends on Facebook that have no idea how lost i really am

i send gifs of grumpy cats and april ludgate’s apathy

i make secret handshakes with stars and exploding nebula above

somewhere out there i know new life is forming

i give fistbumps to my homeboy the moon

ppl send messages back and i just smile

i am fresh out of fucks to give

i will continue to search for an emotion to exist inside of me

a feeling that i can call my own

an atmosphere that resembles relief

a fingertip memory that i cannot touch

every time i log off Facebook i wonder if i exist, i wonder if people miss me when i am not logged on, projecting the person i hope to be

i curl up in the medicine that occupies a nonexistent corner in space and time

an edge of darkness in my own mind

my iphone 6 pours its love around me, mollycoddling my own self-obsession

and only in it do i truly exist

the screen spoons me so that i might love myself

the atmosphere around me coalesces into an orange glossy haze

the pills do what they were made to do
and my body resists and shakes

i am like michael scott in the office except instead of being a mess about ev-erything, i am a mess about everything

netflix is something that is beautiful

love is something that is annoying

i will sit alone and think of who to blame for the pain inside of me

the oppression i feel inside

a man appears like a shadow and tells me that i was not enough and i know it
was always you

so i will sit here agonizing over how i failed at our relationship

the limits to my mania you loved

the depth to my depression that you hate

our love a google map of the miles that we once drove

an iphone video of us off speeding, screaming- “i told you old man, we’re going
nowhere”

giggling

and now those are all just echoes of your disappointment

words that i still must be

projections of who i was that i still miss

but i know that you miss them more

and now there is a blackhole inside of me where a good feeling once existed

a theoretical mass pierced into my chest

my inner feminist twists and turns and
she feels understandably mad

she wishes i didn’t feel like i so desperately needed to please you

i can’t please everybody, so i hide away in my blackhole

my blackhole smells like teen spirit, invisible dry

my blackhole is small enough to fit inside of me/large to swallow me whole

and it is a hole that swallows all of me

my blackhole smells moist and like bitter coffee

my mom would say my blackhole smells like something has died inside of it

and i’m afraid that i will die inside of it

inside a great void for someone who is so not so great

from the blackhole, i tweet about Tolstoy and Morrissey lyrics

i stop working/watch Netflix on my macbook

i take the sad pills that make me feel less sad than i am now

stare at the bed outside of it where the lightning bugs played

and now they barely come out at night

the pills are where they go to die

where the love no longer lives

on the graves of the lightning bugs my iphone 6 is humming a ringtone that’s                                             

the same as everyone else’s ringtone

we could all change our ringtones, but nobody ever changes anything

the existential dirt is tipsy

the eyes of my hungry cat tear me apart

lightning coughs trapped in small bottle

and the Zoloft won’t let me sleep

at night its always just the same buzzing

i beg you, hold me as i disappear

i will be the girl who starts Disney sing-alongs on the train

i will nibble toothpaste off the corner of your mouth

i will fuck until the plastic stars fall off the ceiling and swallow my pride

and for some reason

i will always be here

and im not even sorry