Caitlyn siehl biography for kids
Crybaby
Izdvajam pesme koje su mi se svidele:
THE MASK
What did you sound like when
God, afraid to get his teeth dirty,
ate you with his stomach
like a starfish?
I think you were afraid. I think,
for all your talk of salvation,
you walked into that light
with rattlesnake knees,
buckling completely
when the light turned out to be
pitch black and growling.
I'm not saying that God
is a monster,
I'm saying that there wasn't
an open arm in sight when he came
to you,
that maybe
he lied a little bit
about all the glory,
the white soft cloud of it all.
That maybe
you had more love before
you took his.
QUIET DEATH
Mother, if you really want to know,
Yes.
I wanted to die for her.
I wanted to lay down
in the middle of the street
and die for her.
I play shadow puppets with her memory;
drink champagne until
I’m tender.
She is the grave
I don’t know how
to talk about.
The one that I survived.
The one that I came crawling
out of, fingernails bent back.
The one that bagged my groceries
and didn’t look at me
the right way,
the way I wanted her to.
Mother, her
absence was the most
beautiful thing I’ve ever
suffered through,
ache like a
purple gown that trailed
behind me when I walked.
I was glowing, mother.
I was the most elegant
loneliness, the most exquisite
creature among all of the
unloved.
LIVING GIRL
They say that you
remind them
of a deathbed.
A graveyard.
Dead girl, they call you.
The grim reaper.
The one who knows where
the bodies are buried but
can’t say why.
They ask why your mouth
doesn’t care about the living
anymore.
You, the one who watched
the world die, who could feel
the sword push through her,
the one touched
by a God that no one
can look in the eye.
Living girl.
Call yourself living girl.
You, with the bat in your hands,
with the voices in your head, with
the echoes, the mourning.
Breathing girl.
Darling girl.
Deathless
girl.
No one alive
can hurt you.
A
The Nest
Closets pretending to be for coats
I. the 16 year-old
She has learned how to locate her cervix, while lying naked
in water as hot as she can bear, door firmly locked on a night
when her mother is not home; she has cut her hands unbending
heavy wire, making it as straight as possible, and someone told
her hot water will make you feel it less; she has read of
perforation and thus carefully determined the placement of her
uterus, how far it extends, she is not exactly sure how the wire
is supposed to work, so she moves as deliberately as she can,
systematically, reasoning that if she hits every surface, it will do the
job. She feels her way, blindly, threading untwisted wire through
the tiny opening she holds in place with fingers that have never
explored this deeply before. There is some sort of discharge
the third time, third day… she is hopeful; but neither blood nor
release comes; only increasing nausea and moodiness
and we are told, she says later, that the enthralling tale of what men
talk about endlessly in bars, is far more important than the
stories of women and girls lying in the world’s beds and bathtubs
trying to undodamage, mistakes, regrets, shame, terror… all of which
she still rolls between thumb and forefinger, even today, as a woman
of some accomplishment she cannot meet eyes during interview, feeling
such the fraud,stained, she has worked half a lifetime trying to make it
right with God
and she wants to be a doctor when she grows up, but is confused- how
can this decision ever let her sanctify life? She would erase it all like
she erases unwieldy shadows on her sketches, but where does one begin
holding the pencil? He only outweighed her by 120 pounds; she should
have known better than to accept dinner, she had a boyfriend (the one
who handed her wire from the closet, when she confided, saying,
“It’s your problem, deal with it, slut) what was she t TW: Mentions of depression and suicide. As I’ve said in my last few posts, this year has been a mess. A really horrible mess. My mental health has been so bad, which has affected my mood, my concentration, my engagement with the world, and so on. In regards to this post, it’s meant different things at different times: there were periods where I wanted to get lost in new worlds and then there were periods where I couldn’t handle anything new and rewatched old favourites over and over. I haven’t mentioned the rewatches – I’ve written about many of them in previous posts – but they were a much needed reprieve. Escaping into these worlds, old and new and has been one of the few relaxing, comforting parts of this year and, for that, I’m very grateful. I’m just gonna say this here: SPOILER ALERT! In the writing of all of these things, I’m sure I will have mentioned important things that could potentially ruin a first experience of them. So please be careful when reading and, as always with these posts, please feel free to skim or dip in and out at your leisure; I know it’s long. Hopefully there will be something that you walk away thinking “oh, I want to read/watch that…” BOOKS I actually read more this year than I have in the last couple of years – on average – but nothing’s really stuck with me; to a certain extent, I feel like everything’s just bouncing off me. It’s been hard to engage. So I’ve read a lot more than is on this list but it’s like they haven’t really made me feel much, like I haven’t had the energy to have feelings about what I’ve read. There were a few I wanted to mention though. The Comfort Book by Matt Haig – I know I struggled with Reasons To Stay Alive but there was a lot of hype around that book and I did quite like Matt Haig’s style of writing so I wanted to give his books anot .Finding Hope