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You’re A Lot Like Weather, You Know

The rain on my face reminds me of your kisses as a child, empty and cold, refreshing then and upsetting now. At one point, something I would run to, be thrilled to receive, now something I hide from, something I hope to never face again. You’re a lot like weather you know, full of unpredictable patterns and immeasurable damage. Bright and sunny one moment, dark and foreboding the next, all the while I think to myself, watching your storm clouds gather in your once sunny sky, “The weather will get better. It has to!” but it never does.

You’re a lot like weather, you know. A cool wind breezes by, reminding me of your icy breath, the air you’d breath on my ear when you hugged me, trying to comfort me, telling me ‘there’s nothing to be afraid of’, except the thing to be afraid of was you. By promising me you were not bad, you cemented everything else around me as a fear, so that in times of panic and uncertainty, I’d turn to you instead, because I didn’t know there was anywhere else to go. On a hot summer day, instead of enjoying it, I’d seek out the breeze, not knowing the breeze was a lie. Not knowing that the breeze was what was actually making me ill, the cold wind chill, and not the warm summer sky.

You’re a lot like weather, you know. Neither rain, now sleet, nor snow, nor hail; I’m lucky I survived your blizzard to tell the tale. Wrapped in a warm blanket of my insecurities, a fire blazing, born of my fears, they got me through your damaging winter storms. Sure, I didn’t come out the other end any better, but at least I survived the ice and the freeze. I tried to be a storm chaser, but getting close to you, trying to figure you out, trying to be in awe of your majestical faults, was just as dangerous as trying to outrun you. Like a tornado you would chase me down, force me to hide under a mattress to escape, praying and sobbing, hoping there would still be something left standing in your wake. And when all was said and done, the town was leveled, the people stunned, I’d come back out and try to understand…try to comprehend the damage, why it happened, what its reason was. But there wasn’t any. There couldn’t be.

Now I hide from the outdoors, I stay inside and shudder at the slightest hint of a raindrop hitting my shutters. I tense up at the smallest change in temperature, and I watch the sky in fear. Nothing is certain, that much is certain. Crisp fall leaves crack under my feet, like so many broken promises, regret, yet, we’ll meet again I’m sure, one day, when the sun is out and you’ll say, “It wasn’t as bad as you remember. The weather is something we all must face.” What a shame, a disgrace, the storms you can create, the abuse you can say was alright because it was you who made it. You’re a lot like weather, you know.

And now I stay inside, away from any weather whatsoever. No more sunny days or rainy nights. No more storms, no more flashing lights or thunderclaps. Now I stay indoors, free from your onslaught of temperature changes, telling myself that I survived the flood, that I survived the earthquake, that I survived the tsunami.

Now I laugh at weathermen.

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I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Doll

I got a new doll, took her out of the box; she’s pretty and popular and she can talk! What a novel idea, to give dolls a voice, but it’s not free will, she’s not speaking by choice.

Yet I teach her so much and we go many places; she sees so much, yet she never faced changes. Wish that I were a doll, with a plastered on smile, so I could just mask all my feelings a while.

She has many outfits, so many careers; she doesn’t need a degree or to face any fears! I make her my idol, I wish one day to be, as fearless and happy, successful as she.

We had many adventures and she watched me mature; she watched as I cried, curled up on the floor. She watched in secret as I kissed girls instead, as she and more toys got pushed under the bed.

When I moved out, I cleaned out my room and found her buried within this childhood tomb; plastic jewelry and training bras, the list has no end…and there in the center was my closest friend.

So I cleaned her off, she’s still perfect and pretty, she hasn’t had years of feeling so shitty; dolls can be fixed, that’s their one unique token…it’s people who rarely recover  if broken.

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!  Visit My Online Store!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Paper Vehicles

I sailed a paper boat into the ocean, I flew a paper airplane into the sun

Fake vehicles for fake people, crafted from suicide letters and private notes

I wrote the things I couldn’t say and I rode them away; secrets and dreams, whispers and screams, pleas from within and at the end of the day

I crashed them into mountain ranges and sailed into raging storms, knowing full well they’d destroy me

I sailed a paper boat into the ocean, I flew a paper airplane into the sun

Fake vehicles for fake people, folded from birthday cards and family photos

I took the things I could remember and I used them to escape; photos turned to sails, cards turned to wings, knowing I’d fail at each of these things

I crashed them into corn fields and sailed into coastlines, knowing full well they’d destroy me

I sailed a paper boat into the ocean, I flew a paper airplane into the sun

Fake vehicles for fake people, structured from unwritten nobels and sketchbook drawings

I took the things I once cherished and I captained them to ends; books became jet engines and art became anchors, destroying my things as I destroyed my self

I crashed them into buildings and sailed into whirlpools, knowing full well they’d destroy me

I sailed a paper boat into the ocean and I flew a paper airplane into the sun

Not to escape who I had been, but to escape who I’d become

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!  Visit My Online Store!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Check Engine Light

There’s something wrong inside of me. There’s a small, flashing, orange light telling me something is wrong, but it’s a vague thought, something is strong and eating at my rot. It’s hard to pinpoint what is the problem, since every part of me is falling into disrepair, why should I care, there’s no gas in the tank, and the tire? No spare. My headlights are blinking, they’re dimming softly, no longer lighting up the way that they used to. The roads ahead of me are dark, I can no longer park in garages and take time to unwind and catch my breath.

The leather interior, the one people once lauded, the one that when new was first applauded, is now torn and weathered from wear and pain. The wind and the rain hasn’t been kind to the paint job, it’s been repainted time and time again; a new color, but the mechanical problems remain the same. My gears don’t shift the way they should, there’s smoke pooling out from under the hood, and my rear view mirrors can no longer see the potential dangers around them. Instead I find myself rear ending everything in sight, cracking bumpers, breaking head lights.

A mechanic? You jest. Someone in tan pants and a grey vest who could potentially fix the problems? I bet. Someone to take one look and know I’m upset, to write down on paper what’s needed to ‘fix’ me, who sees different problems than I see, who reads the owners manual differently. A little tune up, that’s what they said it would take, this is what’s at stake. Check the oil, the mileage, see that I’m not running the way I should be. The dashboard lights come on intermittently. I’m one skid mark away from a fatal crash, one blowout away from a brutal smash. The tires are worn, and I’m weaving in and out of traffic and I’m not wearing a seatbelt.

Check the engine light.

I need help.

Buy My Book!                Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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She Is Made Of Seasons

She had summer in her eyes, laying on our backs and pointing out clouds that look like something other than clouds; our hands just barely touching now and then between the blades of semi wet grass, light smiles dancing across our lips knowing that we were in eternal bliss together.

She had fall in her brain, clouded with nostalgia for a time her brain had convinced her was a better time despite knowing full well it wasn’t; we talked about the things that made us sad, and were grateful we both made eachother happy. The most morose season quickly becomes the most love filled.

She had spring in her heart, her bloodstream full of blooming flowers, wanting to pick them all and give them to me, and everyone else she loved; she could feel her body cleansing itself, turning her blood into clean rainwater, purifying her from inside out, and she couldn’t be happier with this new her.

She had winter in her smile, safe and cozy, and yet something cold at the same time, knowing she’d smiled at the wrong person one too many times and wouldn’t make the same mistake again, now reserving the fireside smile for those she really thought deserved it. Just as snowflakes are unique, so is every smile that crosses her lips.

She is made of seasons, full of constant changes, deaths and rebirths, and proud of the fact that she doesn’t allow others to stop her growth. She is herself, she is made of the years she has survived, and she will never be told to be anything else.

I hope to one day be as sure of myself as I am sure of her.

Buy My Book!                Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Shapes

you are a square and i am a circle.

there’s no reason of rhyme, just stating that i’m different than you. different than the others. you are a shape that fits anywhere. i am a shape that doesn’t have corners. i’ll have plenty of mourners; the kind who’ll pretend that i mattered, the ones who’ll say things like “she was special, ya know?”. throwing out cliches and faux praise, on this, the “saddest” of days. then they’ll go home and eat dinner, watch a sitcom and forget where i lay.

somehow, through our misshapen identities, we found solstice in one another; found the belief in eachother that we could be whoever we wanted to be. that we finally could understand the pain, the isolation, and be as one. but our shapes are too different. and frankly i’m done. i’m done being considered a second choice, a lesser voice because i have nothing to give when your triangle offers so much more. corners are the cornerstones of your relationship. they have points, you have points. i have a circumference.

if we try to mash ourselves together, we can fit, like slamming a puzzle piece where it doesn’t belong, we know that’s wrong but it feels just so right. i’m not one to judge your actions as my reactions are nothing but a blight, i admit, and when i see it, i apologize. i sit and cry and tell you how i feel, how real this is, how much i long to be a shape more pleasing to your own. a circle doesn’t fit anywhere. you have 4 sides. i have one hollow emptiness to fill. it’s not a thrill, exactly, but it’s still something that we can’t seem to get past.

but the other shapes. the triangle is more tempting. alluring. with their points to flaunt, a safety net of “i love you” and 2 cups of “the fuck do i want”. they’re sharp edged, jagged, and yet to pull yourself away would be to end all that’s seemingly safe, in place of trying something new. being bold, being you, being with me…well…it isn’t as fun as it looks to be. you are defined. you have corners and lines. you are the shape of the majority of furniture. bookcases and tables, beds and i…well i am a circle.

and you are a square.

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, the satirical online newspaper of “Nowhere, US”, my podcast “Coping With Tonal Shifts In Reality” or my writing over at Medium. Also, I collected all the fiction, poetry and some new pieces from this blog and am selling it over at Payhip for cheap, cheap cheap!

Wanna donate to me directly? You can do that via PayPal! Wanna support me ongoing month to month and get content early? You can do that via Patreon! Wanna support me but can’t do it continuously? You can do that via Buy Me A Coffee! Thanks for whatever you can spare, I really appreciate it!

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Nice Girls Don’t Burn Ants: Stories, Poetry & Essays

nice girlsThis collection is available right now, at Payhip! Granted, I won’t lie to you, it’s 97% content from this blog and my Medium page, but there’s a few new things shoved in there, for the sake of feeling bad reselling you previously free content you’ve probably already read. But here’s the thing, I am dirt poor and don’t wanna end up homeless, so I really need the money, so if you want to help me out, you could buy this and I’d be super duper grateful. In addition to this, my first novel from 2016 will be available early February, also over at Payhip!

This collection essentially collects almost all the fiction and poetry I’ve posted here, along with some blog entries I liked, and a Medium article or two; then it also has two brand new stories that run about 5k each, so that’s where we are. So, if you like supporting artists or simply like me and want to have my stuff close at hand without having to come to my blog to read it, now’s your chance! Anyway, that’s where we are.

Thank you for supporting my blog and my writing, and I hope you keep on reading. Knowing you guys are out there really makes me feel better.

BUY MY GAUDY WARES RIGHT NOW!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, the satirical online newspaper of “Nowhere, US”, my podcast “Coping With Tonal Shifts In Reality” or my writing over at Medium.

Wanna donate to me directly? You can do that via PayPal! Wanna support me ongoing month to month and get content early? You can do that via Patreon! Wanna support me but can’t do it continuously? You can do that via Buy Me A Coffee! Thanks for whatever you can spare, I really appreciate it!