over time

first

you will be dumbfounded

your heart will plummet

into the depths of your stomach

as the whole world before you

tumbles

as if the entire universe

was shoved into a dryer

spinning

steady yourself

on someone’s shoulder

first

 

then

when strangers

you haven’t seen

since you were a newborn

all cluster together,

solemnly murmuring

donning dark colors

touching the glossy wood

of the coffin

the magnitude of death

will feel heavy

you will

need to sit

and your aunt

will comfort you

then

 

later

when you call her up

because you start to forget her voice-

but the line has been disconnected

when her seat at the table for the holidays

is vacant

year after year

when her sister

has become an only child

when you get older

and she doesn’t-

the passing of time just means

that she’s been gone longer

you will understand

the finality of death

later

© 2017 Vic Romero – Creative Writing Fall 2017

The Great Depression

I randomly decided to listen to a podcast I used to jam to quite a bit called, Truth + Dare. It’s hosted by two women and they talk about real stuff honestly. The one I started listening to yesterday was about how to overcome setbacks. One of the women talked about how they utilize Netflix as a means of distraction rather than actually dealing and working through the challenge.

And then it hit me: I’ve been distracting myself a lot lately. I’m not watching a ton of TV or crocheting just because it’s fun (although it is) but I’m avoiding stuff.

I spent today thinking about this more and I’m avoiding myself. My feelings. I’m trying different activities to temporarily placate my anguish, but I’m not working through it.

After I had a mediocre job interview the other day and was unnecessarily mean to my sweet parents, my sister confronted me and I had my first real talk toward self-improvement.

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Save Rock and Roll (Save Myself)

I’m bored with all of the books I’ve been trying to read and with all of the shows I want to watch so I decided it was about time to come on here and write again.  So…yeah..I’m ending my Fall-Out-Boy-esque-hiatus now.  My hiatus was not five years nor did I release an underrated, killer record before going on break and then proceed to get married, launch a solo career, or have children during my hiatus…but this has been the longest break I’ve taken from writing on here, and in general, since…my sophomore or junior year in high school.  It’s a little unfortunate I didn’t write because I like to document my life, thoughts, and feelings…but everything seemed so…heavy at the time and the idea of writing anything…I didn’t perceive it as therapeutic.

During the last month or so, however, I have been documenting random thoughts/feelings into a journal by hand to at least get them out there and then I would organize them into the different Bullet Journal prompts I had going.

Anyway!  I am going to resume writing again.  I’ve been having an urge to write creatively over the last week or so…hopefully I can do some of that because I miss that.  In the meantime, I’ll blog a bit about what’s going on and I’ll start with an update since a bunch has been going on!

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Throwing Drunken Tantrums in the City Streets

Every Friday night, I vow I will not hook up with him.

I don’t want to hook up with him.  I never cum.  Because I don’t let him touch me. Because he doesn’t make me feel safe because he’s aggressive in a nonconsensual way.  I also don’t want to enjoy it.  Because then I will begin to actually like him.  And I can’t like him because he doesn’t like me.  And he’s too similar to my ex anyway.

Regardless, once the weekend rolls around and I’ve had enough drinks, I am all over him.  And then I wake up naked and alone, feeling stupid.

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Super Whoa-Man

Repost from 2012

I had never been so scared in my life. I watched my friend’s face contort as she read the rest of the letter that I had handed to her. She looked kinda pissed. But then again she always looked kinda pissed. I guess she looked extraordinarily pissed off as she read the letter-

“Wow,” she sighed, cutting my nervous thoughts off. She didn’t look at me right away, she just fiddled with the letter, her face twisted in thought. I looked straight ahead of me, watching the little kids draw on the blacktop in chalk. They were so cute and happy. I wish I were the same way.

“So everything is still up in the air? You don’t know what’s going to happen?”

She finally looked over at me, her expression cautionary. Evidently she didn’t know how to go about things or what to say. But neither did I.

I shrugged my shoulders, slumping a bit as I began to think of what this evil villain that I’ve created has dragged me into, thinking about how this villain, that was, but wasn’t me, has ruined my life.  There was only one way to terminate this evil villain because I couldn’t be my own superhero, but those thoughts have landed me in this fucked up situation in the first place.

© 2015 Vic Romero

Three

Three years isn’t a long time in the grand scheme of life, but at my age (I’m nineteen), it feels substantial.

Three years ago I was in high school, which is a completely different world in contrast to college.  I was a minor at age sixteen and in the midst of my downward spiral of depression.  I also lost my best friend three years ago.  Not “lost” as in death, but “lost” as in, no longer friends.

I lost most of my friends three years ago, but only one of those losses wasn’t my fault.  That loss hurt me the most.

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