my feelings about wuthering heights by emily bronte(ay)

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i haven’t written a book report since high school. and there aren’t many books once can say that they hate but can’t stop thinking about. one only usually refers to fuckbois in this manner. let’s get on with it then. (this is not an official report. this is a mess).
i don’t think it necessary to type out a synopsis considering this is a classic. if you don’t know the story, you’ve had plenty of time, get on with it. all i want to do is comment on it.
 how many peoples’ lives actually start and end in the name of love? is it all of us? or is it a select few? if it’s the former, that’s very sad because the reality of it all is so invisible, so intangible. most of us live and die searching for a constant state of love and therefore happiness and only die off with a handful of momentous experiences.if it’s the latter then i would like to meet every one of these peoples and learn their stories. heathcliff was adopted out of love, heathcliff falls in love and then goes on to ruin everyone else’s lives for a love he could not attain. how can one person be so single minded as to pursue the affections of someone who did not want to be with him? because he knew that catherine loved him but objectively sought fortune from the transaction of marriage?  didn’t he consider the power of time changing the hearts of everyone’s and slowly even his?
whoever said it was right! love is blind. and in addendum : love is blind…as fuuuuuuuck.
this man used love to fuel his revenge too! i should take a few notes because despite the fact that he hurt the wrong people, i respect him (and i feel no shame in it). he turned his fortune around and stuck it to the man (catherine earnshaw’s brother)! why did he have to stick it to poor edgar linton though? and baby catherine? and oh god baby hareton? his sickly son linton? his beggarly wife isabella! the only person with a life in this book is nelly dean. bless her nerves. so he serves revenge pudding to distracted by-standers and then goes into self destruct mode. what the fuck man!!!
this book is important. they’re all mad, all these characters. bored and fucking insane but there’s something rather truthful to the relationships they have with one another.
heathcliff and catherine : you can love someone for just a small time of your life and perhaps even continue to love them and not feel in any way that you owe them commitment. and you can love someone in a possessive way, simultaneously shutting down all faculties of kindness in your system to have the shiny toy even after the shiny toy dies of childbirth because you can’t hop in a fucking carriage and move on.
edgar and catherine : you can love your wife even though you know she’s just in it for your cashmoneyyy. also she’s really pretty.
isabella and heathcliff : love and hate are the same variable in the equation. you solve for love, you solve for hate, same damn thing.
catherine jr and linton heathcliff : you can love someone and not like them at all. you can have pity on them and feel affection for whatever appeals to your sensibilities but high key know that they’re a shitty person on the inside. there’s also this twisted thing where you can love someone just a little bit but about 75% is triggered by your need to survive instead of actual affection due to sharing experiences together.
hareton and catherine jr : you can love someone no matter how similar or different they are to you. the equilibrium doesn’t really exist and you just make it up as you go along.
hareton and heathcliff : you start to like someone more when you realize that the things you hate about them are just reflection aspects of you. it’s narcissistic and narcissism is one of the ugly children of the 21st century so even though this book is old, we can all relate to it.yay.
heathcliff and earnshaw : freud probably has something smarter to say about this but i’m just going to say that you can’t torture the brown boy just because he’s hitting on your sister and your father thinks he’s cooler than you. what you do is, befriend him and make evil plans together because we’re more similar to those we dislike than we like to know.
nelly and everyone : reward those who witness your life and be kind to them. they have the power to either uplift or slaughter your character during their account.
joseph and himself : i have no idea what you’re saying, dude.
i guess the moral of this horrid story is
BE NICE TO PEOPLE OF COLOR.
and that listening to your heart, no matter how many pop stars convince you otherwise, is not the right thing to do, neither is it the wrong thing to do. it’s just something to do.
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Do you believe in your worth

when someone picks you up

from side walks and alleys

and dungeons of guilt?

Is there a way to steer clear

of the singing mermen

with their glistening chests

undoubtedly sprinkled with

laughter and gold?

What age have you reached

where you see and feel

only the froth of the beer

not the rush to your head

even if you’re still an early twenty?

What other words exist

to describe a fallen bird

with a clipped wing and a bleeding eye

and a passion for song?

Fall through

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Perspective

is that soft suggestive breeze

that utters itself

through the mouth

of a friend

who means no harm

Mind the gap between his

two front teeth

as I lean in to kiss him

out of habit.

A force stronger than

the tickle of a breeze

“The kiss, it’s only in your head, “

whispers the wind,

“Memory is just as suggestive, no?”

No!

Memory trickles down into my skin,

embeds in my nerves,

gets to every tip and follicle

Mind the gap

between his presence and his memory

As you lean in to kiss him,

the fog engulfs and

you fall right through.

Black and mould.

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If I had to see you again

I wouldn’t, simply out of fear.

 

Would we still have it?

That soft fluid burning on a thread

between us

each end tied to the pit of our stomachs.

 

And what if it isn’t there anymore?

I would perish all over again, I would mourn,

I would turn to black and mould.

And then there would be the other questions.

 

Did it take a marriage to forget me or just an afternoon?

Did you have to exorcise my memory and feed them

to your demons?

And where do you keep the carcass?

 

Mine sleeps beside me, snuggled,

as you did,

almost every night.

You stay, I’ll go

your future is a map

endless possibilities,

mine doesn’t have you

it simply ends.

 

i have to find something

i have to find an everyday

a sense, some contentedness

 

no, you will stay, i will go

to feel less rejected i suppose

to feel like you were a stop

on the way…

 

…and on the way

to feeling better

i will pass you by

just passing by

 

Scorpio, Scorpius, Scorpion

  1. Scorpions, belonging to the class Arachnida, are a highly adaptable species. They’re fond of the desert but you can find them in rain forests too. They’re found everywhere but Antarctica, but who, other than the Penguins of Madagascar and their zebra friend, Marty, want to live there anyway?
  2. My Scorpius went off to New York City, he went to meet a potential mate, life partner, whatever. He was here, legs entangled with mine, but then he left.
  3. There are approximately two thousand species of Scorpions and thirty to forty types have a venomous sting. If you factor in the average Scorpion life span, that is 3-8 years then…
  4. The chances of my Scorpius meeting a lady Scorpio with a deathly sting is going to be rare. And so he did, maybe.
  5. Apparently, scientists are baffled as to why Scorpions glow under a certain wavelength of ultra-violet light.
  6. My Scorpius is a magical creature. He knows his science and his food and his making me laugh.
  7. When food is scarce, a Scorpion can slow down it’s metabolism to as low as a third of the typical rate, consequently allowing the being to be able to survive on just about one insect a year if it has to.
  8. My Scorpius can live with close to nothing. What does he need me for. I’m too much of everything, I guess.
  9. Scorpions have two to five pairs of eyes on the sides of their heads.
  10. Has he always been looking around?
  11. A male Scorpion and a his lady friend to be, size each other up. This is in order to evaluate if they are of the same species.
  12. My Scorpius matched birth charts and horoscopes and everything.
  13. Once Scorpions of the opposite sex meet, they engage in a promenade a deux, a dance in which they clasp claws and move around in order to find a suitable place for ejaculation.
  14. My Scorpius, he likes his Bollywood dance, and his lady Scorpio is trained in Bharat Natyam. She’s also a doctor, but what the hell does that matter, right?
  15. To pacify the female, the mating Scorpions may even kiss and share venom.
  16. My Scorpius is a good kisser, when he’s kissing me.
  17. If the dance takes too long, the lady Scorpion is known to get bored and walk away.
  18. Oh but he’s so sensual with his hands and hips. She is going to love him.
  19. Most Scorpion stings are painful but harmless, really.
  20. What about the pain?

Wake

She wakes up

and the shadows are just leave on branches

not the gnarled fingers of the ghosts

or the tails that are whips

that have spikes

 

She wakes up

when she finally falls

from falling and falling

and

falling

and thud

 

She wakes up

all the way

wide open

alert, ready to strike

squints

then collapses

 

She wakes up

somewhere else.

Graze

I would mock those hips

Had you not strung me in,

flung me out.

 

My nails would love to scratch your neck

But your flesh is so close, too close

galaxies or centimeters apart.

 

I can’t stomp when you have me

twirling,

When you your arms are bending me

backward,

 

You can’t hear me cuss

in my head

when I exhale and sweat

and my desire

curtains the dread.