Blythe Baird Quotes

Killing yourself slowly is still killing yourself. Wanting to die is not the same as wanting to come home. Recovery is hard work. Not wanting to die is hard work.

I am trying to both be happy and pay attention to the world around me. I do not know if it is possible to do both at the same time.

I am trying to see things in perspective. My dog wants a bite of my peanut butter chocolate chip bagel. I know she cannot have this, because chocolate makes dogs very sick. My dog does not understand this. She pouts and wraps herself around my leg like a scarf and purrs and tries to convince me to give her just a tiny bit. When I do not give in, she eventually gives up and lays in the corner, under the piano, drooping and sad. I hope the universe has my best interest in mind like I have my dog’s. When I want something with my whole being, and the universe withholds it from me, I hope the universe thinks to herself: "Silly girl. She thinks this is what she wants, but she does not understand how it will hurt.

Half daughter, half apology, all fire and the wrong kind of love.

I don’t know how to talk about the rabbit hole without accidentally inviting you to follow me down it.

You could literally saw a woman in half and it would still be called a magic trick.

I am trying to sleep on the front porch of forgiveness. I am too young to be this lonely. Still, do not mistake all of my honest open for empty. I didn’t leave the door of my love unlocked so you could mistake my sadness for a shelf. I do not have room to carry anyone’s chaos but my own. If I sink, it will be in my own ocean. If I float, it will be on the ship I built with my own hands.

Even though trauma has a way of becoming the wallpaper of my head, watch me drag the art out of my suffering. Watch me plant seeds down my spine and bloom into a garden of poetry from every horrible thing that has ever happened to me, all the nights my voice turned to cement and I couldn't say anything- Watch me build an empire from the ashes of everything that tried to destroy me.

I am embarrassed instead of proud of all the mad things I have done for happiness

I am certain everything is a poem if you catch it in just the right light

In this room, every mistake I have ever made meets up at my favorite coffee house.

If my trauma were made into an art museum, the most popular exhibit would showcase portraits of every man who has ever raped me, snarling.

I tried to go a whole day pretending this body is not a memorial of violent memories.

You were everything bright and leaving.

This is proof that she cares about something; it doesn't always have to be me.

I do not cry because I have done that before and it did not make anything softer.

come back to the city it was easiest for you to breathe in

Remember: you did the best you could in the situation you were in with the materials you had.

POCKET-SIZED FEMINISM The only other girl at the party is ranting about feminism. The audience: a sea of rape jokes and snapbacks and styrofoam cups and me. They gawk at her mouth like it is a drain clogged with too many opinions. I shoot her an empathetic glance and say nothing. This house is for wallpaper women. What good is wallpaper that speaks? I want to stand up, but if I do, whose coffee table silence will these boys rest their feet on? I want to stand up, but if I do, what if someone takes my spot? I want to stand up, but if I do, what if everyone notices I’ve been sitting this whole time? I am guilty of keeping my feminism in my pocket until it is convenient not to, like at poetry slams or my women’s studies class. There are days I want people to like me more than I want to change the world. There are days I forget we had to invent nail polish to change color in drugged drinks and apps to virtually walk us home at night and mace disguised as lipstick. Once, I told a boy I was powerful and he told me to mind my own business. Once, a boy accused me of practicing misandry. You think you can take over the world? And I said No, I just want to see it. I just need to know it is there for someone. Once, my dad informed me sexism is dead and reminded me to always carry pepper spray in the same breath. We accept this state of constant fear as just another part of being a girl. We text each other when we get home safe and it does not occur to us that our guy friends do not have to do the same. You could saw a woman in half and it would be called a magic trick. That’s why you invited us here, isn’t it? Because there is no show without a beautiful assistant? We are surrounded by boys who hang up our naked posters and fantasize about choking us and watch movies we get murdered in. We are the daughters of men who warned us about the news and the missing girls on the milk carton and the sharp edge of the world. They begged us to be careful. To be safe. Then told our brothers to go out and play.

We understood the many ways a mother's shame can haunt a daughter's body.

If your body could speak would she forgive you?

she tells me "i don't know how to love anyone with my whole being" and all at once i feel so stupid and so small as i tell her "well i don't know how to not.

I can't let anything be her fault, even if it was. Especially if it was.

When your mother kisses you on the scalp, let her. Let your father hug you, hard.

She swallows knives, then gets angry when you make her spit them out and don’t name her magic.

My dog wants a bite of my peanut butter chocolate chip bagel. I know she cannot have this, because chocolate makes dogs very sick. Madigan does not understand this. She pouts and wraps herself around my leg like a scarf, trying to convince me to give her just a tiny bit. When I do not give in, she eventually gives up and lays in the corner under the piano, drooping and sad. I hope the universe has my best interest in mind like I have my dog's. When I want something with my whole being, and the universe withholds it from me, I hope the universe thinks to herself, "Silly girl. She thinks this is what she wants, but she does not understand how it will hurt.

I cannot let anything be her fault, even if it was. Especially if it was.