the kindest thing I almost did.

In honor of your life, I will put my stubbornness to bed and write you the final letters.

my almost friend,

you never wrote me that letter, I waited two months after, fumbled through the mail and all the ways I went wrong, searching for any sign of you. but I was too hard headed to ever talk to you first. 

The day you died  I carried a worry stone around in my pocket, I miscounted the signs of misfortune on another friend and uncontrollably lost myself to what my mother claims to be the effect of the full moon. but my body knew. all of me knew somewhere deep down, stuffed between boxes and mix match socks, you were growing smaller into the shape of a quiet mouse, becoming something within my bones and disappearing completely. and all I hold is the voice echoing the words promising me your forever. if only we knew your forever would be too many years too soon. 

The psychic told me your state was calling my name and I planned my future accordingly. I'd like to introduce myself under a new name, something unexpected. I hitchhiked 1,412 miles to that gloomy state. visit the field of flowers you laid to rest in and watch magicians blow bubbles of hot melting glass into the air. or maybe I would have gone to that college, studied art history and opened up my gallery, but I depended on you, or somebody to give me some sort of hope for the future, but you lost yours completely and I hate you for that. so I won't introduce myself with a new name, I will crash all the cars and graffiti all the trains I hop on my way to where you used to be. I will stomp on your beautiful flower field and smash the hot glass on the floor and watch everything I hope for melt into the ground. because you, gifted me an abundance amount of grief that will continue to keep giving and I will give you nothing but a haft ass obituary asking you why you couldn't undo fate. 

but my almost friend, 

the sweet innocent awaking of everything good in the world, I won't say you were my first, to be taken from a world were you almost had the chance to survive in. only that you will be remembered, over and over again and it will continue to hurt until it becomes nothing but happiness for the moments  you allowed me to share with you. so I am sorry, that it will take time and I will blame you for the thing you couldn't control, and I know this final letter is filled with disrespect, yet I am so fucking mad at this universe for only gifting me this gluttony of grief. that will continue to eat until my wrist begins to shake from the weight of the fork I do not want to bear. 

Dear Almost Friend,

I promise you forever, if you want it too.Thank you. I'm sorry that I almost got the chance to say goodbye. My failed potential friend. 

Your truly,

Hannah-kathryn Whitney 

Bianca phipps- almost

the hopeless romantic is a stalker

I've found myself sleeping backwards, the ends of me resting where the starts of me use to. the bed is fully made, sheets tucked in the same place since the last load of laundry. I've convinced myself thinking completely still is the same as sleeping, and so every night the recorder play thoughts began to spin but I do not cave into the temptation of rest. this time its different tho, its going backwards and the window is completely open. because if he's going to watch me topple and fold on the made bed, I must be able to see him. if there is a creature in the closet, by my door, under the chair, I want them to be as scared as me. 

being watched is something I've grown used to. a poet once said something critical along the lines, "that if you are the type of girl people wanna look at let them look", I know the statement was a metaphor or some sarcastic joke were the punch line is abuse. but after years of being followed, chased, and observed I grew incredible tired of trying to hide my identity in the dark crevices of the world. I still continue to change my name out of habit. remember the cars that park at the grocery store and by my house. He's name was always changing to, never the same guy either. a part of me wished it was one, or at least someone I could prepare for. He came into my work a few times, followed me down the aisles and observed the tangles in the back of my hair and the cracking of knee caps. I liked to think it was tortuous to him, always having to be hiding in the same ways I was. the other versions of him were not so great, one was a women and her husband. they eyed me down in the art aisles and quietly watch me everyday, using there daughter as away of interactions, as the unknown child id never meet before in my life screamed my name up in down the aisles, jumping and grabbing on my limbs. I never learned what they wanted. 

                                                                

others threaten my life, called me from unknown numbers and watched me sleep as they sat on my window seal in which they deemed poetic. it wasn't strange, being a child of the internet, interactions like this began in 2014 and become a side affect of existing once I entered high school. I came to my mother once, in which the evidence of my fear meant nothing until it was too late, like how it always did. the psychics of the city claimed to be a default of my energy, as if the universe gifted me some sort of "asking for it" aura. so I prepare, for the next after this one, and I will not apologize for how I choice to deal with it. 

heyyyyoooo, first blog backkkk... a lot has benign going on and I decided after careful concatenation that I will not be disappearing with in myself... this blog post is based on a poems I wrote regarding the five men who stalked me and that wacko couple.. lol. I should have not been given kik or Tumblr as a little fuck. anyway--- little update.. I'm doing a little better, check out she-rants and I'm going to college soon, also I haven't downloaded grammerly on this computer yet so its probably incredible flawed.. but this was made for me and not you!!! hope your day is great and your breathe smells like dogsshit.

-katbird02