I'm getting exhausted, really sick of sitting still

“Melancholia” by Kateryna Bortsova

and this train won’t stop moving. Please, conductor.
Sir, I wasn’t born with wings. Slice me in half and
I’ll start talking if you’ll reimburse my ticket. Here’s
the truth: I’ve reached for feelings recently. There are
so many goddamn dusty shelves in what was my house
that my hands are starting to shake. Tell me I can find
solidarity amongst the passengers. Tell me I can find
solidarity amongst the famous. Tell me I can find solidarity
amongst the sane. How do I reach them? A jar, a
spoon of honey, a sadistic attempt to force my lungs
to the beat of everyone else. If you rip away my
memories maybe I’ll start spewing sweet nothings into
your ears, too, doctor. Monotony kills and drugs numb
so pick your poison. I’m afraid my mind doesn’t belong
to anyone but me, which is a shame, because I'm an
idyllic genius on a good day. Here’s a peek into it,
all for free if you buy me an avocado down the street
and a lighter for this pack I found. I’ll tell you about a
man I’ve spied lurking in my dreams. He walks into
my room and takes a look around before disappointment
reeks over the cologne which must’ve cost 100s. The
first thing he always tells me is that my lover is prolifically
writing about me. I know he’s wrong about this because
I lie about peonies at her doorstep and push pause on
her messages. I can never make out what memory his face is
but I know I’ve seen it before. Sometimes in the china
from the bath, in the glass above the sink, in my favorite
silver spoon. Most of the time he mocks my artwork.
Really just tears apart my paintings. Scrutiny is a sin to creation.
He’s my favorite replacement to an echoing wall
and screaming juice. So hammer me to hell.
Sometimes I am called a cynic but I just want to remain
realistic. My paint isn’t full of life. I agree with the blur of
my brain and the pessimism which is really a personality.
So strip me of my sins, strip me of my saint. Burn me
to hell because I’d rather speak into silence and be killed
unconditionally than pray just to become bruised knees
and utterly unworthy of my truth before I pass.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Julia Neumann is 19 and a sophomore at Bates College, studying on an environmental track with hopes of making an impact. She was raised on a good book amongst the snow flurries of Utah. As of now, she spends her time writing, looking at fall foliage, and sipping tea with friends. She can be found at julianeumann.org or @julianeumannn on Instagram.

about the artist

Kateryna Bortsova is a painter – graphic artist with BFA in graphic arts and MFA. Works of Kateryna took part in many international exhibitions (Taiwan, Moscow, Munich, Spain, Italy, USA etc.). She also won a silver medal in the category “realism” in participation in “Factory of visual art”, New York, USA and 2015 Emirates Skywards Art of Travel competition, Dubai, United Arab Emirates. Kateryna is always open for commission and you can view her work on Instagram @katerynabortsova or on her website https://bortsova6.wixsite.com/bortsova.