7d  Dean Rhetoric
7 days ago

It wasn’t important until now.

And I’ve always been a late bloomer. Didn’t even know my appendix had ruptured until it was too late. Opened up like an origami flower. Blood spilled onto the page. It serves no purpose but it is necessary.

Cut it out.

You should probably know that I snore. Bite my nails. Fear committed relationships. I once walked fourteen miles because I couldn’t stand to look at my own face and was going to throw it off the side of a cliff. But I went home. Put it back in the drawer. Wore it again that night in shame.

When my father died in front of me, I died in front of him. And that kills me. That the last thing we both saw was a corpse. I have a lot of guilt. I failed him. So I carry around his ashes in a wooden box so that I can apologize. But he never forgives me. And I cannot forgive myself.

I probably should have told you that the last person who loved me laughed when I cried. Smiled when I struggled. Put poison in my dinner. Kicked me when I was down. Smirked when I finally caved in.

That I trust people too easily. See the best in the worst ones. Wear my heart on the outside so it will break easier and I will no longer have to protect it. Because I hate it. It is useless.

Everyone I have ever cared about ends up hating me.

I’ve had surgery. Three times. Twice for cancer. And once to rid myself of that hopeless and impractical organ that does me no good. But just sits in the main body and festers where no one can see it. I did that last operation myself.

Maybe having breakthroughs are significant. I’m trying to have one today.

I always open up too late.

But if you think this is cathartic. That I will heal. That draining all this filth is going to help me to get better. It won’t.

There are some holes that never get filled. I just thought I should say that. It’s vital that you understand. That when things burst to let them. Don’t try to cover it up or say that you are ok. That’s what I did for a really long time.

Look at me now.
And my ugly blossoming appendage.

  Feb 12  Dean Rhetoric
BE McComb
BE McComb
Feb 12

it's not me
pushing you
away except
it actually is me

it's the kind of
morning that the
wind is blowing
just right so that
the open flag
flutters in front
of the window
where i can see it

the kind of morning
i don't need coffee
and i try not to
think about

it too

(i just wanted to
be the girl in
an owl city song)

pacing back and
forth in straight
lines and gritting
my teeth against
an onslaught of
small town gunfire

(i'll bet annmarie
never had scars
or scratches
brielle didn't cry
and shake for
hours thinking
how to end it all
it turned out
okay for anna
and vienna probably
knew how to dance
between the snowflakes
and underneath her regret)

i've never been good at
drowning out thoughts
they just get louder the
longer time rolls on

good at rolling out
cookie dough and
good at drowning
in dishwater when
the brownie batter's
baking and the bowl
needs washing when
nobody's looking

(i've had moments
here and there in golden
sneakers and navy blue
lace covered dresses
but i'm not the girl
in an owl city song
not something worth
writing dreamy poems
about not so lovestruck you
replace your words with dada)

girls like me wear flannel
khaki too much day old
eyeliner too many day old
scones have half heads of weird
colored hair and spend valentines
day alone watching tv

so maybe why i'm bitter
as the inside of a lemon is
that i'll never be able to change
to someone drenched in verbena
spinning through the sunny
skies between your fingers

Copyright 2/11/17 by B. E. McComb
#love   #girl   #loss  
  Feb 9  Dean Rhetoric
Jan 29

Why do peoples minds always
Taste like
Their faces

Plopped Like Lion-forearms
Scrunched-up or sturdy

In front of them selves
like Cantaloupe trees

Or jellyfish noses
Sneezing out their, huddled umbrellas
& Checking the time
Of the wrists on their watches

Whilst the rain beat around them
In blistering turns
of universe-seconds
of memory-dances
of the soft exhilaration of

High school classes

And feet-stuck in soil
and the weddings of foxes
who walk, right into
The sunlighted forest

no hesitation
no hesitation at all

But he doesnt see
This switching of time
(Nobody taught him)
So he double checks minutes,

Just to watch the day rewind

That being said

His shoes look like grandfather clocks
And I'd like to steal them

And dance them along to the end of this metro
This line

This stop
The skirts you have
;your love;

If anyone ever presents me with God;
l will always choose humanity

  Feb 8  Dean Rhetoric
Kendall Merritt
Kendall Merritt
Feb 22, 2016

I was force fed the pit
Of a plum when I was eighteen
There was resisting and choking,
But eventually, I coughed
And down it went
I thought,
It is only a pit
It will leave somehow,
If it managed to find an entrance
But the pit dwells heavily still
Within this very soul of mine
I no longer like plums

  Feb 4  Dean Rhetoric
Alice Malice

Blurry eyes
all pink and glassy
and a smear of
watercolor blush
on flushed
I'm pale and soft
like a renaissance
Mother Mary
pray for me
in my hour of need

Swollen ankles
and creaking kneecaps
and the scent
of sandalwood...
I'm curved
and awkward postured,
a Venus
in a wave-born oyster
I'm a pearl in the waters
a tear-drop of a god
a Holy daughter
bow your heads

Frozen fingers
and thick dark curls
and the white glow of skin
on the dark background...
paint me like one
of your gothic romance
and decorate a shrine
for your sainted soul,
your lost-but-not-yet-saved
Sad girl

#sad   #depression   #depressed   #art   #selflove   #vanity   #painting   #photos   #bpd   #selfies  
  Feb 3  Dean Rhetoric

only write haikus
for lovers. this one is for
me. i fucked myself.

  Jan 31  Dean Rhetoric
Jan 31

I wake at 4 am and
Paint my nightmares in red
My brush strokes carry ruby droplets across
A white stretched canvas
While I sit in the dark
Absorbed in the flood

I sit on the sink ledge
Shaking under stark bright light
My lips part to let sighs and
Silent cries tumble out
Tears cascade down my cheeks
Quivering fingertips grasp into my pale flesh

I scare myself
I look in the mirror and face my present
While all I see is my past
Fogging my vision and haunting me
The future flirts with my senses and hopes
But my thoughts are a cold dungeon I cannot seem to escape
My mind and body are tattooed with sorrow's signature

All I want is to feel free
Swallow down this sadness that constantly overtakes me
I want to be loved
To be vulnerable and fearless
Share the chaos that floods my depths
Let my wildness free
To grow and develop
Into all I know I have the ability to be

Raw thoughts

*Thank you everyone for the kind words, support, and love <3!!!
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