saying goodbye will sting
because feelings are alive
as hard as forgetting seems
no love is worth the burn
don't fall in love
you will drown
it's not worth
the intense pain
your heart is yours
keep it that way
love is lies
all a lie
it's love suicide
Flowers in my eyes,
You said I had… flowers in my eyes,
But don’t excuse these flowers for the ones pollinated by butterflies or smelled by a child at midday
These are not sunflowers or lilies
These are forget-me-nots, orchids, and black roses,
Saturday night wondering in a sea of whiskey and beer,
You watched a monster
3 times my size
I pushed and kicked
But you watched anyway, saying I asked for it.
Drunk night leads to sober morning
Not far from the scene of the crime
Sore walking towards the mirror watching as I fall into tears at the sight of bruises on my neck
Reliving his fangs and rough lips
I shakily cover up the only evidence to offer
Piss drunk attacked on the living room floor
That’s what you saw
But you didn’t see me quivering in front of the bathroom mirror
Praying my skin could be ripped off
Praying to get his lips off my lips, his teeth off my neck, hands off my mouth, and memory from my mind
You don’t see my fetal positioned body swaying in the back of the lab before chem
Unable to get my fighting and saying no out of my head
Unable to get his face out of my brain
Unable to rip my insides out and fall out of this horrid reality
You can only see haunted words and distracted looks,
Conversations that draw raindrops and words jumbled,
Faint bruise on my neck working as my very own scarlet letter,
You can only see piss drunk girl at high school party
Boy forcing himself on something so fragile and small
Who only wants a piece of the slutty class alcoholic
Even though it was just supposed to be us girls
Even though he wasn’t from our school
Even though none of this was mapped out or planned for me
And with those judged looks
Speak of my poisonous sin
And adulterous nature
Speak of “my fault” and the expected “boys will be boys”
Still you’ll never see
Me running to my vodka to stay alive
Drinking straight from the bottle hoping to overdose and die
Crying for hours hoping my mind will blow but it never does
Looking at every boy as a threat
Seeing my reflection hating every curve and corner
Because after three violations on my body I wonder what I’m doing wrong
Wondering why I’ve been violated
Taking boiling hot baths so my skin will fall off or blister
And the worst is that you will never see
Nights I want to kiss someone
But run because I fear they’ll be rough
Nights I try to erase moments
But can’t because they’re forever ingrained
The day I finally take my clothes off for someone
Without them doing it to hurt me
And all they can notice are the cuts on my arms and hips
The day I stop myself from falling in love because I can’t believe anyone could love me for me
The second I broke into a million pieces and those flowers you see in my eyes were planted by a sexual attack I won’t ever get to erase.
I’m looking at this picture of Tristan
And I don’t know who he is yet
And I’m looking at the front of the book
And he’s got this twinkle in his eye
And this smirk that says
“I know something you don’t know”
in a singsong voice.
and he died when he was 34
but why did that happen??
It doesn’t say;
they almost pretend he is alive even though
He has been dead for years.
So I looked it up on wikipedia and it sounded like
And then when he was 34 he put the shotgun in his mouth
And his daughter wasn’t even
First month, first seat change. we were on opposite sides, no interaction. I relish this, i am not a
BOLD or EXTROVERTED person
some might say I am shy or introverted
now that the time has come, I am not ready to change seats,
to take the chance of sitting closer, forced interaction,
I am nervous,
but am calmed with the thought that chances are, we'll be seated even farther apart,
I was wrong.
our elbows will brush, our knees will touch, our gazes will meet.
I hear the words coming out of the teachers mouth,
but am stunned into silence ,
my whole being shaken,
our names are called,
our seats given.
To some, this may seem silly, immature, an overreaction.
For them, this may be true, in this situation calm, collected, thinking: this is no big deal.
But with dread curdling in your stomach as you snap to,
stumbling to your seat,
this is an earthquake shaking the earth, a volcano spitting ashes,
a panic attack waiting to happen.
and it pounces.
seated, trying not to squirm, to shake, to jerk;
wondering what he's thinking, trying not to stare.
he thinks you don't see,
the glances he shoots the short foot between you,
thinks your engrossed in the teacher, the clock, the pencil
any thing but him.
But your any thing but engrossed, you see every shake, gaze,
fell every brush of the hand.
Finally, this long hour is over, the mixture of excitement and torture has come to an end.
As is to be expected, on your way still in has gaze, you trip, you stumble, your face cherry red;
embarrassed, but thankful,
that he doesn't have a class with an even more abundant chance of embarrassment.
over the day,
you forget the way he gazes,
his shy way
different from the others,
the way he's taller,
in a way that makes you feel safe, flushed, happy, even if their is no chance of him being yours.
But then lunch comes,
you sit down,
ready to devour food that can only fill your stomach, not your soul as much as you wish it would, or
but looking across,
you spot him, watching you,
his gaze surpassing the walls of people, as much as a shy person wouldn't like,
is it coincidence that he found the one gap with a view of me?
is he staring at me?
what to do?
with all this questing running your mind,
your appetite flee's,
and so do I,
to my safe haven within the books.
tomorrow, the nervousness has subsided, its over, your over, its done.
but then, on the way to first period,
our paths cross,
You know that this is not over, not done,
the time has come for class to begin.
I've tried to forget, to overcome this nervousness, but I've been defeated,
ground to a fine powder of nerves by a crush.
our knees bounce in anticipation,
our pencils tap,
our feet twitch.
time to share the book,
the dreaded closeness.
Finally it happens,
the brush of the elbows.
we both feel it,
the sparks that glow blue,
the cheeks that grow red.
we have been given a gift, a chance,
to overcome shyness,
to create something wonderful.
but to take that chance, to accept this gift means time, courage.
and every day until then,
this tension will be relieved
and i will be a nervous wreck.
We started on opposite sides,
but fate pulled us together, forced a chance.
now we sit close, still tense, still wired,
but strangely happy,
The coming of the light was disorienting at first, like the shimmer of the surface of the sea when viewed from beneath. Ossie Mae was swimming up to meet it head on with the fearlessness that only the children of the Great Depression possess. That stark light called out to her bones.
Ossie Mae could hear faint sounds of work: the crinkling of cellophane wrappers, muffled footsteps, and an incessant chatter of beeps nearby. She broke the water's surface and spied a silhouette moving gracefully around the room's only bed. The lights' intrusion subsided, and Ossie Mae was able to recognize hospital scrubs as the silhouette's garment of choice.
"Am I dead," Ossie Mae ventured feebly.
"I don't know," the silhouette responded. "Do you feel dead?"
"I don't know what dead feels like."
"Then how do you know you were ever alive?"
The question hung in the air for a moment while Ossie Mae gathered her wits. "I don't reckon it matters, does it? What happened? Where am I? What is your name?" Now the questions flowed like water over the falls.
"I am Nurse Cassandra. This is a hospital. You are here because you fell and broke your hip. You came in alone...is there anyone you would like me to call for you? Family? Friends?"
Ossie Mae's pupils dilated slightly, as if looking past Nurse Cassandra, searching. "No. My husband, Jack, passed away eight years ago. We never had children and the few friends I have are all in nursing homes or moved away to live with their babies and grand-babies, or to Florida. It's just me now...," Ossie Mae said, her voice slowly and steadily trailing off.
Nurse Cassandra, who looked to be a woman in her early fifties, set down the clipboard she had been scanning while Ossie Mae spoke. She sat down next to Ossie Mae and took her hand. Ossie Mae thought to herself that for such a young woman, Nurse Cassandra had old eyes. They were kind and gray, but seemed old and out of place.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Ossie Mae," Nurse Cassandra asked gently.
"Well...my daddy was a simple man, and he always told me 'Ossie Mae, you ain't got to know what you want in life, but it sure does help to know what you don't want.' I sure do miss Daddy...but I reckon what I don't want is to stay in this hospital any longer than I have to. Could you get me out of here? Please? I don't belong here no more."
"Are you sure? Really sure that is what you want, Ossie Mae?"
"Yes'ums. Yes ma'am." Flatly. Definitively.
"Then of course, Ossie Mae. I can help you with that." Nurse Cassandra stood up, reaching into the pocket of her scrubs. "One escape, coming right up."
Nurse Cassandra turned to Ossie Mae's I.V. drip, moving quickly with practiced hands, emptying the contents of the syringe into the port on the line.
And so it came to pass: Nurse Cassandra, Ossie Mae's Angel of Death, sent her home to Jack and Daddy.
i am still undecided if i should continue to pursue this genre....
sleep is a date with death.
it's a time when your body is present but your conscious is not.
but are you really alive without a conscious?
in sleep your consciousness goes on a journey
taking Death by the hand
and accompanying him to the most majestic of ballrooms
and into the eyes of terrifying storms,
to the highest of mountains
and the deepest of the oceans' chasms,
to the most distant of memories
and the depths of what you had forgotten,
to your most prideful of accomplishments
and the greatest of all of your fears,
to the brightest of hopes and aspirations
and the most vacant corners of darkness.
he shows you what this world has to offer
anything and everything
each journey to be an experience your body may not have the chance to live.
yet every time you arouse from sleep
you awaken with nothing but haze
blurred images being all that your body can comprehend
in comparison to what journeys your mind can traverse.
as you age, your body becomes rickety and wrinkled
barely able to hold back such a bursting mind.
this is the time when your mind does not want to confine itself to a body any longer
it wants to experience more than what this world has to offer,
for in the hours awake within the body
combined with every date with Death
every memory had been made
every child had been born
every tear has been shed
every moment as a human, in body and mind, had been experienced.
your mind is not weak nor weary, rather, it thrives
within a clear container
and all that Death has yet to show you visible in the distance.
once your body can hold you back no longer, it sets your mind free.
that is when Death greets you
just as a peaceful lover would come dawn
and just as affectionately
he would accompany your mind
to everything else there is beyond
How many more thoughts until you make your next move?
How many pros and cons?
How long should you decide to decide?
Let be and stop killing the great spontaneousness of life
Only then can you truly understand the good and bad
Be great but with many hard times
Be unique but with much resentment from others
This life is set in such a way where it is better than any dream you could have
Only here can you be close to death but feel more alive
To lose everything then gain everything
To be a the person you think about everyday right now
A whole infinite journey...
Just for you
Notes from a broken heart.
1. It’s always easier to write poems in list form because you can always just rhyme the words with the numbers, like one and fun, and sun and undone and cum, and oh.. and um…
2. When seducing someone who is only in it for the physical don’t tell her that her cheek kisses give you butterflies, the power will go to her head and instead of wanting to fuck you she’ll just want to cuddle and huddle around her favorite book and you don’t want that. Or maybe you do, but she doesn’t want that. Or maybe she does, but that’s beside the point because she can’t have that, and neither can you.
3. Never fall in love with the cute girl who is leaving, it’ll leave you heaving for air and she crushes you with her inevitable departure here after she’ll be nothing more than a memory and you haven’t shed a tear for her yet don’t lose that streak
4. I can still taste you, and I know that I never will again and I will never utter your name to anyone but the insane as a mantra to the boy I deserve better I can still feel your cold hands against my back you taste familiar like someone I used to know, and I wish it would snow outside I’m trying to hide from the fact that heart ache brings out good poetry and not very good studying habits no one is going to know this section is about you except you and that’s okay because I don’t even know if you’re going to hear this part, because these are just stupid notes from a broken heart that’s trying to mend.
5. I’m still alive, I’m still breathing even though I’m lonely I’m still smiling even though you’ve driven me crazy and I’m still shining because in the end there is nothing between me and the things I can’t do but a door way and if it’s locked I will hurl all one hundred and twenty… thirty pounds at it.
6. Sex is never as good as friendship.
7. I can’t tell the difference between the pain I feel and the emptiness I enjoy
8. I don’t hate you though I think I should
9. I’m a diamond that you won’t be able to mine anywhere else. I’m a rare breed but you see you can’t have the cake and eat it too don’t be greedy. Behave.
10. This needs to end.
1. It’s much more fun for me to lie about you then it is to say that you wanted me to stay, because I spent all semester ogling about you when I should have been focusing but I get a clean slate now that I’m in control I made my bed and I will be more than happy to sleep in it because even though you fucked me over it’s not really me you messed with is it, no. It’s yourself.
2. This poems slowly becoming notes from the other woman, when really I only ever wanted to know what your lips tasted like
3. I can’t see past the lust in your eyes and the inside of your mouth where you hide your demons and you swallow your pills. The hill from my dorm room to yours is frozen over if I slip and fall there’s a chance I’ll land face first in the small river that flows under the bridge.
4. Did she know? Did she take one look at you and say “whore!” did she feel your guilt as you moved inside her? Did she hold you closer because she knew another had already touched you
5. I took three showers after I left your house I thought you were the one with OCD
6. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that he hurt you, I’m so sorry that I played along I’m so sorry that we let ourselves get caught up in the idea that we could be something that wasn’t a one night stand hold my hand and feel my pulse.
7. It’s beating just like yours.
8. It quakes when he touches me, does the same thing happen to you?
9. In time this will heal over I don’t know you but I know you deserve better
10. I can’t show this to anyone.
How to be a whore. Step one, find a lover, preferably one of the same gender and do not render yourself completely helpless against her charm, don’t hold her too close because her eyes are fire and you must be the moth dancing seductively close to the flame but don’t mame yourself with her words, don’t forget that she’s leaving in a month and you the moth only lives a few days don’t fall in love with her, that would be gay.
Step two, get another lover, preferably one who is awkward and cute, someone who can flip you on your back and pin you but doesn’t because he is gentle someone who fills himself with your smile and takes solace in the fact that just because you’re fuck buddies doesn’t mean you’re not making love, but soon he’ll discard you, not like a broken glass he won’t smash you. More like an apology an epilogue to a song you didn’t know you knew the words to. He will remind you, you are human,
acquire a third someone poetic, you know these are just safety nets in case the first one leaves you, you heave through the pain of every meeting but you still worship your first as if she wasn’t your curse but your lover, but you can’t love her.
Step four; have sex with them, this might seem like an obvious choice but if the voice in your head says it’s a good thing that this fling isn’t fool proof prove them wrong you’re allowed to say no sometimes
Step five: Stay alive amongst the bodies huddled close, don’t fall in love with the first, she is not well rehearsed or as well versed as the third don’t miss your second, not the way he beckoned you closer and don’t hold her, don’t hold her don’t love her, don’t kiss her, don’t miss her just fuck her she’s your sex toy and you’re hers don’t fall for her.
Step six: solitude is simple, measure the space between his dimples on the off chance he’s ever smiling, the timing is perfect but you can’t purchase another round of bullets for this gun, it’s all fun and games just don’t lose it, don’t love it just like the flame
step seven: minutes in heaven is your new best friend, because a new pair of lips will remind you that you’re not as alone as you know you are
step eight: debate telling her how you feel and throwing away the third, but then say no because after tomorrow she’ll be gone and your hands will be tied to his bedposts where they belong
step nine: cry. Because you couldn’t stop yourself from falling and calling her name as you felt the soft grass beneath you.
step ten: send a quick message to the second, thanking him for showing you that it is possible for you to mean something to someone without hurting them. Let him know that before this you thought that destruction was your only coping mechanism because you have destroyed so many before him and now things have changed.
Hold her. You know deep down inside that you can’t hide from the way you feel you can’t exchange your emotions for a safety net you just have to let the pain sink in.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m really alive, maybe this is just all a sick joke.
Then the pain in the core of my existence pounds against my rib cage
I realize that a pain that strong can’t be faked.
Sometimes I place my hands on my neck and squeeze just to make sure my pulse is real.
Because it seems I live in this parallel life of pain and numb happiness.
I’d give anything to be happy all the time.
But I’m bleeding inside.
Sometimes I feel like I’m completely alone and abandoned
like the stray on the side of the road
I push through today one step at a time.
I’m not real, is all I hear.
You know I’d forfeit it all,
for another night with you.