I still remember the summer I fell for you.
That summer would define the next three years of my life.
It would shape who I was,
who you made me become,
and who I will be.
The grass was dead on that hill,
oh how poetically predictive.
You waited until the last second to ask me to our formal dinner.
Even from the beginning you barely cared.
And to think this all started at church camp...
You ruined that for me you know?
Church and fellowship-
why would I go if I have to endure your face?
You broke your life.
Was it really necessary to break mine too?
That summer will create the foundation for scars that you will never get to see.
There are days,
well mostly nights,
that I am overcome with those torrents of emotions that drive me to tears.
They used to be waves of confusion and love-
a sadistic, twisted love.
it's just pain,
and a hatred that moves me to tears.
I hate how bruised and broken you left me.
Don't you understand how much of a mess you left me in?
Forget about me.
Think of the next man I will let into my heart
(if I ever take that chance).
How is it fair to him?
What gave you the fucking right to leave me a damaged ball of bitterness?
Who would have thought the power of emotions I feel could fit into my 5'2" frame?
I'm a wildfire that could burn through my soul,
scorch my best friend,
break my new possibility,
and destroy you.
Oh how I could destroy you.
You don't realize how much I am holding back.
every word that you tease me with takes an immeasurable amount of my control.
And when I run out of that control,
I can destroy you.
Yet I choose not to.
You need to pray that I will never make that other choice.
I promised you that I could burn through the center of everything that you hold on too.
I could destroy you in ways you never thought of.
I could pay you back tenfold.
So here's a warning-
stay far away from
and my rage.
December comes around again, the snow blankets the earth in a heavenly glow.
Each day seems to get colder, and I would be so much warmer if you were still here.
There’s a familiar loneliness that comes with the season,
I always seem to forget until it’s finally here.
I’m left to resort to whiskey are cigarettes for warmth,
since you went away.
You were a tourist attraction
That I held in my hands
My fingers, constantly tracing the outline of your smile in photographs
A tourist attraction, is visited by thousands every year
But I, I knew you’re story
Where the bombs struck most
Where the guns left the most bulletholes
In your forgotten love life
I remember you like the Alamo
Broken, but still standing
You were the tourist attraction,
And I was the snow globe
in your gift shop
But I still carried a part of you inside me
You were the Golden Gate Bridge
From hipster photographs
But I knew, your workings
Like how you keep your ropes loosen
To avoid constricting
Tourist every day photograph your beauty but I,
I was the civilian
who framed you in my doorway
Statues are not freedom, they are committed to their solidarity
Unwillingness to move
The freedom is found in the boys eyes
Who walks away with the snow globe
Something new in his hands
I'm afraid of losing you
I'm afraid that I already have
I'm afraid that if I never had you
I'd fade away from day to day
In a consistent stream of apathy
I'm afraid of the dryness in my throat
every morning at five am
I'm afraid of the cigarette between my fingers
an hour later
I'm afraid of the quivering in my hands
When I run out of coffee
I'm afraid of my closet
I'm afraid of the sizes in my clothes
I'm afraid of the way my friends think
I'm afraid that they don't think at all
I'm afraid of the drugs in their cabinets
I'm afraid of the drugs in their veins
I'm afraid of the silent pain that is too often
conveyed in a stranger's eye
I'm afraid of the people I work for
I'm afraid that they don't know how to love
I'm afraid of love
I'm afraid of my bedroom
I'm afraid of every man who's slept in it
I'm afraid of the people who
don't have the things they need
Equally afraid of the ones that have everything
I'm afraid that nothing out here is right
I'm afraid that I made it that way
And I'm afraid that this fear
Just isn't enough to make me change my ways
The bags under my eyes tell stories,
just like the rings of a tree trunk.
One ring holds stories of a night spent with too much drinking.
Another holds a long night of loving someone who didn’t love me back.
But the deepest ones are from staying up all night,
waiting for a call
or a text
or a visit.
Just so i know you cared.
But these will never go away,
because you never really did care anyway.
Do you know that years; two to be exact
passed by, with shame and pain, but I was in act?
Did you see that I've felt so small beside them all,
and the ground was all I've found?
That I've met the other side of me,
the one I never knew I had,
the one I started to trust, believe, and put my joy to?
I forgot how to smile,
Or how to see the genuine beauty around,
I spoke my heart to you,
with twisted letters hoping you'd sink to,
and understand it, at least the half of it,
but you blew my hope away, and couldn't even hear what I said
You never listened, and I mentioned that out,
but you said otherwise,
you said you know it all
I'm not the little girl I used to be,
no short hair anymore, no more that pink floral dress,
I thought you knew that, or at least I left you to guess,
You never saw the tears,
you couldn't see them because I never let you be a part of me, of the new me
I hated what I've become,
but I assure you that now I'm all I ever wanted to be,
When I said I want to put make up on,
you said no darling you're too young,
but thirteen was so young,
is sixteen between that too?
When I say, I'm growing up,
Can you see that?
Can you hear my words now?
Don't look at me as the one with short hair,
You can call me names,
but dear mom, I plea, not to put pain again
I only need your comprehension,
Ask a mother, is sixteen too far?
Look me in the eyes, and tell me the truth,
that you only miss your little baby girl,
and can't let me move.
Drips down a neck
And With it-
That little drop
I feel I sink
in on myself
dark and thankless.
Is Known naught of
Is a wail.
That call from the wall
Are a small face
A large patch of damp
Ten years ago
are the realisation
Of a grey intruder
Will never go away
You do not want
In your bed
Breathing your air
As you stare
At the moon
From a window
Which is locked
Under the spell
Which is enchanting,
So beautiful and terrible
That you tremble
That it cannot be
Slept or scratched off,
Outrun or drowned.
If it's to be written off
Then im afraid you are too
You never learnt the words
That It didn't want you to
i don't love what i can see only what
is good out of the corner of my eye because
what is loved is usually imperfect so i hide
myself behind my eyes and the dreams
that come are beautiful i don't know
when it happened that beauty was so blinding
that i had to turn away read in to that
you'll find a sexual avoidant personality
and that's what the twelve step group calls
it but what do those people know anyway?
they on the other hand, i can look at them
all day without blinking and i try but the
meetings only last an hour. their afflictions
are the same as mine i can read them and all
the grief horror of their pasts i can collec
t the lines in their bodies i can absorb the superficial
horror stories, nobody reveals true horror voluntarily
except anonymously sometimes
but still reading in to it you want know why
it hasn't killed them yet they say there's no room
for love without forgiveness without a mighty
god i want to know if this is true all of these years
of surfing what's in front of me is all i can see
i guess these lines of imposed judgment connections
of guilty tied in knots they pull me along
and hope to find a sturdy tree on main street
The urge to drink not giving
Will not consume or be consumed
Numb to the world hoping to be normal
Past due like the bills feeling cut off
Inner peace turns to rage and hate
You don't want to hurt anyone
Self destruction is no longer an option
You walk away wishing you could stay
The heart and mind conflict the truth is blurred
Mostly denied not the official plan
Only if everything would fall into place
A fledgling girl fleeing from the Queen’s sharp verdict,
hunting for a getaway, she exhales in relief
as an old apple tree beckons from the yard
and swathes her in a warm embrace.
The long knotted trunk and crumpled limbs
seem the most exquisite of hiding places.
All the stinging from sharp barbed wire
words swatted away by lovely bounty-laden branches.
Her sores swept away by the summer breeze and tangy
taste of tart fruit. All memory lulled by the gentle murmurs
of the suns rays and the warm matted bark of an old friend.
The princess, now sheltered from snarling dragons
and malevolent witches, rests serenely
in her sanctuary of leaves and daydreams.