"Because I love you,
Guilt will fill your lungs and expand your chest
Lust'll become a jealous filled routine
Your subconscious will fall into an abyss of insecurities
I will be your contentment"
...
"Because I love me,
I'll spit up your guilty pleasure and learn to breathe on my own
Self-love'll become the only event on my agenda
My conscious mind will rise to the forefront-
demanding a serious tone as I tell of such content rooted within me"
The path to self-love begins as a seed; rooting itself with persistency which later blooms at maturity
An effortless act of nature
Yet perceived as a complex act of egotism
Because I love me, I've found security within my own presence
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 11:43 PM UTC
What if I was happy from the start?
what if my parents bond was stronger than the freedom of divorce?
what if kisses bruised my face in exchange for those brutal hands?
what if my dad held me in his arms a little longer?
Maybe I would have never alluded to the conclusion that a broken family is a healthy family.
maybe I would have learned that self hate is a vile disease, deteriorating from the inside out.
maybe I would have never searched for sanction in lustful boys whom fed into my daddy issues.
Maybe I'd be sane, clear of mental illness-
Or in expense for my self destruction I'd find content in a solitude of isolation-
What if I was happy from the start, will there ever be such a possibility?
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 11:20 PM UTC
Last spring I lay in a bed of comfort
Painted with stability, a profound confidence radiating throughout my body
Yellow for the sun that'd kiss my skin farewell
Red for the overwhelmed vitality of love; intimacy at it's pure
Green for a lucid state of mind free of chaos and anticipation
Purple, the memories I'd take for granted soon forgotten
My silhouette lay twined amongst the vines that'd seep from the ground
Weaving between blades of grass
Accompanying my restful soul
that seemed to have gone unbothered
Summer, Autumn, Winter
Mocking what felt as my last breath
I'd lay that spring in a bed of thorns
Bathed in red from lust and broken hearts
Tormented with a ray of yellow, I'd long for a kiss farewell
I lay that season in a different state than that of which once occurred
Encountering it with a hope of autumn leaves falling alongside my worries
Amongst new colors I'd desire to lay
In search of a virtuous amour pro-pre
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
I was hurt, not just by him but a fulfilment of unfortunate events. Events I can't clearly recall because I was in a state of denial, I seeped into every open arm in search of a love that neither my lost lover nor family could provide. It's selfish but how could I not find comfort in others, how could I not self destruct when inconsistencies wrote my life. I can't remember a single detail about him or that one down the street or in my bed or outside my house, **** I can't recall how many drinks I had or what drugs I was inhaling. It's no excuse right? I should be happy again, my family is back together and he's gone for good. So why do I feel the need to self medicate? Why is that when I sit with my family at the dinner table I can't help but desire to get lost in temporary highs? Why must I live in a melancholic state were all I truly feel is the need to do bad. I am bad.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 11:35 PM UTC
Our frames fitting as though we were two broken pieces of glass, or let it be I, the broken window. Limbs intertwined, as I drag my toe up your leg. Lips meeting my hips tracing up to my chest. I can feel the begging of your mouth through my skin, despite the burning desire you took the time to embrace. Minutes feel like an eternity and your warmth feels like love. Silence. Darkness. We lay side by side. I listen and we laugh. A nonchalant night carried on with dialogue. Maybe I fall too easily and break so fast, but isnt that why every shadow is cast upon the presence of a light?
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC
Never believe a girl with a yellow smile and misleading intentions,
As she presses her tabaco stained lips against your skin she releases a depressive buzz paralyzing your thoughts
Inhaled smoke filling the empty space a heart is to rest while her melancholic warmth hugs your body and chars your throat
She can see the pain gleaming from your eyes and yet still continues to kiss your stomach into knots
The truth finally rolling off the tounge
Or was it that she couldn't stand the bitter after taste?
Good thing you left before you became her second hand smoke
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 10:21 PM UTC
You don't love me but I can't tell
I'm all alone, it feels like hell
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 8:58 PM UTC