It's official
You've relinquished all the pieces of me you claimed so long ago
The pieces of my heart you've kept under lock & key breathed fresh air for the first time in years
I felt my chest constrict
And then total nirvana
This
This must be what it really means to be over someone
And Gods does it feel good
I can breathe through my nose again
And not smell Old Spice and ink
I can write a poem and it not reek of longing for someone who no longer exist
You are truly not mine anymore
And I have to say that this is a look I feel **** good in
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
I realized sometimes isn't enough to involve someone else's heart...
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 3:54 AM UTC
I woke up to a thought
I found that I never loved you
I loved the way you loved me
I wish
I wish I could love you the same way you looked at me
How you saw me
As question and answer
I wish that affection and sweet words could be enough
That I didn't crave more
You may never understand why I walked away
But what I know is
I woke up to a thought
Tangled in bed sheets
Restless
Feeling that you and I weren't meant to be in love
That after a time your affections started to feel like bars to a cage
That made me forget who I wanted to be
That loving you meant sacrificing parts of myself I had just found
I warned you that I was unpredictable
That my wants and needs change by the day
By the hour
And for a minute you were the exception
And the next you weren't
And for that I am sorry
I was your answer
But you were always a question
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
You committed suicide right in front of me
Killing every thing I once saw in you
And becoming the hardest lesson I've ever had to learn
Teaching me that "finding yourself" roughly translates to finding your way between another girl's legs
******* away emotions that you are too much of a coward to embrace
I now comprehend in entirety that "missing me" barely passes as ******** when the dates and times don't match up
Confused no more
I can clearly see that loving me was only a passing convenience
And I'm sorry for wasting so much time missing something that obviously never was
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
Tell me a story.
Tell me about how the sun loved the moon so much that the sun would sacrifice anything to see the moon alive and happy
Tell me the story about how the sun loved the moon so much that he gave his life every night so that the moon could shine
Tell me the story about how the moon, unable to shine in a world with no sun, gave its life every dawn so that the sun could burn...
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
There’s always that moment
That point in time
When silence
Eradicates everything
You swore you knew
Introducing you to a hollow reality
There's always that moment
That point in time
When silence
Answers all the questions
That flood your mind at night
There's always that moment
The only point in time
When silence
Proves who you can trust
And who to give your heart
Silence
Forever the deciding factor
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
Endless darkness envelops the young girls classroom
She sobs silently awaiting her nightly lesson
His shadow looms with her in his toxic embrace
Her heart stops
So does time and space
Suspended and vulnerable- she is schooled
He forces down her cries of wrong answers with manipulative lips
And whispers his answers in her young ears
As if she can understand him
He doesn't care as his hands begin to creep
She tenses
Knowing whats to come
A routine pop quiz
Her instincts scream at her to simply skip
It wasn't mandatory, she could walk away
She doesn't
She knows what must be done
His hands still creep
A whimper breaks from its cage
So does a glimpse of his rage
A pain in her side
Reminds her not to say a peep
Or pass the notes summarizing his lessons
His destination reached
As if bleached
Her color slowly fades
Her essence
Once a plethora of iridescent lights
Now chained to his chalk stained hands
Are as black as an eclipsed sun
Knowing nothing else but his lessons
She obediently lays
She tries to clear her mind
Focus on her answers
Tries to leave whats left of herself behind
Distractions weren't acceptable
Wanting simply nothing more
Then for her life to be like it was before
Before pop quizes
And true or false test
Before projects displaying your talents
The talents teacher spent weekends making sure she knew like the back of her small hands
But teacher needs her focused
Though her cries are no longer caged
They go unnoticed
Why would teacher care to notice?
He was teaching!
She trembles with the pain
All the hatred and disdain
Emotions cloud her head
The questions began to run together
Adding to her dread of another lessons end
She prays that soon it will be over
But not everthing has been covered
And teacher is always sure to be thorough
The young girl is panicked
Once again she can't keep up
She is lost
As a result, her work suffers
While teacher grades her work
His rage is unleashed
All her answers are still wrong!
Class was over
But detention was waiting
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
Once again
Her face has just swallowed
his fist
Once shocked features
Have now melted into resigned
acceptance
Hollow eyes turn from him
Ignoring the truth
If she was strong she'd walk away
And keep walking
Instead
She tries yet again to revive parts of him that have long been dead
She pulls to him
Places herself in his arms
Arms that have also been her cage
She plays anchor
Holding him in place
As he falls in on himself
She supports him
even though it's wrong
even though it's her blood that stains his hands
even though his actions caused her scars
She weeps for him
Weeps for the monster he has become
She massages ****** fist
into crimson fans of surrender
If she had the courage
she'd uproot herself from him
She'd know
that she shouldn't feel alone
when he holds her
and that
she shouldn't feel too much bone
and not nearly enough skin
She'd know
that there is too much they will
never be
Even when it was just them
in that black curtained room
in nothing but their shells of self
she stayed
As she washed her blood from his hands
and as his treaty swirled down the drain
she stayed
As he digs in and rips her open once again
she stays
And waits
until it is once again time to play anchor
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
I.
She looked up at him from where she knelt, clutching his black t-shirt where it draped over her knees. She asked him again. As he turned away from her, she asked him again. She knew the answer, but asked anyway. “Please,” she pushed through clenched teeth, “stay.” He left with no words. No spare glances. No caresses. Nothing. The door closes. His footsteps echo down the hall. Steady. Then nothing. He chose the words, the words she could not give him. With every step he took from her, her heart took another knife, till not a drop of blood was left. She was cold. Bare. He was gone. Bringing her fists to her nose, she buried her face into that black t-shirt. She lost herself in the only piece of him she had left, the only thing holding together the tiny semblance of sanity she had in her. His scent assaulted her, and just like that she was back at the beginning…
II.
She sat on the hood of her car, reaching for a breath, as she witnessed the sun sink into oblivion beyond the sea. Barefoot, she walked along the road, tracing the coast line with the tips of her fingers, when she saw him. He sat perched on his car hood, hunched over a notebook. His strokes were tense…angry. Pause. One slash. Two slash. Three. He let out a growl of frustration, before launching his notebook in her direction, never lifting his eyes from the pen in his hands. His face was hidden by a mop of hair, hair that had seen better days, but even then, she had never seen a creature more beautiful. She picked up his book. Her eyes followed the slanted strokes, his words squeezing her heart in a way that was foreign in the most wonderful of ways. Before she knew it, she was walking to him. His hunched over form still not budging. “You know, usually the work inspired by pure emotion is the best. Don’t reject what you feel. It’s the first step in killing yourself.” She didn't know where the words came from, but she meant them all the same. She held out the notebook. He turned, and she locked into his eyes. In that moment, she was convinced that he was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.
III.
He took the notebook without speaking, their eyes never un-linking. They had found themselves in a moment with each other that was earth shattering, and as their worlds turned on their axis and crossed together, they shared a breath. He broke contact first, looking down at his book, at the same words he had thrown away. His eyes widened in awe. It was as if he was seeing the words for the first time, and she smiled. “Don’t **** yourself.” She turned to go, when he finally spoke. “I have so much to say, but I can’t find any words worthy. I've been searching for the words. I don’t know when or where I’ll find them, but I’m getting closer. I can feel it.” After that, the words flowed between them like water. He told her about the two suitcases he kept in his trunk, and how they were his only companions on his journey. He told her how she made him question that very rule. He told her of all the countries he had scoured, all the people he had met and almost forgotten, all the women. She told him how at late at night she spirals into blur of a color that takes shape on her canvas, how she found piece after piece of herself every time she washed the paint from her skin, and how she is still searching for the last piece. They were both lost and waiting to be found.
IV.
“What is your name?” he breathed. They lay on his hood, on their sides, their faces mere breathes away. Hours had passed. The sun was making its escape from oblivion. It was almost funny. They had shared every secret, insecurity, and every inch of their past lives before they found themselves in this moment, but knew nothing of each other’s names. She didn't want to bring who they really were into this yet. She didn't answer. Instead, she molded her mouth with his, and breathed him in. By time, they took a breath; she was in his arms and desperately wanted to stay there. His eyes seared into hers. She wasn't about to break this moment. She took a deep breathe, tasting him on her tongue. “It happens a lot, you know? One minute, your 18 years old, and on the cusp of life. You are planning for someday, but before you can even blink someday is here. The next breathe, it’s passed, and you’re left to sort out what your life has become. Right now, it’s us, you and me. That’s all it needs to be for now. Save those questions for later, when we are of two shells of self again.” He didn't respond. He closed his eyes, leaned his forehead into hers, and all was silent.
V.
The two weeks following their meeting at the coast was heaven in Egyptian cotton, a whirlwind of lazy chatter, laughter, and rapture. She loved making love to him. A cornucopia of contradictions she’d hold in her mind for as long as she’d live. One night ******* like strangers with blurred minds and non-existent inhibitions, and the next lingering in each other’s embraces and mouths as if they’d never taste anything like this again. Some nights spent in silence. Everything needed to be said, said through their eyes. Other nights he held her, and whispered words he had written just for her. It was in those moments, she believed that their moment was infinite, that they were infinite. She realized that you can’t put a time limit on love. She had found that last piece.
“My name is…”
Names and real selves were no longer a threat. She believed that. She believed with every core of every bone in her body.
VI.
“I will have to walk away soon.” His voice was soft, but determined. She heard him, but she did not listen, because somewhere between the late night confessions and the early morning embraces, she had convinced herself that what they shared could not be walked away from. She believed that she had what he had been searching for, just as she had found what she had been looking for in him.
VII.
Staring at the door from her place on the floor, she grieved. Her last piece was gone. He had left her, not to hurt her, but to fulfill himself. She should have been that missing piece. Why couldn't he need her like she needed him? She didn't know how she got up from the floor. She ended up in front of her canvas, losing herself in the blur of colors, desperate for the last piece of herself. She had to find it. It had to be there somewhere. It had to be…
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
I remember him so much better when the lights are off
In the dark
I can almost see it
The imprint of his body in my sheets
There
As if he never left
It seems they cannot forget him either
I can practically see it
The shape of his long legs and how perfectly they intertwined with mine
In the dark
I can almost feel the imprint of his hands
On me
Inside me
Caressing my soul with his shine
Leading me home
His hands
So rough
Yet soft
Like silken sheets
His sheets
That knew not of where I began and he ended
And if they could speak they'd have much to say
But would find no words worthy
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC