i'm not going to sweet talk into a deep metaphor that punches you in the gut with my last line. i could tell you about how a baby raccoon covers it's eyes when it's scared, and how every time you didn't answer the phone i covered my eyes. i could ramble on about the theory of evolution and how people say it's not real. i believe in it because apparently i evolved into something you didn't want anymore. but that's boring. why don't you tell me how the sun gradually sets? or what would happen if all technological communication was severed? or tell me what you do when you hear someone play a wrong note? please tell me how you slowly lost interest in me and finally cut it all off and acted like i made the mistake. oh dear, i did exactly what i said i wouldn't do at the beginning. sound familiar?
a.h.d.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 4:02 PM UTC
you know how you drive by creepy abandoned buildings really slow just for the thrill? you think "woah that's creepy. someone was probably murdered there or it's haunted." but you never really know unless you go inside. just about everyone would hesitate going into a creepy abandoned building, but wouldn't blink twice about going into a giant fresh estate. imagine going into the abandoned building to find it newly furnished and spankin' clean. then imagine going into the fresh estate and finding holes in the floor and everything covered in an inch of dust. i am the latter. i look nice on the outside and seem to have a lot going on. but without hesitating, take a step through the front door. hear it creak? be careful. you'll get tangled in the cobwebs, and your coat will get hooked on the loose nails. i'm sorry; i don't want you to leave. if you really want to, explore the whole house and maybe even stay the night. but if you want to leave in the morning, that's alright. it's dark and smells musty from the hollow memories scattered on the living room floor. i filled the cracks in the ceiling with peoples' failed attempts at loving me. i'm sorry it's so dark and cold here. i used all my matches trying to keep the last person from leaving. i've swept the floor countless times but i can't brush off what he said. i get bored because i've read every book on the shelf and they all end the same: exactly how they wanted it. i know they're fiction because this is not how i wanted it to end. why don't i just leave, you ask? well, i don't have a key. but there's no lock on the door. that's why you can get out, but i can't. so maybe it's not the building that's abandoned, maybe it's me.
a.h.d.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC
i tried to put you on my wall with the rest of me. i tried so hard. but you wouldn't stick. you kept falling off and i would put a new piece of tape on and shove you back on my wall. but you wouldn't stick.
i tried to put myself on your wall. i tried so hard. but i didn't stick. i kept putting tape on me and running into the wall. but i didn't stick.
either you don't keep yourself on your wall, or we're not meant to be.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 12:28 AM UTC
again,
i don't really know.
its just that,
sunsets have brighter colours now,
and its easier to get up in the morning.
blankets are softer,
and water tastes better.
music has more rhythm,
and the wind doesn't blow me over anymore.
please don't stop being you.
a.h.d.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:26 PM UTC
i killed myself.
my old self.
sometimes she likes to sneak back into the cracks in my bones,
but she's never there for long.
she knows she is not welcome there.
i killed myself.
my old self.
then i bloomed like a dandelion,
fierce and ready to conquer all.
sometimes people like to pluck me
because i'm a ****
but weeds can be flowers too if you get to know them.
m.a.l.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:04 PM UTC
he was navy blue
and heavy rocks
he laughed the way you nervously scuff your feet
he was October
and raisins
he walked the way a bird picks at worms
he looked like a well traveled gravel road
he was rust
he was silver
a.h.d.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 6:33 PM UTC
I've never been in love
but I imagine it's kind of like
skiing on a glassy lake
in the fresh July sunlight.
Or the bellyache you get
from laughing for hours
uninhibited
head thrown back, eyes watering.
Or the thud of the ball
on the worn hardwood floor,
the soft swish of the net
when a shot meets its target.
Love is like a lot of things,
and darling, you're a symphony
of sounds and smells and tastes and feelings
I could never tire of.
So maybe I'm wrong.
Maybe I have been in love
with you, and this world, and everything in it
Because love is like everything
and nothing at once.
It's defined by its undefinability.
c.l.c
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 3:03 PM UTC
i don't really know.
it's just that,
you plant a garden in my heart
and grow tulips.
you write a children's book in my mind
and read it to me until i fall asleep.
you are the windows rolled down
and new music.
you are fresh linen
and clean hair.
i must describe you so ordinarily
so the earth won't feel so bad about itself.
but it should feel honored
to hold something as special as you.
a.h.d.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 2:25 AM UTC
if you have ever met that boy downtown,
then you know that love is a fleeting thing
and only lasts long enough
to make your heart jump a few meters.
a.h.d. & t.d.m.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 1:24 AM UTC
Oh how I miss the way you'd smile,
And keep up the mischief all the while,
The way I knew you inside out,
And understood what made you shout,
What left you sad and broke your heart,
And even broke your bones apart,
And despite all the worries and the pain,
I'd give anything to do it again, because
You made me better, and made me true,
And taught me to be strong without you,
So that over the years, on every day,
I can wake up each morning, and be okay.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 1:14 AM UTC