Flashes strike my mind
Like when I said
I miss you so much
So much that
I will never let go,
I promise,
I promised
Of dreams
Where I find myself
Asking you to stay
Asking you to tell me you did love me
And you answering
“yeah, yeah, yeah”
Sarcastically
Of places we never saw
Of smiles we never gave
Of words that refused to
Leave our hearts
Only flashes I repeat
How only now
I can fathom it
Hindsight is 20/20
Hindsight makes it
Look obvious now
How I wasn’t ready to love
How you weren’t ready to give
How it wasn’t the right time
To fall in love
To fall out of love
To fall
Just to fall
Falling,
I keep calling for this voice
Different, not warm
Not cold either
Just plain
Plain in a way that
Finally makes me love myself again
Despite you
Despite the mistakes
Despite this cold weather
These brand new eyes
Of a brand new being
That shines more humbly
Than any light I’ve ever seen
That cares deeper
And harder and in ways
No one’s ever cared about
My scars
The ones that
You failed to see
He sees
He cures
The cure,
No one ever notice they’re sick
Home sick of their old selves
Until someone tells them
“hey, you're different”
& they mean
“you changed, you lost yourself”
Yourself
You should look at yourself now
And look at me
Look at the moon
Look at the stars
Look at the way
He looks at me
He pays attention
Like the world is inside my heartbeat
You can hear music in me
Hear all the songs I lost along the way
And finally remembered
And they’re louder than ever
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 8:23 PM UTC
it was the you when you were thirteen, right?
the one who fell in love for the first time
with the guy who said he liked you first,
the you who thought you'd win a prize someday & do something to change the world
it was the you from when you were fifteen
who started drinking at parties even though
you hated how alcohol tasted & the one who danced so desperately to make a tool notice you
maybe it was also you who wished you had your best friend's parents instead of yours on your sixteenth candle & then cried at night for even thinking about it
was the seventeenth version of you who kissed so many unfamiliar lips that forgot how caring tasted? or, the one who swore on blood to never get hurt again so you started hurting them first?
there are twenty one "you" already so you place them all in a table, only to find out you forgot to wash all the dishes before setting them, so you begin asking how they've been but you already know the aswer since no one has even tried to touch the cutlery
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 4:44 PM UTC
when she lays down in her bed
thinking, where did they go wrong?
thinking, since when it became a matter of "when"
rather than "if"
and she smiles, they both smile
and nothing's wrong
she repeats to herself "nothing's wrong"
and they both nod
it is as if brainwash was a common procedure
and you both washed off happy years
and the song you liked as a child
now only reminds you of it
"i love you, you love me"
who the hell loves who?
there are more than missing pieces of my heart
i have no memories
i have no soul
they swap theirs as well
and turned dreams into nothing
and the hint of a smile in her mouth whispers,
"nothing's wrong"
and nothing's wrong
because it is common for this to happen
and the didn't give her a golden star for holding back her tears
and they say "it'll be okay"
and the saddest part is,
it will actually will
eventually will
because marriage it's just a paper contract
and divorce it's just to break it.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 4:44 PM UTC
at night people drown in drinks and shots
while some of us turn catharsis into art
guess i could take your tequila and spill it on a napkin
so i can name the masterpiece "love's been lost for too long"
agonizing chants in unison that some of the 'sober us' wouldn't understand
how "take your shirt off" can sometimes mean
"peel your skin back and show me your soul"
and the barman mixes rainbow drinks that color up the night for
'the lonely us'
and there are no lovers waiting home
just dusty cd's that have the magic power
to make our eyes water black teardrops and turn whiskey into
'holy water'
sometimes i wonder the possibility of
planting a coin in my backyard
and water it with ciroc thinking
"maybe i can grow love out of it"
i should be replaying voices of ghosts saying
'i love you and i will never let you go'
but all that comes along are chants
of drunken nights and people dialling numbers that never pick up
see, you only need nine numbers to swallow tears and get the courage to jump off from the thirteenth floor
or maybe you could write a story
in which all of us get our happy ending
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC
see, i've been washing poetry away for so much time i can no longer tell when was the last time i held a pen to turn bad things into metaphors so that non of you would understand
see, i think no one's ever written about how writer's block can drive oneself insane, how similar it is to waking up one day and finding out that you don't feel the same way about someone you madly loved the night before things got complicated
see, when ideas flow you cannot stop them from coming and when they don't you can't evoke them
puking memories seem like the best way to keep people intrested in your writing but we're all aware that memory and oblivion are besties and we all are masters in the field of patching up the original memory so what we write is nothing but fakeness
see, my teacher said "whatever phenomenom you see in the sky probably happened a million light years before", so some of the stars we see are dead, so all of the wishes we made are stardust, not even, they didn't even reach the shooting star on time
maybe my poetry is just like that, you see, whatever i write happened so long ago, you can take it as a lie once true or as something that mattered so much and now it doesn't
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
i remember your empty look
and the way you held your prinde
and me,
watching in the distance
watching you try to fix yourself
withouth me,
i don't get what changed in your head
but i'm not going to find your old self
i don't want to waste my life
in a bar,
drinking love until it leaves a scar
the heat in my heart,
no longer catching fire
though i recall the constellations
that i once drew
with the freckles
of your back
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
there is no poetry left in my hands
i've washed them so many times
the heart-shaped birthmark between my fingers
is starting to disappear
my knuckles forever white
and deep pressed sharp nail scars in my right hand
screaming "we've missed you for too long"
iridescence cannot repeat itself in two different beings
we became so inextricable
you took some parts off of me
when you ripped yourself away
i've merged too much in you
i still haunt myself singing the chorus of your favorite song at 4am
and trying to imagine the way you breathe
so i can sync with them
i've imagined you so many times
i can no longer recall your real face
i've picture us together so many times
i'm starting to think the new girl you are in love with
sometimes look a little bit like me
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
seventeen, because i hate that ******* number
because you didn't know that
because i never had the guts to tell you
because i was afraid you may have thought it was stupid
seventeen times i've stood under the falling snow thinking
<< if a snowflake falls on my nose i will speak to you>>
the air so thick with loneliness
my hands are getting stained and all numb because they miss you
because they miss us
because they will never have enough fingers
to count to seventeen
and they cry because they miss you
because you never made it to March 17th, 2012
only a day away from having our first date
even after we'd been in love for four months,
our first date.
and you never made it.
& i hate it, i hate it,
i hate it, i hate it,
i hate the number seventeen,
because it was too away from your birthday,
and so close, to the first date
we will never have.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
There are no words to describe what we felt
and no money in the world could ever afford it
there are no trains to lead you there
and no plane ticket avalible
the are no pop up messages showing on your iphone screen
and no everlasting love letters
there will never be enough sleep
to dream that feeling
there is no hope enough in the world to bring something back to life
meaning
there will never be a place
where we may meet again
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
don't pretend like you know me
because
you haven't been around in a while
or a month
or some years
I can no longer remember how much
...
i think i miss you sometimes
or the essence of you
or the memory of you
or us.
...
i said,
'i think maybe we were meant to be
but somewhere inbetween
the field of daisies and
wishing on dandelions,
we did something wrong'
you said,
'we forgot about ourselves
and our old selves'
...
and the silence at 3:01 am
seems somehow to connect me
with the parts of me that i lost
trying to find your smile
they connect me to the day
when you said
'things will change'
and they never did
to
me.
so don't pretend that
you do not miss me
sometimes
when the particles of dust
fly from your old couch in the afternoon
like if they were parts of my soul
**that are not yet done
leaving your body.**
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC