aliciaamajor - Hello Poetry

All of my energy, spent Drop by drop I pour out of myself This perpetual low tank Refilled scarcely by the transaction This keeps me alive For now I promise my self and body I’ll stop Learn how to fill my own tank Invest in solar Be better But the day never comes And each day My tank gets lower Just barely enough To give them what they want So I can get what I need

0

Dec 24, 2024

Dec 24, 2024 at 7:45 PM UTC

2 minute introspection

All of my energy, spent Drop by drop I pour out of myself This perpetual low tank Refilled scarcely by the transaction This keeps me alive For now I promise my self and body I’ll stop Learn how to fill my own tank Invest in solar Be better But the day never comes And each day My tank gets lower Just barely enough To give them what they want So I can get what I need

17

there is energy in the spaces in between the stillness as moments of frenzy Thresholds have to be broken to start a reaction - Notice the energy In the spaces between glances Some eyes refuse mine beg Long even, The room is still But also it stirs

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Oct 27, 2024

Oct 27, 2024 at 12:20 AM UTC

To yearn and be In Between

there is energy in the spaces in between the stillness as moments of frenzy Thresholds have to be broken to start a reaction - Notice the energy In the spaces between glances Some eyes refuse mine beg Long even, The room is still But also it stirs

16

There are days when my emotions are a small gear being turned in my brain by a small man with quick ideas and a sole purpose to manufacture he goes away when rage comes to stay, the only true connection to my nervous system the most familiar face I finally spoke to it out loud I never learned love without pain or sacrifice I picture the small man going on vacations these days I feel and feel and feel I am convinced this is the true nature of how my brains favorite number is 2 always loving both extremes boys who are mean and girls that just do not need me as much as men need me to be sweet and fill their shoes all shoulder and still nothing to cry on

0

Aug 16, 2020

Aug 16, 2020 at 1:12 PM UTC

7/21/20 bipolar

There are days when my emotions are a small gear being turned in my brain by a small man with quick ideas and a sole purpose to manufacture he goes away when rage comes to stay, the only true connection to my nervous system the most familiar face I finally spoke to it out loud I never learned love without pain or sacrifice I picture the small man going on vacations these days I feel and feel and feel I am convinced this is the true nature of how my brains favorite number is 2 always loving both extremes boys who are mean and girls that just do not need me as much as men need me to be sweet and fill their shoes all shoulder and still nothing to cry on

28

we meet for the first time over and over I never left, I sit watching movies about us on every park bench we claimed something about capturing a moment before it was gone a quote from this film that would rock me to sleep a soft murder/sexual assault lullaby but in between scenes of pain she is just inbetween twirling through the surrealism in ethereal fields, these truly are The Lovely Bones before I can remember I remember I've been eager to heal like her only women and my mary jane can make me feel anything it is no coincidence my favorite color has been green since birth because I cannot accept coincidences instead cling to my superpower as if its not just a defense mechanism but as if I have not moved whole houses on my own I refuse to believe either side of anything

0

Aug 16, 2020

Aug 16, 2020 at 12:57 PM UTC

7/20/20 neither

we meet for the first time over and over I never left, I sit watching movies about us on every park bench we claimed something about capturing a moment before it was gone a quote from this film that would rock me to sleep a soft murder/sexual assault lullaby but in between scenes of pain she is just inbetween twirling through the surrealism in ethereal fields, these truly are The Lovely Bones before I can remember I remember I've been eager to heal like her only women and my mary jane can make me feel anything it is no coincidence my favorite color has been green since birth because I cannot accept coincidences instead cling to my superpower as if its not just a defense mechanism but as if I have not moved whole houses on my own I refuse to believe either side of anything

29

these days without a dad are strange in ways I wish I cared more about things are suddenly easy to let go of when you are tired and you finally loosen your grip, an ode to visceral reactions things are simple to never need back if nothing seems real in the first place it's never even that deep just that picturing a future seems more like getting hopes up there is an important distinction to be separate from "looking forward to something" life grows disheartened when these two are confused used too closely to tell is this realism? or a ****** distraction from the fact that I wouldn't mind dying

0

Aug 16, 2020

Aug 16, 2020 at 12:36 PM UTC

subjectively living

these days without a dad are strange in ways I wish I cared more about things are suddenly easy to let go of when you are tired and you finally loosen your grip, an ode to visceral reactions things are simple to never need back if nothing seems real in the first place it's never even that deep just that picturing a future seems more like getting hopes up there is an important distinction to be separate from "looking forward to something" life grows disheartened when these two are confused used too closely to tell is this realism? or a ****** distraction from the fact that I wouldn't mind dying

20

I play house wife for a place to rest my head just another hole in the wall that's not how the song goes a rich friend wants to die and the world wants to **** us heightened magical beliefs when everyone is afraid everything that seemed unreal is familiar it is coming to life today to take us away or not but either way I am on my last layer the gas station pit stop just before ****** boot to floor no outlet sign doesn't mean stop because its been **** the cops!" **** the clock and all things that **** people who don't want to die this parallel told me "run, get out" yesterday, or sometime ago you know how similars confuse me gasping for purified air with the smell of death stuck to my hair and I ******* swear I'm getting out of here

0

Aug 16, 2020

Aug 16, 2020 at 12:23 PM UTC

March 17 3:28 pm

I play house wife for a place to rest my head just another hole in the wall that's not how the song goes a rich friend wants to die and the world wants to **** us heightened magical beliefs when everyone is afraid everything that seemed unreal is familiar it is coming to life today to take us away or not but either way I am on my last layer the gas station pit stop just before ****** boot to floor no outlet sign doesn't mean stop because its been **** the cops!" **** the clock and all things that **** people who don't want to die this parallel told me "run, get out" yesterday, or sometime ago you know how similars confuse me gasping for purified air with the smell of death stuck to my hair and I ******* swear I'm getting out of here

30

******* at the funeral poison women aching in their parallel they drink until Juliet is dead or until in their head too it is clear free of fear and recalling this was always supposed to be a tragedy ____________________________________________ no left or right turn changes that everything, even love begins and ends with some type of poison the slowly dripping IV type or a sudden break check dash to face type of poison the Juliets' love only exists on one page allowed to live if the real goal is to die smoke breaks, goodbyes the ever too consistent "I'll see you arounds" that is the point of a tragedy it gets to claim the reason for existing and the entire existence itself Juliet drinks the poison every night even after the man in the hole warned me her love feeds on the liver while the others begin to fade out

0

Aug 16, 2020

Aug 16, 2020 at 12:07 PM UTC

Juliet & Juliet

******* at the funeral poison women aching in their parallel they drink until Juliet is dead or until in their head too it is clear free of fear and recalling this was always supposed to be a tragedy ____________________________________________ no left or right turn changes that everything, even love begins and ends with some type of poison the slowly dripping IV type or a sudden break check dash to face type of poison the Juliets' love only exists on one page allowed to live if the real goal is to die smoke breaks, goodbyes the ever too consistent "I'll see you arounds" that is the point of a tragedy it gets to claim the reason for existing and the entire existence itself Juliet drinks the poison every night even after the man in the hole warned me her love feeds on the liver while the others begin to fade out

27

today to reduce the friction , i imagined his hands were yours his rapid gasps as your slow sweet melody in my ear a song familiar yet distant it’s like the time we spent listening to loud muffled music through closed doors we knew all the words but all we could hear was a thudding beat and softened lyrics or when the living room tv played an instrumental that i twirled to in the kitchen over coffee distant and soft most things with you were like that my version of you was like that who you are to the world is an armor a protected identity all present and sharp formed from your roots spoken through a body canvas and select dialogue displayed in your recreations of what you want so desperately to be but underneath the armor is a warm bed a dimly lit lamp covered by a bandana a deep belly laugh with reservations tears and fears and everything lovely so when they ask me “do you miss him” i will gently answer “no” for one simple reason that the “him” i loved died when he gave me a last distant and soft goodbye

0

May 16, 2019

May 16, 2019 at 3:06 AM UTC

rest in peace

today to reduce the friction , i imagined his hands were yours his rapid gasps as your slow sweet melody in my ear a song familiar yet distant it’s like the time we spent listening to loud muffled music through closed doors we knew all the words but all we could hear was a thudding beat and softened lyrics or when the living room tv played an instrumental that i twirled to in the kitchen over coffee distant and soft most things with you were like that my version of you was like that who you are to the world is an armor a protected identity all present and sharp formed from your roots spoken through a body canvas and select dialogue displayed in your recreations of what you want so desperately to be but underneath the armor is a warm bed a dimly lit lamp covered by a bandana a deep belly laugh with reservations tears and fears and everything lovely so when they ask me “do you miss him” i will gently answer “no” for one simple reason that the “him” i loved died when he gave me a last distant and soft goodbye

29

they say time heals but every day without you a piece of me flakes off i’m dead skin an ***** once used for protection now purposeless sometimes floating through the air sometimes intertwined in dust bunnies but always still dead

0

May 7, 2019

May 7, 2019 at 12:48 AM UTC

another goodbye to remember why i hate hellos

they say time heals but every day without you a piece of me flakes off i’m dead skin an ***** once used for protection now purposeless sometimes floating through the air sometimes intertwined in dust bunnies but always still dead

9

the sunsets and the sun rises creating each day and each night and not once does it ask permission the night will still be pink with light pollution because of the single office illuminators, found in every breathing building the night shift family I never met, will still glow behind little screens or candle light thought bubbles and ink the morning will still spill coffee all over him but only on mondays, when he’s running late mondays will always come sunday mornings will still petition against alarm clocks and sunday, hereself, will always win it will rain and it won’t either way, without me a.m.

0

Dec 6, 2018

Dec 6, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC

so it goes on

the sunsets and the sun rises creating each day and each night and not once does it ask permission the night will still be pink with light pollution because of the single office illuminators, found in every breathing building the night shift family I never met, will still glow behind little screens or candle light thought bubbles and ink the morning will still spill coffee all over him but only on mondays, when he’s running late mondays will always come sunday mornings will still petition against alarm clocks and sunday, hereself, will always win it will rain and it won’t either way, without me a.m.

17