Any time my heart wants to text you
my brain knows to put the phone down
nothing good ever comes from a “hey…”
we talk twice a year
once on my birthday and once on yours
that should be enough
but there are days when it doesn’t feel like enough
my brain and my heart spit knives at each other
arguing over who is right
should we text him
should we wait until next year
my heart starts typing out “it’s been a while”
and I immediately turn my phone off
its been 7 years, he’s over it
no one keeps feelings that long
“except for me”
we’re adults now, maybe things would be diff—
“I can’t afford to think that way”
thoughts like those cause nothing but stress and a pain in my chest
we can wait 11 more months
and we will have this internal dialogue 11 more times
and I will always wonder what might happen
if I actually press send
“I guess we’ll never know”
regardless
I’ll see you April 2nd
Sep 22, 2022
Sep 22, 2022 at 1:29 AM UTC
I think my lips are chapped because I've kissed so many boys who don't love me.
You ask me 'what do you taste like?' I don't think its very **** to say regret and sadness.
You say 'when can I taste you' My taste has been passed around so many tongues there is nothing left for you.
He tells me 'I'm here for you, I'll always be here for you' as he kisses my neck. The next week the bite mark on my belly is fading and I can barely remember the colour of your eyes.
My sister says 'you will change your mind' she says, 'all woman want to be mothers'.
I have stumbled in at 4am with the taste of strangers in my throat to see my mother sitting upright waiting for me, I think of the night I spent crying on my mothers lap in a&e;, certain I couldn't make it through the day, the way my brother scowls at my mother, my sister telling her that 'you could've done more, you could've walked away.' I. Dont. Want. Children.
My mum tells me she is old, she is tired. She desperately needs a man to hold doors open for her and carry her shopping. I am trying to remember that needing someone does not mean you are weak.
My grandmother gave me waist beads to encourage fertility. She says 'god gave you those hips to birth children'. Ive never told her that i lost my faith in god the year i lost my virginity. And if there is a god, i don't want his ******* fertility. I want to break these beads and let drugs engulf me to prove my grandmothers blind faith wrong.
I laugh and pray before our meal and kiss her forehead, 'god bless'.
He tells me 'i know youre ***** its natural'. I laugh and play along for his delight. 'women are just like toys, television, easy puzzles'. I think of my father beating my mother, my fathers face all the men ive walked past in the street. My mothers face is my own.
'if you don't want boys to touch you you shouldn't wear tight clothes'. I think of all the boys who have run their fingers over my back when i was dressed in clothes from neck to ankle. I wonder if god is a sexist man. I wonder if there's any men who aren't implicitly sexist.
He tells me, 'I'll spend hours on you, I'll make you believe in god again'. There is nothing I can do but laugh. I ask him, 'does your mother know you speak to girls like this?'
He ***** his teeth, 'do you always have to be so difficult?'
I kiss him but I think of his mother, foreign and lonely, 2 sons and no husband.
He says 'you need a real man' I think of all the other boys who have told me that before leaving me.
He wants to know why I'm in hospital so much, 'how are we going love each other when you can't tell me what's wrong with you' I don't want to tell him that I've cut my arms so badly I can see god in my blood, and sometimes the voice in my head screams so loud I black out. I kiss his chest. He doesn't ask again. I resent him for that.
I've been ignoring my fathers phone calls for two weeks because his voice sounds like absence and I don't want to hear another 'I love you' from a man who doesn't know my secrets.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 10:22 AM UTC
Speaking of broken hearts
and singed photographs in the fireplace;
I met a boy and I am painting his skies with clementine and petal pink
against the bright canvas moon.
My heart is fairy floss clouds
and you are the ice crystals attempting to cause rain.
I know you're trying hard to win me back,
but you gave up citrus and sugar for the possible promise of a new hue.
Now you stain the ground with your tears.
The harshest and deepest feelings spill
from those blackened heartstrings.
Like all fruit, the sweetest rots first.
So I became wine.
I am the last of the blackberries,
holding onto memories of the summertime.
But it is autumn now.
Pears plop into pools,
leaves fall onto roofs,
and this 'getting over you' thing is not working.
I cannot bring myself to ask you the hardest questions:
did you ever love me?
you've been with me before, can you do it again?
will you break my heart?
love,
ali
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 9:55 PM UTC
Pain is rain in the night
Hiding your tears from those in sight
From the lonely abuse
To the mental heights
Pain is rain in the night
Pain from those
Who have long since gone
And those who are left
Don’t care or bother at all
But loves first steps
Take the pain away
And the wind picks up
And sweeps you away
Then you start at the beginning
Of an unknown road
Hand in hand
With the one who filled the hole
It’s a creepy mist
That hides your sight
But through the pain
Creates a light
So you can see through
The pain in the night
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 10:45 PM UTC
The sun sets sweetly as the sky steadily rolls in with clouds, while the weary wolf wanders where he can welcome his midnight maiden.
And as the twilight turns to night, this sorry sounding soul searches for a piece of serenity. The night brings out the wild in his heart and he howls haunting hymns towards the Welkins.
His crying pierces through the silence and he is welcomed by a satellite of light, shining softly through the dark. This wolf does not search for love and affection, because he is never without it. Each shout is simply serenades to the one being who will always welcome him warmly.
His songs are sometimes sweet, his songs are often sad. For the wolf howls to the night sky to beckon the moon to love him. She is his constant, his one true friend, and he will sing her serenity as she is the only soul that sings to his.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 8:57 PM UTC
awakened by the purr
of the little blue cat,
seeking warmth,
on this crisp spring morning
we, the little blue cat and I
take our breakfast outside
walking across the dew damp grass
to sit at the old wooden table
he, steps high, waggling his feet
me, i step deeply into the grass
enjoying the verdant, green smell
that rises,
enjoying the brief commune with
nature
enjoying the return to childhood
we sit, companionably, eating
he leftover roast chicken,
me, purlioned cocoa puffs,
my son's saturday treat,
that he will surely never miss
as we sit, the sounds of the world waking
drift past us.
windows opening, the snort and cough
of an early rising smoker, cars starting
the birds chat and chirk, and the plop
of the fish as the break the surface of the pond.
the garbage trucks stop and start trek up the street.
and now in the house, the radio, and kettle begin
a shower turned on, a bass voice sings, not well
but with joy.
now the day has truly begun...
one last mouthful of half remembered childhood
and then back to the daily grind
as the sun makes it's way past the low lying clouds
the blucat, chooses to stay, out watching the birds.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
this house;
too dark, too quiet;
an unknown abyss.
tenants leave after six months;
running out screaming.
in this house,
even the ghosts are haunted.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
jolted from your slumber like a dead engine
panicked, you reach into the abyss for some sort of comfort
only to find that every liquid fantasy dissipates upon your touch
this forest of dreams has become a woodland of nightmares
eyes bleeding tears as the mist envelops you
it shoves you to the floor
screaming every insecurity back into your swollen skull
transparent devils dance at your feet
as they point to a tombstone engraved with your name
it seems like there is no hope for you
yes, even the dream catcher above your bed lost faith
but there is something keeping you alive
continue your fight
grab my hand in the darkness
for i am the comfort you have been searching for
because i too scream silence into the fear of the night
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC