Sometimes, I get embarrassed.
By my awkward, goofy features.
By my pretentious, know-it-all attitude.
By my anxious, self-concerned demeanor.
I act big, and I talk bigger.
I am the loudest.
I cut people off.
I take up space in conversation,
and in theaters
and on buses
and at restaurants
and in my own home.
Where I seem to be growing outwards,
only to be trapped
in myself.
My anxious, awkward, earthly existence.
I fumble and struggle and slip.
I become a pathetic pile of self doubt.
I am suddenly the embodiment of embarrassment.
And sometimes, I get
embarrassed.
But
mostly,
I embarrass myself.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 1:14 AM UTC
I refuse to let you
break me.
Because I don't even know you,
and because
I cannot be broken
..anymore than I have
already
broken myself.
I refuse to let you turn me into
something I am
not.
Not before I know what
I really
am.
I will grow and expand to
one thousand times the size of anything
you have ever
been.
You can keep your fame
and your photos
and your happy little
life.
I am determined.
And I will be busy.
I will be making
mine.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 4:19 PM UTC
Sometimes, I feel like I'm
moving
backwards.
I like myself less and less,
and a
little
less
each day.
Jealousy and sickness grow
rampant
inside me.
My head has been swelling
for months on end,
and my heart has been
shrinking
and shriveling.
I don't feel like
myself
anymore.
I am sad
and bitter
a irritable.
So many things I never was
before.
I go searching for
disappointment,
and still turn up
even more
empty
handed.
Everything hurts in me.
My body is giving up on me.
I begin each day
with my head
throbbing.
I can't eat.
I don't sleep.
And I am steadily losing
patience,
and
myself.
He's back.
That same monster.
From so many years before.
I wish he would leave me alone.
And yet I am still here,
fighting.
An ongoing war
inside
myself.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC
I should start writing again.
Start crafting my thoughts into words instead of
watching your every move.
Start writing again instead of
envying
you,
girl with the make-up.
Girl with the tools to use it.
Girl that should go to beauty school .
You, girl, who wants to get paid to be
pretty.
And I have to wonder why it is
you
that I envy.
Why not the smart girls?
The successful girls?
No, you.
With the boyfriend who you love who does
everything
for you.
You, who has barely reached the cusp of adulthood
with no adult mentality
to show for it.
Why you?
With the glamorous life,
that I so envy.
Because I should know better.
That every glamorous life is riddled with
sickness and
sadness.
But I envy you,
girl.
Me with my lonely little scribbles,
and you
with your thousands of loyal, devoted followers.
They don't know you any better than I do .
Yet I am the one writing a poem about
you.
The girl who I am so intrigued by,
for reasons unbeknownst to me.
The girl who's glamorous life I can see right through.
I envy you.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
I am no longer searching for reasons of why you would leave me.
Watching the lines grow deeper on your face
every time that I
doubted
your presence.
"I'm not going anywhere."
You have chimed, again and again.
Frustrated and flickering in and out of consciousness,
but resilient enough to repeat yourself
over,
and over.
Like a faint, but still glowing lightbulb,
in a cold basement cellar.
You do not light the way, but you provide some
comfort and warmth.
And without you I would certainly be
left in the dark.
You are safe.
I like that as time has gone on, I have crushed your castle walls,
piece by piece.
There are moment where I still find sensitive spots,
and I can see your shell snap shut around you whenever I run my
hands, or
words
across them.
So strong-willed in your solitude.
I have learned how you live your life like a current.
Drifting from place to place,
simply along for the ride.
I have seen your cool, collected, cavalier crusade
crumble and crack into
silent tongues, and sad, sorrow stares through soft eyes.
I have seen a boy who sheds tears for no one say
"I'm sorry"
through crystal, crying eyes.
My eager heart pushed it's way into an
entrance, just ajar,
and when the clam shell cranium slammed shut like a car door,
I was left broken and bleeding like a
smashed pinky finger.
So then I wondered
why would you shut up all of your doors to
the only person who has seen
windows
to your soul?
Every time you opened them,
I pried my way to the curtains, and
peered inside.
Hoping to steal tiny glimmers of your
light, until they could only
flicker.
In and out of existence,
like they are not sure if this is the right
room.
Or even the right house.
Foggy and blurry, you might close them
to get some rest,
or just recharge, if only for a moment.
But when a blinking, bleeding heart,
still beating and bright,
says it is lost, and in need of more light,
you might draw the curtains a little more tight,
just for the night,
and wake up in darkness.
When I demanded you light my way after I had
subdued your sunshine,
why would you leave anything unsaid?
But then again,
why wouldn't you?
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC
Concerned with image.
Hard to tell what decisions
I make for myself.
With every attempt
Neatly placed in a showcase
And shared openly.
Pencil pushing past
Writer's block; rubbing your eyes
'Til they're only bags.
I want to do some
Thing for myself, for only
My own desire to.
Yet still here needing
gratification for my
own satisfaction.
How can you feel proud
Of something that's been seen by
You, and you alone?
Pride stemmed, not from self,
But my need for approval.
To be justified.
So many sorrys.
For things with no offense I
Would apologize.
Considering my
Image. Always picturing
The scene I am in.
Viewing my life from
How it might look with someone
Else's perspective.
And I am amazed
That I could take this mind and
Make it look so good.
But in truth it is
Far frazzled and forgotten.
Ha ha. Tricked them all.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 3:56 AM UTC
Iced coffee and streaks of sunlight,
it is too early for me to be awake
without you.
People keep telling me I will be
healthy and happy,
and I know that.
But morning time sunshine
spilling in through windows,
makes me think of times spent
smiling in silence.
Before we started sleeping in silence,
and loving in silence,
and living in silence.
All good things must come to an end,
some endings are just more difficult than others.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
I'm wide awake with the rain,
and you are sleeping right beside me.
I think if I could remember anything these days,
I'd tell you
This is how it started the last time.
When things began to fall to pieces.
We distance ourselves from fears and facts
so we can stand sleeping back to back
and thunderstorms rain on my parade.
We were made of
stardust.
Or so I once really believed.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
2014 will be my year.
It is my year.
The year I learned
sometimes we cry because we are
so
*******
happy.
The year I learned there was
love for me,
all around the world,
before my feet have touched European soil.
In 2014, I learned to start doing things for myself.
And I learned that when you are nothing but authentic,
it draws more people to you.
I learned to embrace my
honesty,
my sensitivity.
2014 was the year I learned that
what is popular
is not ineviable truth.
And if you choose to be one of the few people left who still has
***** to give,
people are drawn to that too.
I learned that
many of the reasons that people love me,
are the same reasons I love people.
In 2014 I made beautiful, important,
imperfect decisions.
I want this to be a year I'll look back on with pride,
knowing,
not that I found myself,
but, more so, that I was
never missing.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
Forgive me.
I can't help wanting to plant kisses on you always.
For all the scary things you've shown me about myself,
and how you've always managed to hold on to me afterwards.
With shaking shoulders and a tender tremble from my
nose to my toes.
And how you have loved them,
and all the places in between.
I want to kiss you always,
but it is so much more than that.
Lips alone are not enough to disclose the emotions behind them.
They are clumsy in motion, and falter, between speeches, and sleep-talking, and sometimes they plant themselves on your neck, or chest, or forehead, in an effort to say
"Forgive me.
I don't have the words to tell you that you are beautiful and wonderful and magical.
Forgive me,
because I don't know how to explain that you mean the world to me.
Forgive me because
I am so headstrong, I will never let myself need anyone,
but if there was ever a person for me to need
I swear that it is you."
And those lips will stumble in search of the perfect place to kiss, so as to tell you these things, until they find
yours.
Resting quietly below two soft blues shining out of your skull,
with all the aches of a lovely soul,
and when you kiss back,
all is forgiven.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC