it was like an earthquake.
the memory of him
rattles in me like a teacup
scratching at the surface of
chipped porcelain.
it seems like he was here just yesterday.
quiet hands cupped
on fidgety kneecaps
i spilt my tea
into his lap.
it looks so easy to disapear.
one day he was here
tracing my fingers with his fingers
taking photographs of flowers
and then he was gone.
it is so hard to feel him now.
a face in the crowd looks like yours
and for a moment i feel light
perhaps it was dream
and maybe you're alive.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 8:19 PM UTC
I’ve decided to stop.
Stop looking.
Stop searching.
Stop hoping.
I’ve been dreaming away
wasting my days,
lost
in thought.
Submerged in a silly idea
that you and I exist together
in this world.
That somewhere
you’re waiting for me to complete you,
to make you whole.
That someday
in this life,
I might actually feel at home.
Maybe on another planet
you and I
have found each other.
And maybe you fixed my heart
and sewed it back together.
And maybe
we dance in our underwear to songs of yesterday
in cozy nooks
where nobody ever goes to sleep
alone.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 4:31 PM UTC
I remember how heavy you were;
you left footprints in the grass
and on my chest.
I remember your eyes;
glazed crimson
dripping sweat on my *******
clenched beneath white knuckles
and stained cotton sheets.
I remember the birthmark on your left hip;
its ugly face smirking
past greasy thrusts.
Your breath a heavy whiskey drowning my lungs;
whispered in my ear
hot sticky grunts.
An ink splotched lion tattooed on your thigh
grinded into me,
twisted itself into my heart
ate away at my preserved innocence.
I’d saved myself for long.
And then there was nothing left after that.
“Have fun in college.”
A closed door.
I carry you in every moment.
My hands pressed firm against his abdomens
as he tries to make love to me,
I wait for that lion to reach out and
scratch my face velvet.
I wait for the pain and the shudder of his pleasure
As it ripples through his shoulders and he presses into me.
I wait for it to be over
So I can bury your face back down into blankets.
I wait for him to smile and kiss my temple before he drifts to sleep
And then I shower to scrub you off of me and out of me.
But I’m never clean enough
I walk around with your dirt caked around my core
I’m branded by you,
I’m drifting to sleep and my fall awakes me to your snarling neck.
I remember hearing that now you’re a youth pastor,
a true saint.
you’re working in South America with empty children
and hopeless mothers
you’re building homes for the homeless
and saving lives
you’re teaching the lost
all about God’s reining love for us
but guess what baby—
I’ll never forget the night you ****** me.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 4:29 PM UTC
She only comes
in quiet moments when
no one is listening looking
into honey colored corenas
where traffic lanes give way
to memories tucked away
firm hands on her **** breast
her knees fall
slowly into his gentle whispers
and she comes to know
his smile made raindrops on
hot blacktop summers
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 4:26 PM UTC
I didn’t know you were that kind of guy
I’m not really that kind of girl
I just liked how you made me feel
I could be myself and I was happy and I felt free
I haven’t felt like that with many guys before
and as you pressed your lips to mine
I thought maybe we shouldn’t do this
because your heart was broken last week
and mine’s too heavy for anyone to carry anyways
but they felt good against mine
and I’ve wanted to be yours for so long
when you unzipped my dress
and took off my sweater
I started to cry
they were just little tears that swam in my eyes
but you didn’t notice
I told you to stop
because you were thinking of her
I could feel it in your lips
you said sorry and got frustrated with yourself
and I said it was okay it happens
you started to talk about her again
and how you miss her
and I started to wish that I had someone to love me like that
maybe we should just keep this between ourselves
you said.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 4:24 PM UTC
Our love is a green summer
A plastic city
Filled with windowless smiles
And breakfast lullabies
If I close my eyes and drift away
I see you kissing my knees
In the backs of cars
Playing with my toes
Under café tables
Twisting my untamed hair
Around calloused fingers
I find myself trying to float away
Like a red balloon
Just a gypsy girl and hat backwards boy
I listened to your decaying maybes
As you zipped up our memories
And gave away midnight
I was half past happy
Dancing through pink darkness
Hoping for an earthquake
With nights of claustrophobic feet
As quiet as owls.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 4:22 PM UTC
This poem is a train ticket
purchased with leftover savings on New Year’s Day
held tightly to my *******
as I avoid lingering stares from a man who smells like ***
and the group of pubescent boys hovering next to me in line.
This poem is an empty seat
next to a window in the back of the cart
the perfect nest to pour out my pestering thoughts
onto coffee cups and jelly stained napkins
in hopes of suffocating the drumming noise inside my head.
This poem is the rattling isles
that shake my core and mix the worry
deep into the churning of my stomach
isles full of agonizing questions and peering eyes
analyzing my every step.
This poem is my journey home
away from his pretentious kisses
from his callous grins
and guilt ridden sorry’s
back to the girl who could ride on trains alone.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 4:20 PM UTC
This poem is an ashtray
grey, round, and chipped on the rim
***** and wasted from your countless cigarettes
whose burning embers were smothered
into its swollen belly.
This poem is an ashtray
broken, tired, and scratched all over
who sat on your patio
used to fulfill filthy habits
in times when stress and emptiness conquered you.
This poem is an ashtray
abused, weak, and out of place
a secret kept from parents and friends
something you ran to when there was no one else
to take you inside and turn you upside-down.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 4:17 PM UTC
This poem is a crumpled note
written quickly
and then smashed into a small careless ball
tossed angrily into a black trashcan
never to be read by any pair of eyes.
It was a note for you,
the man who makes my palms sweat
and my heart twitch between my ribcage
but who barely glances in my direction
as we cross paths every morning at 8:56 am.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 4:14 PM UTC
It was that feeling
you experience when falling down
the drop
of a rollercoaster.
I’d lost my breath
as it escaped my ribs
hand in hand with my voice
and in that moment everything went silent.
An old fashioned film played slowly
in the back of my head
as we staggered between
two vehicles of fatality,
deaths forewarning tapping mockingly
on my shoulder.
Blank eyes
on calloused hands
my fate sealed as I pressed
myself into his body.
Our sins
smoking off his tires
evidence through charcoaled black lines
on glistening pavement
my heart stops being for an instant
and I finally know the truth.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 4:12 PM UTC