arham - Hello Poetry

Plants seeds inside my rib cage Makes sure to water daily Until I am more wood than person Already weaving my own casket in my chest

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Dec 23, 2020

Dec 23, 2020 at 5:28 AM UTC

Grief

Plants seeds inside my rib cage Makes sure to water daily Until I am more wood than person Already weaving my own casket in my chest

4

I am a constant train wreck waiting to happen Always on the verge of almost not being here There is never enough space to breathe Never enough room to move This world is my casket and I am frighteningly claustrophobic

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Nov 18, 2016

Nov 18, 2016 at 6:48 AM UTC

Can't breathe

I am a constant train wreck waiting to happen Always on the verge of almost not being here There is never enough space to breathe Never enough room to move This world is my casket and I am frighteningly claustrophobic

5

Your hands feel like forest fires Erupting on my skin Each graze A new scar I will take To the shallow grave of my heart

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Oct 8, 2016

Oct 8, 2016 at 10:22 AM UTC

Untitled

Your hands feel like forest fires Erupting on my skin Each graze A new scar I will take To the shallow grave of my heart

6

These parts feel like a lie I am giving to this world, but it doesn't throw me back a sneer, it pretends it doesn't know. I am carving my skin with questions, but it bleeds back no answers, only trophies in the shape of these scars. I am clawing myself out, but the pit feels like quicksand, the more I want out the more it takes me in. I am half a person, half a ghost already burying myself inside the casket of my own skin. If these gods were real they'd have made us of sturdier stuff than hearts that break apart at the slightest whisper.

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Oct 1, 2016

Oct 1, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC

Half-Person, Half-Ghost

These parts feel like a lie I am giving to this world, but it doesn't throw me back a sneer, it pretends it doesn't know. I am carving my skin with questions, but it bleeds back no answers, only trophies in the shape of these scars. I am clawing myself out, but the pit feels like quicksand, the more I want out the more it takes me in. I am half a person, half a ghost already burying myself inside the casket of my own skin. If these gods were real they'd have made us of sturdier stuff than hearts that break apart at the slightest whisper.

15

When I was fifteen years old I came home from school one day and wrote a poem instead of cutting myself. The next day I didn't write a poem. Eighteen only wrote poetry in red. Nineteen crawled under their desk with the lights turned off. Twenty had panic attacks. But thirteen still loved the world. And ten only cared about going out to play. And nine never thought growing up to be a gender would hurt so much. But twenty-one can't breathe in this skin anymore. And twenty-one doesn't want a twenty-two anymore. And nineteen tried to pretend these feelings weren't real. And fifteen tried to eradicate all the feelings altogether. And seventeen just cried a lot. My years have come together to unfold me into a disaster. I am broken even in my most whole parts. I am empty even on my most alive days. If you send out a SOS into my chest the sound will ring off into its empty chambers and only answer itself.

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Sep 26, 2016

Sep 26, 2016 at 8:12 AM UTC

I Am An Unfolding Disaster

When I was fifteen years old I came home from school one day and wrote a poem instead of cutting myself. The next day I didn't write a poem. Eighteen only wrote poetry in red. Nineteen crawled under their desk with the lights turned off. Twenty had panic attacks. But thirteen still loved the world. And ten only cared about going out to play. And nine never thought growing up to be a gender would hurt so much. But twenty-one can't breathe in this skin anymore. And twenty-one doesn't want a twenty-two anymore. And nineteen tried to pretend these feelings weren't real. And fifteen tried to eradicate all the feelings altogether. And seventeen just cried a lot. My years have come together to unfold me into a disaster. I am broken even in my most whole parts. I am empty even on my most alive days. If you send out a SOS into my chest the sound will ring off into its empty chambers and only answer itself.

17

The weather's like summer and rain And I'm just looking out the window Seeing you in vain I've only heard you speak And some pictures all 2D But I've traced the lilt of your laugh And it's nothing like some graph Been trying to keep you off my mind But you're just there all the time

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Sep 26, 2016

Sep 26, 2016 at 8:03 AM UTC

Love Poem To A Girl Who Will Never Read It

The weather's like summer and rain And I'm just looking out the window Seeing you in vain I've only heard you speak And some pictures all 2D But I've traced the lilt of your laugh And it's nothing like some graph Been trying to keep you off my mind But you're just there all the time

9

I can't seem to fall asleep most nights Even when I've turned off all the lights Twelve always turns to two And I keep thinking about you

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Sep 17, 2016

Sep 17, 2016 at 3:06 PM UTC

Insomnia

I can't seem to fall asleep most nights Even when I've turned off all the lights Twelve always turns to two And I keep thinking about you

4

Everything is brighter Too much light Too many people Crawl back in Crawl back in This is all too much Take a deep breath Smile too hard Smile too little This is all too much This is all too much Pretend to be someone else This will work Try to be happier Try to be brighter Pretend to be someone else Pretend to be someone else Will survive Laugh a little Go out into the world Go out into the light Will survive Will survive Will definitely survive

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Sep 2, 2016

Sep 2, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC

Coming out of the abyss

Everything is brighter Too much light Too many people Crawl back in Crawl back in This is all too much Take a deep breath Smile too hard Smile too little This is all too much This is all too much Pretend to be someone else This will work Try to be happier Try to be brighter Pretend to be someone else Pretend to be someone else Will survive Laugh a little Go out into the world Go out into the light Will survive Will survive Will definitely survive

24

We are drowning ships crashing planes falling skies We are tragedies that never got written in ink but blood We are disasters they forgot to record or observe or announce or save or help We are train wrecks that needed saving Instead you covered your eyes Shielded your children Dumped the wreckage into landfills That are eating away at our plant Ours This world, it is ours Yours and mine It is not a kingdom that is your birthright to take to force yourself on your rules your mistakes your judgement your hearts We are people Collapsible Collapsing At every turn every word every day every breath We are still people still alive still able still fighting breathing belonging to a world that has never accepted us made space for us let us belong But we are belonging

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Jun 19, 2016

Jun 19, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC

We Are All Searching For Homes

We are drowning ships crashing planes falling skies We are tragedies that never got written in ink but blood We are disasters they forgot to record or observe or announce or save or help We are train wrecks that needed saving Instead you covered your eyes Shielded your children Dumped the wreckage into landfills That are eating away at our plant Ours This world, it is ours Yours and mine It is not a kingdom that is your birthright to take to force yourself on your rules your mistakes your judgement your hearts We are people Collapsible Collapsing At every turn every word every day every breath We are still people still alive still able still fighting breathing belonging to a world that has never accepted us made space for us let us belong But we are belonging

44

But pens hurt less than knives And markers hurt less than pens But our brokenness told us to hurt And ache And bleed So we put down our pens Capped our markers Forgot how to draw worlds And stories And magic In color Instead painted with our blood Telling ourselves Maybe surviving was the real test And maybe it is okay to fail

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Apr 6, 2016

Apr 6, 2016 at 6:42 AM UTC

Crawling Into Small Spaces To Breathe

But pens hurt less than knives And markers hurt less than pens But our brokenness told us to hurt And ache And bleed So we put down our pens Capped our markers Forgot how to draw worlds And stories And magic In color Instead painted with our blood Telling ourselves Maybe surviving was the real test And maybe it is okay to fail

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