For me, love has always been like sleepwalking. I never remember how I get there but there are always footprints behind me in the snow that appear to be the same size as my own. Somehow I ended up there again, with my face turned upward and the wind kissing it. Whoever compared love to warmth was lying. It is cold. It is the inch between solid ground and frozen lake that you can't see. It is the fog that clings to the tops of trees and softly whispers your name. It is the frost on your window that reminds you how easily things can break. The worst part of falling in love is falling out of love. The worst part of sleepwalking is waking up.
You woke up.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
I have imagined this moment over and over again and now it's finally happening and I can't quite tell which direction is up or down or backwards but I guess they're all directions so it really doesn't matter as long as I'm going somewhere. I've been watching my shoelaces as I've been walking and they seem to tighten with every step as though even they know you'll have me floating right out of them. My palms have already begun to sweat and the puddles they've created in my pockets are just deep enough to drown in. I look up for a second to see the air in front of me holding a string. A grin spreads across its face as it suddenly begins to pull and my breath is stolen from my lungs. I reach out to grab it but it has already disappeared and suddenly I realize I can't breathe without you here. I close my eyes and stumble, not wanting to go any further, not wanting to face the reality of a situation that doesn't involve sleeping beside you. But then I realize, that was something we never did. I have been falling asleep beside myself for years, I have been waking up with regret and a heart broken into more pieces then the number of tiles on the bathroom floor. I have been sleeping with my head on my own chest and praying that someday you'd fill the empty space between not being able to fall asleep and never wanting to be awake.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 2:40 PM UTC
I have always imagined your touch as sunlight
As the heat trapped beneath my blanket when I first wake up
As the rug warming my bare feet in the morning
But that was before I realized I was loving a ghost
Before I saw my breath in front of my face
And realized we had just shared our first kiss
Before I wrapped my arms around myself after walking outside
Feeling the air cut through my skin like a thousand knives
Now I see you in the bottom of every glass
When I am left feeling even emptier than before I took a drink
Now I see you at the bottom of every staircase
As a reminder that even if I would jump
You wouldn't be there to break my fall
Because no matter how far a ghost's arms may reach
They'd never be solid enough to catch me.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
It only takes one step to walk over the edge
And if your heart is as cracked as the canyon under your feet,
I suggest you back away from it
Because the split rocks scattered around you
Are not good indicators of
The split seconds it would take
For your hands to reach the heavens and
Your face to connect with the ground beneath
And although your only thought is
Whether you would finally be able to fly
And reach the other side
You are only a human
Standing with your barefeet pressed into sand
And your toes kissing a ledge
And although you can't fly right now
That doesn't mean you never will
But it only takes one step to walk over the edge.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
You shouldn't kiss guardrails
Because they have chapped lips
And the jagged edges
Will slice your tongue
Whenever you touch them
You shouldn't kiss guardrails
Because metal on metal
Isn't a forgiving sound
But you already know that
From when you had your first kiss
And you were each wearing braces
You shouldn't kiss telephone poles
Because they are sensitive
And will bite your lip with an electric current
But not in the way that you were hoping
And rear view mirrors aren't for decoration
But you never bothered to look at them
When you were desperately switching lanes
And speedometers aren't for your entertainment
But you always enjoyed watching the needle fluctuate
As though your life depended on it
(It did)
And the high beams of oncoming cars
Aren't Christmas lights in restaurant windows
And crashing through the windshields
Won't bring you any closer
To the apple pie the bakery down the street made
That always reminded you of home
And even though you no longer recognize
The town you grew up in
Or the boy you fell in love with
You shouldn't kiss guardrails
Because they might kiss you back
But not in the way that you were hoping.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
The carpet is frayed in the hallway
And the nails along the walls are facing upwards
As reminders that any attempt to
Unearth the secrets swept beneath them
Will result in ****** hands
And the closet door in the bathroom
Is hanging off the hinges
From the time your stepmother tried
To hide her boyfriend in there
And your father threw it open
As a reminder that closets
Are cliché places to keep skeletons
And the red smear beside the toilet
Is the result of your father's fists
Breaking blood vessels and skin
As a reminder that even ghosts
Can leave behind stains
And the glass window in the bedroom is splintered
From the time your father had a nightmare
And thought the house was on fire
As a reminder that sometimes
We burn from the inside
And there's a hole in your bedroom wall
From the time your brother put his fist through it
As a reminder that walls are the only things that stand between
Yourself and every version of yourself that
You've tried to hide within them.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
If every button on your blouse and jeans
Were the knobs of the doors
Of the Budget Inn
I would wrap my hand around them forcefully
And twist and turn until
I finally gained entry.
And if the unwashed comforters
That cover the soiled beds
Were your eager lips
I would jump into them
Until the stains left by other lovers
Made their mark on my skin
In the form of broken blood vessels
And residual lipstick.
And if the thin pages of the
Dust-covered bible tucked into the nightstand
Were every word you whispered
Before sinking your teeth into my skin
I would rip out every page
And paste them over the peeling wallpaper
So that I would be able to read them
Again and again and again
Until I finally believed
That more than failed religion
Could bring me to my knees.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
I have always believed that it is possible to see through the defenses of those who keep secrets tucked into their back pockets like wallets with a little more cash than they are comfortable with, if one is willing to look closely enough. It is apparent in their heavy eyelids, as though the weight of what they are carrying is resting on their eyelashes. It is apparent in the curve of their lips, and the way they are not able to smile to their fullest potential. It is apparent in their hands, and the way they are not able to hold anything, as though their fingers are already full. However, I never realized that it was also possible to notice leaves clutching secrets to their chests like keepsake necklaces passed down by their great-grandmothers until one afternoon when I was walking between two bushes. My feet were carrying me lackadaisically down the sidewalk toward my dormitory when something to my right caught my eye. Among a congregation of green leaves, I noticed one blushing sinner. She sat in the center, as though she was attempting to blend in, but her pink cheeks made her stand out from the rest. When everyone stood in unison, she followed a few seconds behind. When everyone clutched hymns and bibles in their hands, she tied her fingers in knots to appear busy. When everyone partook in communion, she bit her lip quietly. But there was something about the way she held her hands in her lap, with her palms pressed together and her fingers interlocked, and the way she wore her hair behind her shoulders in curls that made me want to get to know her and every secret she kept tucked beneath the belt of her summer dress. But we don’t always get the pleasure of conversing with sinners, and we often are not even willing to have those conversations with ourselves.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
Leave the light on for me.
I know it's late,
And I'm out wandering the streets
But when I promised I'd come home tonight
Whether I was belligerently drunk
Or mind-numbingly high,
I meant it.
And now I'm wandering the streets
And the streetlights are all blending together
As though they are strung out
On the christmas trees
Of the apartment buildings
On our street,
Except I'm not sure if it's our street
Because I have stood on every step
Of every porch with the light on
But no one seems to be home
And I can't help but wonder,
Did you forget to leave the light on?
Or do you not feel like coming to the door?
I'm trying not to over-think this
But the police officer across the street
Is beginning to stare at me
With beady eyes
That remind me of the rats
That I passed in the subway
Just twenty minutes ago,
Or was it thirty?
I can't read the numbers
Engraved on the buildings
Aligned like tombstones
As though even they know
Our love is going to die here.
Or is it already dead?
I guess I'll know
In the next thirty seconds
Because I have one more porch to go
And I can't help but wonder,
Did you leave the light on?
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
Your hands are not sandpaper
You can't round my sharp edges,
Or scratch away the good parts of me.
Your fingers are not cages
Capable of capturing my hopes and dreams
And tucking them into a dark corner
To be forgotten about
Until a rainy day
When I go searching for them
In every cardboard box stacked in the attic.
Your eyes are not black holes
That will **** me in
And spit me back out
In outer space untethered to anything
So that I may float around
Devoid of gravity
And responsibility.
Your hair is not a net
Which will tangle my limbs
And refuse to release me
Until I submit to your commands.
You are not a strong current
Beating me endlessly
Before sweeping me out to sea
Because I am capable of standing
On my own two feet
And walking up the bank
To dry land
And safety.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC