What’s it called when someone doesn’t want to get better? When they don’t necessarily want to get worse, but they also don’t want to better. Scratch that. Maybe they do want to get worse. Maybe they deserve to get worse. Maybe they deserve all this pain. I deserve all this pain. I am not good. I am not kind. I am not strong. I am everything but. I am a body built on anger and shame. My hands hold on more tightly to this sadness than the love of my life. And I can’t bring myself to let go. It feels like the tighter I hold onto this feeling the farther away you get and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I can’t stop hurting the people I love. I can’t stop hurting you. And maybe it’s because there are days when I wake up and I don’t feel anything unless I’m hurting you. And I need you to hurt because I need to feel something. I NEED YOU TO MAKE ME FEEL AGAIN. And I know that’s too much to ask of you. I am too much to ask of you. What kind of person wants the one they love to hurt? What kind of person makes other people suffer? What kind of person tells someone they don’t love them anymore? Why would I tell you I don’t love you, when you’re the brightest thing in my life? Why do I need you to hurt to make me feel better? What is wrong with me? There is a monster living in my brain and sometimes I can’t keep it quiet. I promise it’s not me. But sometimes I can’t tell the difference between the thoughts in my head and the truth. I feel like a stranger in my own skin and you are not safe here with me. YOU ARE NOT SAFE. I cannot promise you love and beauty and kindness and joy. I cannot promise that I will wake up everyday and kiss the sunrise good morning. I cannot promise that I will be calm. I am full of natural disasters and chaos. This body holds a ******* storm and I don’t know how to protect you from it. This body is not beautiful, this heart is not kind, this soul is not gentle. I am not gentle. I’m sorry I can’t love you the way you deserve but god made my body into a palace, and the monster in me turned it into a temple where love goes to die.
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 11:22 PM UTC
sometimes it feels as though
my hearts been replaced
with the emptiness
of a widow’s arms
like one day
it went off and never came back
leaving a hole in my chest
where you’re supposed to be
and
sometimes it feels like
theres a cage where my ribs should be
trapping every bad memory
every bad thought
every ******* word you’ve ever said
inside
and i'm not sure
what to do
i don't want them anymore
i don't want these memories
all they do is hurt and
memories aren't supposed to hurt
you weren't supposed to hurt me
why did you hurt me?
this emptiness inside my chest
is starting to get heavy
and i'm not sure
how much longer i can hold it
i am going to break
oh god
you're going to break me
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 11:20 PM UTC
Do you remember the night you never came back?
When you gave yourself to someone who didn’t deserve you?
And by gave, I mean he took
He took and he took and he took
Until there was no more you to take
And just like that you are empty
No one wants a girl who’s got nothing to give
You have to have learned by now that giving and taking are not the same thing
Just because you love him
Does not make it giving
He is taking everything that you are
And he is destroying it
STOP LETTING HIM TOUCH YOU
You’re too young to give him what he’s taking
And now it’s gone, you can’t get it back
You are no longer special
You’re going to be washing him out of your skin forever
But jokes on you
**** doesn’t wash off
I’m still trying to wash you off of me
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 11:17 PM UTC
she was a poet,
and he was her pen.
in him,
she always found words to write,
songs to sing,
thoughts to think.
he'd smile,
and kiss her softly,
and say,
"write me a poem."
and she would.
she'd put poe,
and whitman,
and shakespeare to shame,
and she'd write a poem that made his eyes water.
she'd compare him
to a rose with no thorns,
a book with no end,
a world with no poverty --
the things we all wish for,
but can never attain.
//
he asked her one day,
"what am i?"
and so she picked up her pen,
and began the usual:
*you are the shining sun after a hurricane,
with rays that open the eyes of the blind.*
but he stopped her after those two lines,
and said that this time,
he didn't want any metaphors,
or similes,
or analogies.
he wanted the truth.
and so on that night,
as he slept,
the poet picked up her pen,
and she wrote.
she wrote,
then thought better of it,
then started over again,
and this cycle continued well into the early hours of the morning,
until suddenly,
she wrote, frantic,
*if i can't love you for what you really are,
have i ever really loved you at all?*
this, too,
she thought better of,
condemning it to the trash.
the next morning the poet was gone,
her final work a mere two words:
i'm sorry.
(a.m.)
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 11:16 PM UTC
Can I give back this life?
I don’t want it anymore
or maybe it doesn’t want me
I can never tell
if I am too much
or too little
All I know is
I am never in between
and maybe that’s why
nobody stays
This body holds a tornado
and it destroys everything
it touches
Matches always burn the brightest
before they burn out
and maybe that’s why
I’ve been told my smile
is so bright
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 11:09 PM UTC
it walks beside me. but there is only one shadow.
my friends can’t see it and my family says it doesn’t exist.
sometimes i’m not sure it’s there. but then i see it.
it ties me to my bed and stares at me while i toss and turn.
it haunts my dreams and pulls on my steering wheel.
it holds my head straight when i try to cross the road. and
it always picks out the sharpest tool in the shed.
we spend a lot of time together.
sometimes it brings friends. their hands feel like fists.
they tell me not to eat. they tell me that you’re hurting me. they tell me about my memories as if my body was an iceberg and my life was the titanic.
they tell me i was born a trauma.
sometimes it wants alone time. one on one.
in a dark room. just us two. and some shiny metal.
but when the sun rises and the earth is covered in yellow. our favourite place to go is the bridge.
i like the view.
it likes the height.
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 9:59 PM UTC
You can't talk about long distance relationships until
the only way you can hear his voice, is through the voice mail he made
6 months ago
You can't talk about long distance relationships until
you can no longer feel his arms around you
You can't talk about long distance relationships until
you forget the colour of his eyes
and the shape of his jaw
You can't talk about long distance relationships until
the faded memory of his laugh breaks your heart
because you can no longer hear it
You can't talk about long distance relationships until
you say I love you to him
and his grave says nothing back
You can't talk about long distance relationships until
you're in love with a boy
six feet under
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
Either you never loved me, or you got worse at at pretending you did
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
I remember that night,
You said you were alright.
I remember you saying that nothing was wrong,
and turning the radio to your favorite song.
I remember knowing that you lied.
I remember the night you died.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
kissing you was like swerving into oncoming traffic
i can never tell if i am more haunted by empty picture frames or the ashes of their contents
you taught me that the saying "pick your battles" meant not answering when love was at the door
sometimes when i drink whiskey i swear i can hear your voice in the creases of my bedsheets & i sleep on the floor
i still catch myself running my hands over things you touched the most, looking for the echoes of your fingertips
i practice things i'll never say to you
i remember the day you told me you didn't like poetry, how "everything's already been said" & how "nothing meaningful can be captured without being cliche" you know, i don't miss you like the sun and moon, i do not miss you like tide bent waves crashing on the shoreline, i miss you like a chernobyl swingset misses children
rumor has it that drowning is a lot like coming home, that drinking bleach can **** the butterflies in your stomach
for your love of cigarettes, i would have been an ashtray
this halloween i want to dress up as the you when you loved yourself and show up on your doorstep
i never understood what you meant when you said i was an instrument, back when you would cup your hands around my chest and breathe through the holes in my heart, i still wonder if the sounds i made remind you of wind chimes
i never paid much attention to abandoned buildings until i became one
in my dreams all the flowers smell like your perfume
i am the only person who has ever wished for the same snowflake to fall twice
if i could go back, and rewrite the definition of audacity, it would be how when we lost the bet of love, you said "we never shook on it"
i love you, if the feeling is not mutual, please pretend this was a poem
the only apology i want from you, is to have you repeat the names of children we will never have in your parents living room until they *****
we are the same person if you find yourself up at 4am dry heaving promises, or if you are kept awake by the laughter of those who've abandoned you
nobody ever told you that goodbyes taste like the back of stamps
sometimes i'm convinced that the only reason we hug, is so you can check my back for exit wounds
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC