braileyvine - Hello Poetry

I wanted you you in the easiest way the easiest that is also the hardest. I just wanted you to be honest

0

Aug 19, 2016

Aug 19, 2016 at 12:55 AM UTC

braileyvine

Untitled

I wanted you you in the easiest way the easiest that is also the hardest. I just wanted you to be honest

3

Did you really love me, I wonder sometimes, as I browse empty shelves, and I ponder whether I meant enough to you to make you wonder if I felt the same way, to make you hungry, for the knowledge that I wanted you deeply, that I loved you oceanically, that I saw you profoundly, and, at least for a moment, thought you were the only one for me. Sometimes I ask myself, does my picture whisper to you from the wall (or whatever box you've put it in), are there things you want to hear, like I needed you as much as blood needs a vein to travel, like when I see you I see man, like I look at you and remember why I wanted to do this in the first place? I am wondering. Was your heart ever empty? Did I ever truly become the thing that filled you, the one you needed most in the world to talk to you? Is that gleam in your eye as dependent upon me as I am upon you, are you looking for someone else, or do your eyes always disobey like mine do, do your lips speak my name when you think of something or even just try to take your mind off the pain? Do you need me? Because I need you to. Have you tried to replace me, tried hard, so many times, with all of yourself thrown into the effort with more vanity than that of a maze of mirrors, accidental detours all leading you to my name? In your heart, at the center of you, am I eternal. Is this all a failed pitch at loving you in the dark? Or do I remind you of every good thing you've ever done? Of every accident that's turned out to be for the better, of every unplanned wonderful thing unleashed, but of every pain as well, of every bad thing too? Do I look like guitar strings to you? Ready for your fingers to find me and stir me and make me vibrate with musical energy? Do you need me? Do you need me the way trees need to grow and be close to their ever-loving sun, the way a mother needs to feed a newborn a child, the way a star needs hydrogen to burn? Do you think you've done it sometimes? Do think you've managed to forget me, to pry me out of your heart with those skillful hands, only to find out there was another secret tunnel, waiting closer, even deeper, plunging farther into the middle of what you call you, call home? Am I there? Am I there when you think of eons away, of a place you can go to to stop thinking of anything or am I perpetually clinging to your subconscious the way a man clings to the only one he's ever loved? Or not? I need to know- do you hate love because of me? or are you still waiting? For someone to come along and teach your heart how to break in every place you thought was strong as it sings the whole time a tune of hapless, bitter truth? Am I an ache in you? Where I used to be a playful, mediocre spark, am I a bullet so embedded that I cannot be seen, only felt? Farther than anything before has ever pained you, deeper in than can be removed and least of all by you? Does my name feel like something you can't quite remember, a word on the tip of your tongue, some taboo, a language barrier, hoarding you on one side, like contraband, like something illegal that shouldn't be sold but is, like something you just can't get out of your head, like a song you can't find the lyrics to, like a sentence you just can't grasp, like something your mom told you you couldn't do, not until you're older, like something preciously forbidden, like the ugly treasure at the center of the earth, like a star you can see so easily but is really so far away you come to grips with the fact that you'll never have yours on it, like a form of repossession, like empty hands that once stretched around something expensive, something that shouldn't have been yours, but broke all the rules to melt in your grasp, was too good to be true, but also too good to be false, did my name feel like a lottery ticket before and feel like the aftermath of a crime scene now, a death toll, a graveyard, an obituary, an epitaph, a black-cloaked, scythe-armed thief of all you loved? Do you weep because of me, the lonely clock in the background ticking away the seconds until you'll breathe in the sight of me even though you have to act like my absence doesn't leave you wanting, scrambling to scavenge for some afterthought, do you do silly things now like sympathizing with clocks because all they want is to press forward so that maybe someone else can be happy? Do you feel me? At the beginning, was this child's play? Did you ever dream it would get this out of hand, that we would be burnt in this way? But does some mean, masochistic, self-loathing part of you love it, too? Does it pain you to look my way but you need oxygen in your bloodstream more than you're afraid of being poisoned by little old, love-stained, toxic me? Or am i just a foolish girl far too caught up in dreams?

0

Aug 19, 2016

Aug 19, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC

braileyvine

Optional

Did you really love me, I wonder sometimes, as I browse empty shelves, and I ponder whether I meant enough to you to make you wonder if I felt the same way, to make you hungry, for the knowledge that I wanted you deeply, that I loved you oceanically, that I saw you profoundly, and, at least for a moment, thought you were the only one for me. Sometimes I ask myself, does my picture whisper to you from the wall (or whatever box you've put it in), are there things you want to hear, like I needed you as much as blood needs a vein to travel, like when I see you I see man, like I look at you and remember why I wanted to do this in the first place? I am wondering. Was your heart ever empty? Did I ever truly become the thing that filled you, the one you needed most in the world to talk to you? Is that gleam in your eye as dependent upon me as I am upon you, are you looking for someone else, or do your eyes always disobey like mine do, do your lips speak my name when you think of something or even just try to take your mind off the pain? Do you need me? Because I need you to. Have you tried to replace me, tried hard, so many times, with all of yourself thrown into the effort with more vanity than that of a maze of mirrors, accidental detours all leading you to my name? In your heart, at the center of you, am I eternal. Is this all a failed pitch at loving you in the dark? Or do I remind you of every good thing you've ever done? Of every accident that's turned out to be for the better, of every unplanned wonderful thing unleashed, but of every pain as well, of every bad thing too? Do I look like guitar strings to you? Ready for your fingers to find me and stir me and make me vibrate with musical energy? Do you need me? Do you need me the way trees need to grow and be close to their ever-loving sun, the way a mother needs to feed a newborn a child, the way a star needs hydrogen to burn? Do you think you've done it sometimes? Do think you've managed to forget me, to pry me out of your heart with those skillful hands, only to find out there was another secret tunnel, waiting closer, even deeper, plunging farther into the middle of what you call you, call home? Am I there? Am I there when you think of eons away, of a place you can go to to stop thinking of anything or am I perpetually clinging to your subconscious the way a man clings to the only one he's ever loved? Or not? I need to know- do you hate love because of me? or are you still waiting? For someone to come along and teach your heart how to break in every place you thought was strong as it sings the whole time a tune of hapless, bitter truth? Am I an ache in you? Where I used to be a playful, mediocre spark, am I a bullet so embedded that I cannot be seen, only felt? Farther than anything before has ever pained you, deeper in than can be removed and least of all by you? Does my name feel like something you can't quite remember, a word on the tip of your tongue, some taboo, a language barrier, hoarding you on one side, like contraband, like something illegal that shouldn't be sold but is, like something you just can't get out of your head, like a song you can't find the lyrics to, like a sentence you just can't grasp, like something your mom told you you couldn't do, not until you're older, like something preciously forbidden, like the ugly treasure at the center of the earth, like a star you can see so easily but is really so far away you come to grips with the fact that you'll never have yours on it, like a form of repossession, like empty hands that once stretched around something expensive, something that shouldn't have been yours, but broke all the rules to melt in your grasp, was too good to be true, but also too good to be false, did my name feel like a lottery ticket before and feel like the aftermath of a crime scene now, a death toll, a graveyard, an obituary, an epitaph, a black-cloaked, scythe-armed thief of all you loved? Do you weep because of me, the lonely clock in the background ticking away the seconds until you'll breathe in the sight of me even though you have to act like my absence doesn't leave you wanting, scrambling to scavenge for some afterthought, do you do silly things now like sympathizing with clocks because all they want is to press forward so that maybe someone else can be happy? Do you feel me? At the beginning, was this child's play? Did you ever dream it would get this out of hand, that we would be burnt in this way? But does some mean, masochistic, self-loathing part of you love it, too? Does it pain you to look my way but you need oxygen in your bloodstream more than you're afraid of being poisoned by little old, love-stained, toxic me? Or am i just a foolish girl far too caught up in dreams?

4

Once you've loved somebody, really loved them, can you ever really let them go? Don't they become a part of every decision you make, drops of their opinions soaking into yours? Doesn't your frame remember the way to accommodate theirs, and the buzz of energy they gave? Doesn't that memory of their hand in yours, or the way their hair smelled, or the completely vulnerable way they would whisper secrets stay with you? And even if you're married one day, with children and a dog and a job, doesn't that long ago love stay love? Because if it doesn't, Doesn't that mean it was never really true love at all? People think it's unacceptable, But things really always are. That's why there are so many liars Don't lie to yourself. You still love them. And it doesn't mean you have to go back to them. It just means you really loved them. I won't call you lucky or cursed. You're both. Love holds on. And that's okay. In fact, it's all we really have.

0

Mar 16, 2016

Mar 16, 2016 at 9:42 AM UTC

braileyvine

True Love

Once you've loved somebody, really loved them, can you ever really let them go? Don't they become a part of every decision you make, drops of their opinions soaking into yours? Doesn't your frame remember the way to accommodate theirs, and the buzz of energy they gave? Doesn't that memory of their hand in yours, or the way their hair smelled, or the completely vulnerable way they would whisper secrets stay with you? And even if you're married one day, with children and a dog and a job, doesn't that long ago love stay love? Because if it doesn't, Doesn't that mean it was never really true love at all? People think it's unacceptable, But things really always are. That's why there are so many liars Don't lie to yourself. You still love them. And it doesn't mean you have to go back to them. It just means you really loved them. I won't call you lucky or cursed. You're both. Love holds on. And that's okay. In fact, it's all we really have.

32

Every time I rest my head on his chest, I could hear echoes of all the people who had let go.

0

braileyvine

Nov 5, 2015

Nov 5, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC

rescuingraven

Echo.

Every time I rest my head on his chest, I could hear echoes of all the people who had let go.

1

I don't wish for myself to die, but I wish that I was never born I wouldn't die after I'm broken, but I'd be dead before I'm torn ©

0

braileyvine

Oct 18, 2015

Oct 18, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC

ThePoet

• Born •

I don't wish for myself to die, but I wish that I was never born I wouldn't die after I'm broken, but I'd be dead before I'm torn ©

9

Comfortable syllables flow from the mouths of preachers who tell us the words don't matter, only what's etched incurably in our hearts. But we know better We must flee to be free from the gazes of perfectly winged eyes, standing upright next to suit jackets and pristine ties. And the pleas offered up from our minds are never headed in the right direction, the one all the rosaries and pews point towards- we send our message up to Heaven, taking avenues that even we can't comprehend. And no one believes because they won't spare just one second. They see the worth only in the hours squeezed out of organized bodies and the tangible gifts and the pounded out work deliberately presented, but every hair stays in place and not one drop of sweat falls and they wonder why religion is not an appealing call because they've lost the point under all of the lipstick and lies they lather on. It's absurd to grasp the notion that any god wants to hear from a pack of perfect praisers, raising their children to pray the same way they've always done. There's no way to find your voice under all the babies crying and cries ringing and the fierce scolding of every beautiful thing. So our prayers remain hidden, buried deep in the wind that carries them away. We pray every second of every sequestered and lonesome day. We fill up our spirit in the way we hope as we desperately pull on our clothes that today we won't be too late. We lift up offerings in the tortured songs our tears sing as they run over all the keys engrained in our faces by all the fingers that forlornly stroked our cheeks. We pray by shaking our fists at the sky as the trees rock and sway, upset by the storm that heads our way, as we fall to our knees because we've no better way to express our need than to let it seep from between our clenched fingers. Every swish of a desperate eyelash, momentarily hiding the lake frozen inside is a viable thank you that at least no one treads the length of our ice and a request that one day it will melt and even if it leaks from between our lids, we will be able to let it go Every moment, birds fly from our chests, greeting the infinite clouds with timely beggar's leaves clutched in their mouths Misery is not what we claim, but as we walk, we pray, each step pleading for a better path to follow and a heart that doesn't beat with everyone else's blood pounding so hard against our own

0

Oct 13, 2015

Oct 13, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC

braileyvine

Prayer

Comfortable syllables flow from the mouths of preachers who tell us the words don't matter, only what's etched incurably in our hearts. But we know better We must flee to be free from the gazes of perfectly winged eyes, standing upright next to suit jackets and pristine ties. And the pleas offered up from our minds are never headed in the right direction, the one all the rosaries and pews point towards- we send our message up to Heaven, taking avenues that even we can't comprehend. And no one believes because they won't spare just one second. They see the worth only in the hours squeezed out of organized bodies and the tangible gifts and the pounded out work deliberately presented, but every hair stays in place and not one drop of sweat falls and they wonder why religion is not an appealing call because they've lost the point under all of the lipstick and lies they lather on. It's absurd to grasp the notion that any god wants to hear from a pack of perfect praisers, raising their children to pray the same way they've always done. There's no way to find your voice under all the babies crying and cries ringing and the fierce scolding of every beautiful thing. So our prayers remain hidden, buried deep in the wind that carries them away. We pray every second of every sequestered and lonesome day. We fill up our spirit in the way we hope as we desperately pull on our clothes that today we won't be too late. We lift up offerings in the tortured songs our tears sing as they run over all the keys engrained in our faces by all the fingers that forlornly stroked our cheeks. We pray by shaking our fists at the sky as the trees rock and sway, upset by the storm that heads our way, as we fall to our knees because we've no better way to express our need than to let it seep from between our clenched fingers. Every swish of a desperate eyelash, momentarily hiding the lake frozen inside is a viable thank you that at least no one treads the length of our ice and a request that one day it will melt and even if it leaks from between our lids, we will be able to let it go Every moment, birds fly from our chests, greeting the infinite clouds with timely beggar's leaves clutched in their mouths Misery is not what we claim, but as we walk, we pray, each step pleading for a better path to follow and a heart that doesn't beat with everyone else's blood pounding so hard against our own

25

“Humility is not a one time lesson that comes when you have lost everything. It is a daily reminder of how far we have come, yet still short of who we can be through HIS guidance. Blessed is the soul that can recognize that he isn’t moving mountains, but God is for him.” ― Shannon L. Alder

0

braileyvine

Sep 9, 2015

Sep 9, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC

psalmiseta

Humility

“Humility is not a one time lesson that comes when you have lost everything. It is a daily reminder of how far we have come, yet still short of who we can be through HIS guidance. Blessed is the soul that can recognize that he isn’t moving mountains, but God is for him.” ― Shannon L. Alder

2

Would anyone like to know why Living is the scariest thing, Why success is the hardest to achieve? Well, It’s because you Are the only thing that can make you And the only thing that can break you.

0

Jun 24, 2015

Jun 24, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC

braileyvine

You

Would anyone like to know why Living is the scariest thing, Why success is the hardest to achieve? Well, It’s because you Are the only thing that can make you And the only thing that can break you.

7

All my life I’ve wondered What in the world put me here? And when the colors glide together I must lean back from what I see to get a better look The vivid edges show me what time has really done with my rain-filled skies and happy smiles What movement has Created from my birth and what change has had me realize The events multiply into a saga of choices and things beyond my reach When pondering my achievements I remember the simple moments, choosing to be cordial and the lasting seals I’ve left on this place If just one indefinite thing lives longer than I do it’s been worth it And even at my pessimistic peak, I know that if my most horrible deeds have been coming into possession of someone else’s pen and having too much of a good thing- words, lips, and candy- I’ve done more good than bad But though I try to pull my slack in my stronger moments I can’t quite tauten the string of happenstances Mine. However, this necessitation teaches me to use my greatest abilities the first time and I’ve learned too much to be forced to ponder slighter things for long It is just the most important questions of this life that cause me to sit and wonder like the reason I am a pawn of the world a servant of God ballet is beautiful but a wordless story seems to leave one wanting something more and when I’m gone I need for there to be tastes of my spirit in vision and mind contentment to replace the ordinary dissatisfaction my trunk can grow tall but if only a spattering of leaves grow from branches not reaching vary far what is the point of growing for so long yet if I’ve taught children to look deeper than crust and see core without having to search surely I’ve achieved a perfect score if I’ve molded minds towards fondness of justice I’ve implanted a sound instinct and I hope you’ll always trust it if I’ve shown anyone that a full life is gained by simply not discounting anything I’ve been competent toward my goal. Why come closer when I can hear everything here and when stress turns it all awry and impossible all one has to do is acquire realization that success is achieved solely by keeping the fire going another day being about to see all of the junctures one can overlook even the teeth-gritting occasions can be turned over onto a smoother side and I think most happenings of life are beautiful a tiny boy wondrously tugging soft twists the night’s skies under a girl’s eyes from drowning in pages the previous night putting paint on your nails and orange peels over your teeth colorful shoes and chocolate cake and a first kiss on your 14th birthday, even being too scared to ride or mourning a dog’s death or getting fired for standing up to a cruel boss holding it too long and fights over basketball because each and every commodity should open your eyes to the fact the you are alive (you pick the situations you stay in for the most part and you have the power to make change) and I hope you see that living is not living with no risk every minute is worth it and nothing happens without reason I want you to see that my confidence of a full life comes from every moment that made it up and that my life’s greatest regret is that I don’t remember every day in it.

0

Feb 17, 2015

Feb 17, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC

braileyvine

95

All my life I’ve wondered What in the world put me here? And when the colors glide together I must lean back from what I see to get a better look The vivid edges show me what time has really done with my rain-filled skies and happy smiles What movement has Created from my birth and what change has had me realize The events multiply into a saga of choices and things beyond my reach When pondering my achievements I remember the simple moments, choosing to be cordial and the lasting seals I’ve left on this place If just one indefinite thing lives longer than I do it’s been worth it And even at my pessimistic peak, I know that if my most horrible deeds have been coming into possession of someone else’s pen and having too much of a good thing- words, lips, and candy- I’ve done more good than bad But though I try to pull my slack in my stronger moments I can’t quite tauten the string of happenstances Mine. However, this necessitation teaches me to use my greatest abilities the first time and I’ve learned too much to be forced to ponder slighter things for long It is just the most important questions of this life that cause me to sit and wonder like the reason I am a pawn of the world a servant of God ballet is beautiful but a wordless story seems to leave one wanting something more and when I’m gone I need for there to be tastes of my spirit in vision and mind contentment to replace the ordinary dissatisfaction my trunk can grow tall but if only a spattering of leaves grow from branches not reaching vary far what is the point of growing for so long yet if I’ve taught children to look deeper than crust and see core without having to search surely I’ve achieved a perfect score if I’ve molded minds towards fondness of justice I’ve implanted a sound instinct and I hope you’ll always trust it if I’ve shown anyone that a full life is gained by simply not discounting anything I’ve been competent toward my goal. Why come closer when I can hear everything here and when stress turns it all awry and impossible all one has to do is acquire realization that success is achieved solely by keeping the fire going another day being about to see all of the junctures one can overlook even the teeth-gritting occasions can be turned over onto a smoother side and I think most happenings of life are beautiful a tiny boy wondrously tugging soft twists the night’s skies under a girl’s eyes from drowning in pages the previous night putting paint on your nails and orange peels over your teeth colorful shoes and chocolate cake and a first kiss on your 14th birthday, even being too scared to ride or mourning a dog’s death or getting fired for standing up to a cruel boss holding it too long and fights over basketball because each and every commodity should open your eyes to the fact the you are alive (you pick the situations you stay in for the most part and you have the power to make change) and I hope you see that living is not living with no risk every minute is worth it and nothing happens without reason I want you to see that my confidence of a full life comes from every moment that made it up and that my life’s greatest regret is that I don’t remember every day in it.

137