There is something so special
about your second love.
I was taught
that the second does not hurt as badly
as the first,
but that was wrong.
When I think of his hand
tracing over the outline of my spine,
his fingers ghosting over my skin
in the same manner that his presence
hovered in the room
caused for my heart to shatter
at the same time as it did for my skin to erupt
into goosebumps.
I was angry because I felt that my body was betraying me
by enjoying his actions
while he painstakingly was leaving;
checking out mentally.
He told me that he loved me.
He lied.
I knew from the moment the words left his mouth
that they were empty,
and yet I allowed them to flow from my eardrums
straight into the base of my heart
to settle there, build a nest and remain
until he left.
Now I know that he will not return
and the nest will stay there
until another can come
to build a new one.
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 2:36 PM UTC
snap me in half, peel back my flesh, dig your hand
into my ribcage and retrieve my heart
so that you can serve it on a silver platter.
now, dip your quill into the crimson pool
that i've left on the ground
and write out every pretty thought inside your mind.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 3:45 AM UTC
Pain is the gasoline
added to the flame
that allows me to
create.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 2:51 AM UTC
And when he finally comes up
from between my legs
to plant a kiss on my lips,
he tastes of coffee and me.
It’s a good thing
I love coffee.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
A blackbird will perch herself
in the corner of my window;
her head tilting in curiosity
as his hand
will cause my cheek
to burn red.
What do birds think about?
What can they do?
Too often I will turn to the blackbird
to beg for her to save me
from the hell that I will not leave.
My heart
is encompassed by the cage that
will not allow for it to throb
with the pain that the rest of my body feels.
Will she help?
Will she hear my pleas?
He hears me.
He finds it amusing.
He will laugh as his fingers wrap
one by one around that birdie’s neck,
using the shards of my heart
to dig into the feathers
that adorn her body.
The blood is invisible
against the black of her back,
but a metallic stench
will fill the air.
It is something that will have sent me to the emergency room
one too many a time.
Her song will not be silenced,
although the beautiful melody that once
separated her beak;
a joyous sound,
is replaced by the snap of her bones.
It is not until this moment
that I will be pulled from my trance.
Once he is satisfied,
he will pluck a single feather
from the back of what is left of that little birdie,
and he will attach it to the quill
that he uses
to grant me my death wish;
loving him.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
Two people
in the right place
at the right time
slowly begin
to fall in love.
It starts with a brush here,
a giggle there,
a kiss here,
a kiss there.
Falling with their hands
fumbling in an attempt to grasp
anything to hold them up
as they began to spiral
out of control.
When they need each other to breathe,
when not having the other results in
gasping for air
and being pulled under
by the tide.
As soon as one left,
it was as though their bones
were hollowed out and left with nothing
but the echoes of each other.
But what happens
when one does not return?
When one is left
struggling to breathe,
to wake,
to carry on?
One said that not everything
is meant to last
while the other sat back
wincing at each spoken word.
Two people
in the right place
at the right time
quickly begin
to fall out of love.
Because
are you truly feeling love
if your soul
isn’t being torn apart?
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 11:38 PM UTC
Her eyes shone
and reflected every one of the
galaxies above us.
The ones that
freckled the sky
in the same manner that
the shadows of the night
wove and created
patterns on her skin.
I swore that God used
the same paintbrush to
paint the sky that he used
to paint
the gleam in her eyes.
The one that allowed for that reflection.
Looking at her
was like looking through a telescope;
possibilities never ended.
Dreams were made upon these
galaxies.
Lord knows mine were.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 11:38 PM UTC
Your lips kiss me black and blue.
Lucky for you,
that's when I feel prettiest.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 12:08 AM UTC
I wish that I could
once again see
through the eyes of a child.
Where pillows are clouds
soaring high through the sky,
elevated above the rest of humanity
and suspends throughout positivity.
Where the wind sounds like wolves
howling into the dark night,
heads tipped back while they cry to the moon.
Where everything is innocent
and the only thing that you needed
to worry about was whether or not you'd be invited to your friend's birthday party.
You always are.
Parents like to make things fair.
Where the barcodes on food packages
are not just the key to counting your ribs each morning
in hopes of weighing less than your bones.
Where the American dream is more than being
the skeletal version of yourself,
more than hunching over a porcelain sink each morning
with your heart in your hands
and your tears making tracks to the emptied cage that contained the battered thing.
Where you fear the darkness
because of the boogeyman or the monsters in your closet
rather than the ones that walk
alongside you on the streets
or even the ones that haunt you
every time you close your eyes.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 12:06 AM UTC
Why is it?
Why is it that we are willing to hurt ourselves so badly,
to allow our hearts to be broken time and time again?
To shatter who we are.
To spend our nights in nothing but silence
and the sniffles that break through the air.
What are we doing?
What gives them the right?
You run after the person senselessly,
blinded by the brutal truth.
Blinded by the fact that you are running not only
back towards them,
but running away from the truth.
The truth that they no longer want you.
And so you run.
You run, and you run
so hard and so far that your bones begin to melt into
the path that you so desperately try to stay on.
You’re killing yourself
with the need of a single person.
Find a way to let them go.
It will hurt.
It will feel as though your heart is being torn from your chest
and simply discarded.
Like a piece of trash.
But let them go.
Let them run and run,
because they will end up turning the tables.
They will realize who they have lost.
They will begin to run after you,
continuing the never ending chase.
But they’ll be too tired
because they were chasing the wrong person all along.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC