she begged for god
but god left a long time ago.
i could understand
where she saw hope,
but the light she saw
was just the spark of a lighter.
another day passed,
another moon risen.
we paint our faces like
babylonian ******
and step out into the streets
to drown our troubles
in ***** and older men.
we lie to our parents
when we come home,
but we are still little girls
who smell like cigarette smoke
and ***
her room is filled
with dead artist on her wall,
records in the corner,
a forgotten guitar
she often glances at before meeting
me under a streetlamp.
we quote jim morrison
and sing amy winehouse
as whiskey slides down our throats
and burns our chests.
the men we drink with say
we remind them of their daughters
but by the end of the night
the liquor in them draws them to our
'old souls'.
and now you watch her
from the other side of the bar,
the eye contact holding
a lust and desire
only eros could create.
as you swig back
the amber liquid
in your glass,
only one thought suffocates
all others;
you'll have her begging for god tonight.
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 9:31 PM UTC
one day we will all be forgotten
and no one will remember the way your eyelashes
fluttered in the moments you retained conciousness.
they will not remember
my melancholy eyes as you spoke words
that sounded like waves crashing through my ears.
they will not remember
the sight of your hand enfolded into mine
with our innocence being the main focus of the image.
one day i will no longer
remember who you were or what you meant to me.
however,
i currently have no plans of forgetting you
any time soon.
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
From love's first fever to her plague, from the soft second
And to the hollow minute of the womb,
From the unfolding to the scissored caul,
The time for breast and the green apron age
When no mouth stirred about the hanging famine,
All world was one, one windy nothing,
My world was christened in a stream of milk.
And earth and sky were as one airy hill.
The sun and mood shed one white light.
From the first print of the unshodden foot, the lifting
Hand, the breaking of the hair,
From the first scent of the heart, the warning ghost,
And to the first dumb wonder at the flesh,
The sun was red, the moon was grey,
The earth and sky were as two mountains meeting.
The body prospered, teeth in the marrowed gums,
The growing bones, the rumour of the manseed
Within the hallowed gland, blood blessed the heart,
And the four winds, that had long blown as one,
Shone in my ears the light of sound,
Called in my eyes the sound of light.
And yellow was the multiplying sand,
Each golden grain spat life into its fellow,
Green was the singing house.
The plum my mother picked matured slowly,
The boy she dropped from darkness at her side
Into the sided lap of light grew strong,
Was muscled, matted, wise to the crying thigh,
And to the voice that, like a voice of hunger,
Itched in the noise of wind and sun.
And from the first declension of the flesh
I learnt man's tongue, to twist the shapes of thoughts
Into the stony idiom of the brain,
To shade and knit anew the patch of words
Left by the dead who, in their moonless acre,
Need no word's warmth.
The root of tongues ends in a spentout cancer,
That but a name, where maggots have their X.
I learnt the verbs of will, and had my secret;
The code of night tapped on my tongue;
What had been one was many sounding minded.
One wound, one mind, spewed out the matter,
One breast gave **** the fever's issue;
From the divorcing sky I learnt the double,
The two-framed globe that spun into a score;
A million minds gave **** to such a bud
As forks my eye;
Youth did condense; the tears of spring
Dissolved in summer and the hundred seasons;
One sun, one manna, warmed and fed.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC
i'd say i'd want to die,
but i am not living,
only existing.
going day by day,
the same routine over and over,
slowly being filled with hatred
for those who have stolen your
love and freedom away from you.
'i hate you! i hate you! i hate you!'
you wish to scream, but
suppress it all in a look they
cannot read.
**** it, i'll cry.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 10:07 PM UTC
this room may be filled with color,
but all i see is grey.
this world may be filled with light,
but i am shrouded in darkness.
this face may replicate a smile,
but the heart holds a longing
for youth, freedom, love,
overshadowed by a depression
i cannot overcome.
i spend my waking days
growing weary, sleeping until
my headaches have passed,
eating until i become so full
i can ***** out my feelings.
and yet, i have not let a tear fall
because i am waiting for the day you'll wipe them away.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
i cannot write.
i cannot think.
i cannot sleep.
i can only work work work work work
until i drop dead.
i read your poetry every day
searching for myself
in every syllable.
but it's all about me!
i
i
i
ineedsleep.
i
i
i
iamamess.
just like this poem i think i am good at writing.
(amessamessamess)
i
i
i
iwouldtakeasleepingpillbut
it would only result in a mess.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
do you ever realize
just how beautiful someone is,
when their face is illuminated by that 5pm glow,
those golden rays coloring their face,
accentuating perfection
on an already perfect canvas?
do you ever realize
just how beautiful someone is,
when they’re excited, talking about something they love,
and you’re encompassed by the bubble they share
because the words can’t tumble out of their mouth fast enough?
do you ever realize
just how beautiful someone is,
when you see them in their element,
writing or teaching or just speaking to a group,
and you know that can’t see you watching
but how could you help yourself cause
oh god
you’ve never seen something
quite so beautiful.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
it's not that i'm depressed.
it's just that i've become incapable of being optimistic,
lost the ability to believe in empty cliches like
"it will get better."
it,
this mysterious pronoun has had a year and a half
to get its **** together,
to get better.
it hasn't been able to tell me
what the hell is going on in my brain.
it's not that i'm depressed.
it's just that my thoughts are smoke rings swirling around my head
clouding my vision,
tainting my decisions,
inhibiting my inhibitions.
it's hard to see the light when the spectrum is in
black & white,
the same monotone colors like
the dimness of my phone screen as
grey tears fall on it, dissipating
the smoke rings around my head.
it's not that i'm depressed.
it's just that sometimes i stand in the shower with
the water so hot i can
just
barely
take it but
isn't that the irony of it anyways?
the only time i can feel,
the only time i can breathe
is when i'm being drowned in a torrent of hell-water.
don't worry, satan approves of my
misgivings.
it's not that i'm depressed.
it's just that my words clot in my veins like stones
jabbing at my insides to be let out,
crawling up my throat,
begging,
no--
demanding
to be let out or else.
or else what? you may ask.
well the answer is or else
i may never see the sun again,
i may never smile that smile
so many say could light up a city.
it's not that i'm depressed.
just maybe a little sad
sometimes.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC
when a poet falls in love with you
you can never die
they will notice the way
you rub your palms and look down
when someone is angry at you
and the way you smirk
as you pull away from a kiss
they will notice how you can't sleep
without your body touching someone else's
how you never crease any pages of books
and how you close your eyes when you dance in your kitchen
with your record player on
they will find all of the words
that they see you as
and turn them into something beautiful
people say you die twice
once when you stop breathing
and when someone says your name
for the last time
if you fall in love with a poet
they will never stop
mentioning your name
you will be alive
for eternity
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 1:46 PM UTC
dear mom,
there are so many things i would
like you to know, but i fear your
judgment. there are so many
times that you've ruined for me.
there are so many memories you
have taken away from me. yet i
still love you.
what makes you so different from
a toxic lover? what separates this
heartbreak from the one before?
what satisfaction do you get from
taking my friendships away, my
family away? why must you break
my heart worse than anyone else?
love, bailey.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 12:14 PM UTC