Roses are red, violets are blue
Sugar is sweet and perhaps so are you
But the roses have wilted, the violets are dead
The sugar bowl's empty, and your wrists stained red
The sun isn't shining, the sky isn't clear
There's no silver lining cause you're no longer here
Rain keeps on pouring, there's no end in sight
You're laying there frozen, so far from the light
Your beauty's unreal, your smile the sun
But time can't be turned, nor your actions undone
The words that you wrote that I only read
"I love you so much, please don't cry when I'm dead"
The bond that we shared; a love that ran deep
The pain that we shared; a friend I could keep
I wanted to hold you to wipe the tears from your eyes
Been there the moment you said your goodbye
I want to forget but most times I don't
I want to let you go but I know that I won't
Tears on my face, memories burned in my head
The roses are wilted and the violets are dead.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 12:15 AM UTC
Hey.
You knew I was sad as soon as I said hey.
As soon as you opened he door, you sensed it. Something was off.
You didn't say anything, you didn't prompt me.
Instead you said, "Let's just keep driving. Let's get ice cream, I'll pay.
Let's go sit in a park somewhere and just talk."
Thinking you were on to me I asked why,
You said "I'm bored and needed somewhere to go."
I let it slide.
But you knew, and you'd later admit to it.
But you didn't want to push it, you wanted me to disclose my sadness in my own time,
You wanted me to be comfortable and for that I thank you.
10 p.m.
This seems to be our thing now,
Sitting on the swings in a park long abandoned in the darkness
Rambling on about whatever we think or feel on that particular night.
You ask what I've been up to, a code we both know means "where have I been."
You've noticed the grad parties I skipped, or ones I left too quickly;
You've noticed the lack of photo-posting and online presence.
I haven't bothered you to hang out in a while.
You don't say it but we both know what you mean.
Because that's the thing, you know me all too well.
When I say I've been at home watching reruns of The Office
You know that means I've been sleeping on the couch in the same clothes for three days.
When I say I've been tired
You know I've been asleep from 3 a.m. to 3 p.m., and barely moving for the remaining hours of each day.
And when I say I'm forgetful
You know I don't mean forgetting grad parties,
You know I mean I've forgotten to feed myself for days on end because my body's gone numb to the feeling of hunger.
You tell me things I didn't know about myself.
When I, on the verge of tears, disclose that one of my "friends" makes me feel worthless by the way he talks -
And that even though I want so badly to be the girl who can take a joke that I too sometimes feel small -
You say you already knew.
That you knew because of the way I laughed.
How after he said these things that hurt me
My laugh wasn't loud and raucous like it is when I'm happy,
But soft, and airy, broken almost.
And how when I do this damaged laugh I lightly bat at the person's arm,
As if it's my way of slapping them without injuring them
Or trying to make them feel a little piece of the hurt I felt.
You say it's been like this as long as you've known me.
I ask you why you know this laugh so well, and you say,
"Because. That's when I know I've messed up.
That's when I need to apologize."
And you always do
But you've never messed up.
You ask if you've ever made me feel the way that he did,
If you've ever unknowingly pushed me to the edge of tear fall,
And you seem wounded at the thought.
As if making me feel the way he does would break your heart.
I assure you it's not true and you frantically plead that I'll tell you if you ever do
So we can talk about it and you can understand and be sure it doesn't happen again.
I laugh.
Not my sad laugh that you know more than I,
And not my boisterous joyful one either.
Just a light giggle to myself, because the very thought of you hurting me is so amusing.
It won't happen. Your soul is too good.
You're the most caring and thoughtful person I've known and yet you're concerned you might hurt me, as if it's even in your power.
You're not like that, you just don't know it.
Maybe you know me better than you.
You worry so often about being a bad friend,
But here's the one thing you don't know about me:
You're the only good one I've got.
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
I had a dream about you
You said I was beautiful
And that you were falling in love all
over again
I wasn't even wearing anything special
But there you were
In love, like you used to be
But then
I woke up suddenly
And I thought
Why do I do this to myself
And I didn't know if I meant dreaming of you
Or waking up
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 2:36 AM UTC
Fake smiles, but teary eyes.
Alone in my room crying at night.
i'm just gonna hide the scars with a sweater
can't tell them i don't actually feel better.
i'm so sad but i can't tell you why
"i'm just tired" is my favourite lie.
It's almost christmas and everyone's happy
But in winter time i just feel so ******
I don't know why i feel so bad
truth is i'm just another depressed sociopath
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 7:13 PM UTC
Thank you for crying
for being who you are
for continually trying
to understand who other people are
In those tears is empathy
that's the kind of man you try to be
Others should be like you
looking for the world in a sea of blue
trying to understand things they don't know
so that one day they'll be able to grow
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 7:12 PM UTC
I see her walking in the hallways
Flawless as can be.
So effortlessly pretty,
And so much unlike me.
When she's with me in a classroom
I simply sit and gaze.
How'd he ever leave someone
So beautiful in countless ways?
With her gorgeous hazel doe eyes,
And wild mane of curled black hair.
I watch her and I see
Everything he once saw there.
Her smile and her dimples
Are so easy to love;
Unlike my crooked grin,
So easy to let go of.
She always dresses nicely,
Looking cute and sweet each day.
I never look as good as her,
Though I try in every way.
She has no need for makeup;
Her skin is tan and clear.
Mine is pale and flawed,
My features harsh and severe.
I wonder why he chose me
Instead of chasing her again.
I watch the girl with admiration,
But hold jealousy within.
And then one day I caught her
Looking back at me the same way.
I wonder if she was thinking,
"Why'd he ever give me a way?"
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 12:30 AM UTC
Do you remember when we stayed up all night while you read your poems to me?
The day we watched movies, didn't get out of bed & cried our eyes out because the stories were so moving?
It mattered not that we were broke or that there was a recession, we laughed and cried made our own fun and enjoyed all of our our obsessions.
I miss that man that first came to stay with me.
I no longer know who you are and why you decided to leave.
I try not to miss you while hoping that you miss me.
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC
Once upon my wildest dreams
I jumped and fell in love -
A love that shone as greatly
As the bright red sun above.
It was early on an autumn morn
When I first took this leap;
The leaves were dry and yellow
And the sky began to weep.
Yet the dreary, melancholy weather
I simply did not see,
For more important so than breathing
Was this love to me.
Yes early on an autumn morn
In a campsite, draped in dew,
I fell in love with autumn
When I fell in love with you.
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 1:03 AM UTC
I don't know what it means to be a good person anymore.
It was easier when my head was full of pigtails
instead of politics,
when good was opening doors
and doing your chores.
When it was easier to pick out the bad.
Children are gifted with innocence
and a diagram shaded with generalizations
that their parents hold as truths.
Mine shaded family members green,
male strangers red.
Mine shaded police officers green,
black people pink -
a whisper of bigotry, a silent justification.
Mine shaded teachers green,
playground bullies red.
But when innocence fades,
colors mix
and saturations grow stronger.
My grandma tells me that she wishes she could think like me
because she grew up
in a world without rainbows,
where white was good,
and everything else was bad.
But I don't know what good is
when all I see is gray.
It's not a generalization or a stereotype.
I'm not whining because I countlessly fail at using my privileges to help people,
I'm shouting
because I've been beaten down with criticism
for trying to be what I thought was
good.
My vision has been fogged with fear,
and whatever shade of green that trust used to be
is bleeding burgundy.
What the hell does it mean to be a good person?
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC
I'm on a constant search for a character to play.
I'm always looking for a new personality to absorb, for a being that I can study inside and out.
Someone to mimic. Someone to portray. Someone to become.
Every book I read, every film I see, every character I encounter. No matter what, I always find someone I wish to personate (yes, it is a word).
Actor's curse I guess.
Perhaps it's because I don't like myself very much.
Or, perhaps, it's because I don't know myself very much.
With each new person I encounter that captures my interest, whether it be in literature or film or other areas of culture, I begin to study them.
I learn everything about them there is to know, all through observation.
I listen to what they say, and how they say it.
I watch the way they walk, and their posture when they stand, and the way their faces compress and twist when interacting with others.
I notice their mannerisms, and their habits, and examine the way they fit into the world around them.
Then, I get inside their heads.
I dissect every bit of information I have about the individual, and use it to discover all that I can about their mind, their spirit, their ambitions, their soul.
I ask myself, what does everything I've observed about this person, say about them?
What is their purpose, and their motivation?
What are they striving for?
How do they feel about themselves, and about others, and about the state of the world?
How would they handle this situation, or that one?
What are their thoughts when this or that happens?
And in regards to each of the above, why? What are the things that have made them who they are?
And finally, to the best of my ability, I take on that persona.
I suppose I enjoy this process so much because these are the things I do not notice and the questions I cannot answer about myself.
I do not know my own purpose, and I have no motivation, and I cannot tell you why I feel that love is both a feeling and a conscious effort, or that life is not about a goal or a dream or even your own happiness, or that the universe is alive yet numb simultaneously. These are issues I cannot tackle within my own head.
For I do not know myself.
I know that I feel that I am incomplete, and that there is more to myself that is currently missing. But of the pieces I have, there are not many that I am overly
familiar with, or for that matter, overly fond of.
But I do believe that I can find these missing fragments of myself in the personalities I adopt.
In the theatre we have a saying, that "The hardest role to play is yourself."
This is because it's easier to get to know, to understand, and to defend the people in your script than it is yourself. But through getting to know who they are, you discover more about who you are.
In each character I play, I find a piece of myself. And when the show is over, and the character is gone from me, that piece stays. It is with me always.
That is to say, that I am not entirely myself, but also every character I have portrayed.
They are me, and I am them, and I know their happiness and their sorrow and their triumphs and their defeats, more intimately than I know my own.
I am not very good at playing myself, because myself is incomplete. But I'm fairly good at finding myself through my love of other personas.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 8:17 PM UTC