Two years ago I wore bunny ears and a bunny tail on Halloween at the exact same moment I texted you "Happy Birthday".
Twelve mini-cupcakes later, Two years later, I can't decide whether or not It will be a happy birth day.
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
**You are a shotgun that shoots me with flowers, that stick to my skin like the wet morning air.
You are apologies left unread hidden in the mailboxes of the people I love during the humid summers of Florida.
You are a pocket knife.
You are a lighter with little gas left.
You are essential to live, if not, it would mean a life without tears rolling down my dry skin when I’m eating York Peppermint patties at 2 am thinking of you.
You are a shotgun.
You are the light of a dimly lit candle that burns me when I go to turn the flame off with my fingers in the middle of a monsoon.
You are a noose.
You are a hammer with no nail on a rainy Sunday evening.
You are a shotgun that shoots me with flowers.**
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 6:58 AM UTC
because i know you
because i have felt you
in the shower
in the back of a cherry red
Jeep Laredo
because the last time we spoke
you confessed you ate
Peppermint York Patties
because they remind you of me
because i should have never
been to scared
to say "i'm scared"
because your laugh makes me
laugh
because i see Christmas lights
in your eyes
because i am beautiful to you
because i am always
always going to remember
*** in a motel room
*** on your cheetah comforter
*** on the leather couch
because i will never forget how i felt
like i had died
when i let you go
because your drug habits are
mine
because my passcode is still
bun
because i love you
too much
for myself to carry alone
because i need you to carry it
with me
because i love you
too
much
for myself.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC
I have conquered love.
I need no more the boy I once used to admire, I need no more of him.
I have accepted love.
I want no more of his touch, I want no more of his pain.
I now have a sweet, sweet boy.
I now know he is not him. I now know I can live.
A boy with eyes a hazel hurricane.
A boy with height to last for days.
A boy who wipes the tears I cry, a boy
Who I call mine.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
Dear Mom, I hate you for pointing out my insecurities every day of my adolescent life. I used to love you before I noticed you couldn't love me the way I was. Dear middle/high school, I hate you for making me fight for my body like it was a war. Dear myself, I hate you for caring so much about things that shouldn't matter and for making me obsess over the every little calorie.
Dear Bulimia/Anorexia:
I used to love you, I used to be proud to show you off, I used to be careless about the way you made me feel. I used to come home and weight myself five time a day, I used to measure out my dimensions. I used to rationalize calories for different parts of the week, and on bad times, throughout the months. I used to eat 6 almonds every day for three months and taught myself that fainting is just like sleeping. I used to scratch my head and pull out locks of my hair. I loved you, like a heroine addict loves dope.
**** you** for making me so weak, **** you** for showing me a normal life, and **** you** for purging on it years later. You let me have my sweet taste and I've let it consume me. **** you** for making me turn my mirrors around and for making me look at myself as if I was broken and needed a good fixing. **** you** for taking my life and for taking my pride.
I can't possibly think of the many ways to say how I loved you. I can't think of all the ways I want to say how much I hate you. I used to blame myself for not abiding to your rules, I used to blame myself for that burger I ate last month, I used to blame myself for the weight I've gained.
Dear You, I have personified you to the point where I'm scared to tell you I don't want it anymore. You are not a disease, and you're so proud of it. **You're a ******* part of me. A part I don't want to be anymore**.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 12:14 PM UTC
At fifteen you showed me the thrill out of life I always craved and If I wasn't such a pessimist, I would have told you I wanted to, too.
You would drive me around in your car, drifting with the winds at midnight smoke sessions.
At sixteen you stopped seeing her, and her, and her. You stared to talk about her, crying about her. You called me and you called, my god you called. I would let you drive me around, holding fingers with the smell of once faded smoke residue on your car seats.
At seventeen we went to a janky *** motel and I watched you transform into the glistening end of a lit herb. You took me to the end of a long road that was our life together, the end of a friendship. You let me drive your car while holding fingers and telling each other things. I told you what my favorite song was. You told me it could work.
At seventeen you told me I was pretty. At seventeen you took my virginity. At seventeen you announced 'i love you' on the beach at midnight.
At eighteen it was me, and you, and the world. I would drive you around in my car. I would wake up, naked, pressed against your body, clinging like it was life. At eighteen I told you I was leaving. You wanted to come. At eighteen it was me. At eighteen it was you.
**At nineteen I left.
At nineteen I still don't know why I did.
At semi-twenty am I still wondering how you are and if you think of me**.
I wrote you as poetry. I am so sorry.
I should have written you as non-fiction.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 6:28 PM UTC
I'd start by asking you, politely
if I could explore the depths of your body
like a librarian in an endless library
searching for the history book in
a row of poetry.
Your body, like a part of history,
has been taught to me,
by the only one who has ever had the
chance of exploring it,
so enchantingly, every night,
you.
Let me explore your seas.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 6:01 PM UTC
I have recently started to work on individual pieces that will later go into an entire piece (such as this one) about things in my life in which I find. Find what exactly? I'll leave that up to interpretation.
My idea here is to end the sugar coating of the realness of growing up.
To the age of Heartbreak and the Heartless, I write for you
I had a boy tell me "you're a breath of fresh air" everyday for a year. I broke his heart as I did mine. I had a boy tell me pretty things and I stepped all over it. I'm still breathing. I'm still fine. But I feel it from time to time.
Heartbreak will come for you, if it hasn't already, in any kind of form. This day and age, anything breaks your heart. Will it be okay? Probably, probably not. They'll leave you, you'll leave them, your phone will break, someone might die, you'll cry, you'll drop out, you may become an addict, and you may even lose them all together. The world has endless ways of telling you "stop crying about it" but you'll always find more reasons to do it anyways. My advice? Feel it. Feel the heartbreak coursing through your veins and take it in like the very drug it is. You may not see it yet, but you're a heart-breaker and you've got to start enjoying it. It'll hit you, and you'll be consumed (let it consume you.)
We're the heartless walking among the heartbroken. Give it out, your heart can take the beating it will surely get. We live life afraid of being hurt and yet we don't give a **** anyway. Eliminate the fear and just let it hurt you. Give your heart to people. Bottling it up will only suffocate it. There's someone/something for everyone or there might just be more than one for you, that's cool too. We're the society that has let the wrong things consume us; social standards, media, others, careers, get the **** over it. We're not here to be skeletons of the past or the famous. Be the rotting corpse you want to be, be the heartless ones who fear more of life being taken than life being ******
Life is ****** break a heart or two, and toughen up.
Being Found
There will be a day, where you’ll wake up and realize something that’ll probably change your life. I had an honest moment not too long ago, and have had trouble putting it into words. To be completely honest, a little cliche even, I felt the fall hit me in the gut and I gave in. I gave in to the slight chill in the breeze that flew by my bare face and yes, I wished for more of it. Typically like the entire human race yearns for more and more of things until, well frankly, they just get bored. I had someone recently tell me: “ If you don’t look for it, the finding will be much more spectacular” and there came my honest moment throwing me a slightly irritating wack in the jaw. I did my finding after the found and I couldn’t quite find it. Bare with me, now with the story of how I was found without finding.
I was once a girl that wanted to be wanted, to be held, and to be the one someone held on to. I was the girl who asked instead of holding hands to hold fingers, because it made me feel something different. I was the girl who chose to stay the “findee” because I felt that was where the magic happens. I then became the girl who had no idea who she was, I became the girl who didn’t want to find anymore.
It was then a Monday, when the finding took place. I was found and the finding was not done by me, rather another “findee” in training.
I found that you can smell the seasons change and feel the weather drop. I also found that having the seasons fly away so rapidly is the reason why you’d have to sit the **** down and enjoy it. I had an honest moment when I realized that I love it when my bed is ragged and unmade at all times and when I take a swing of emotions when I’m drunk and alone. I love it because I know people don’t want to admit it’s a ****** time, this thing called “becoming an adult” or “doing you” while it seems as if people are doing them, greatly.
Sit the **** down, and have an honest moment. Take in the changing colors of the leaves and don’t wear a sweater when it’s ******* freezing out. Let go of being the tired findee, and let it find you.
And for the love of God, secure it when you’re found, as it will be spectacular and all, it could fly away.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
Monday mornings we're meant to
be sat down, handed coffee, and weakened.
I didn't know you wanted to be heard.
I wrote my headline for you.
Tuesday mornings are the equivalent
to the morning after, sudden and hungover.
I should have known you were decomposing.
I moved waters for you.
Wednesday evenings I had the time to cry.
I had the time to clean up my act
and to forget the morning.
You should have seen my bones.
I was starved for you.
Thursday nights felt like I could take
boat rides, through the seas of lovers lost
and lovers dead.
You should have felt how corrupted I was.
I sold my soul for you.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 11:17 PM UTC
There will be a day, where you’ll wake up and realize something that’ll probably change your life. I had an honest moment not too long ago, and have had trouble putting it into words. To be completely honest, a little cliche even, I felt the fall hit me in the gut and I gave in. I gave in to the slight chill in the breeze that flew by my bare face and yes, I wished for more of it. Typically like the entire human race yearns for more and more of things until, well frankly, they just get bored. I had someone recently tell me: “ If you don’t look for it, the finding will be much more spectacular” and there came my honest moment throwing me a slightly irritating wack in the jaw. I did my finding after the found and I couldn’t quite find it. Bare with me, now with the story of how I was found without finding.
I was once a girl that wanted to be wanted, to be held, and to be the one someone held on to. I was the girl who asked instead of holding hands to hold fingers, because it made me feel something different. I was the girl who chose to stay the “findee” because I felt that was where the magic happens. I then became the girl who had no idea who she was, I became the girl who didn’t want to find anymore.
It was then a Monday, when the finding took place. I was found and the finding was not done by me, rather another “findee” in training.
I found that you can smell the seasons change and feel the weather drop. I also found that having the seasons fly away so rapidly is the reason why you’d have to sit the **** down and enjoy it. I had an honest moment when I realized that I love it when my bed is ragged and unmade at all times and when I take a swing of emotions when I’m drunk and alone. I love it because I know people don’t want to admit it’s a ****** time, this thing called “becoming an adult” or “doing you” while it seems as if people are doing them, greatly.
Sit the **** down, and have an honest moment. Take in the changing colors of the leaves and don’t wear a sweater when it’s ******* freezing out. Let go of being the tired findee, and let it find you.
And for the love of God, secure it when you’re found, as it will be spectacular and all, it could fly away.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 2:55 PM UTC