kissing you was like swerving into oncoming traffic
i can never tell if i am more haunted by empty picture frames or the ashes of their contents
you taught me that the saying "pick your battles" meant not answering when love was at the door
sometimes when i drink whiskey i swear i can hear your voice in the creases of my bedsheets & i sleep on the floor
i still catch myself running my hands over things you touched the most, looking for the echoes of your fingertips
i practice things i'll never say to you
i remember the day you told me you didn't like poetry, how "everything's already been said" & how "nothing meaningful can be captured without being cliche" you know, i don't miss you like the sun and moon, i do not miss you like tide bent waves crashing on the shoreline, i miss you like a chernobyl swingset misses children
rumor has it that drowning is a lot like coming home, that drinking bleach can **** the butterflies in your stomach
for your love of cigarettes, i would have been an ashtray
this halloween i want to dress up as the you when you loved yourself and show up on your doorstep
i never understood what you meant when you said i was an instrument, back when you would cup your hands around my chest and breathe through the holes in my heart, i still wonder if the sounds i made remind you of wind chimes
i never paid much attention to abandoned buildings until i became one
in my dreams all the flowers smell like your perfume
i am the only person who has ever wished for the same snowflake to fall twice
if i could go back, and rewrite the definition of audacity, it would be how when we lost the bet of love, you said "we never shook on it"
i love you, if the feeling is not mutual, please pretend this was a poem
the only apology i want from you, is to have you repeat the names of children we will never have in your parents living room until they *****
we are the same person if you find yourself up at 4am dry heaving promises, or if you are kept awake by the laughter of those who've abandoned you
nobody ever told you that goodbyes taste like the back of stamps
sometimes i'm convinced that the only reason we hug, is so you can check my back for exit wounds
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
but its not about you, or anyone, its not something someones done to me, its just that sometimes i run out of love to give and it just feels like the party has gone too long and sometimes days are too hard and nights come too sharp and i think, "maybe today, today seems a day to die," but i never do it, and I'm always happy i don't, but i still with things would change, and they never do, and i always worry they never will.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
If you love someone you tell them
when you love them
you
tell
them
If you love me
tell me
I can't wait
and wait
and wait
and
wait
forever.
So I didn't
and now
I hate myself for it
I hope
I hope
I hope
your heart is just as broken as mine
I hope
you feel broken too.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 6:43 PM UTC
Well what was I supposed to do?
Fight?
You really think I'm that crazy, that fearless, that brave?
They say there are three kinda of heartbreak.
No.1 When someone is clumsy with your heart and drops it, breaking it into 1000 pieces.
No.2 When you break someones heart. Having to look into their eye and turn them away.
No.3 When your heart breaks everyday by watching the person you love love someone else.
These are all viable theories but I disagree.
We are the breakers of out own hearts.
We are responsible for our own catastrophes,
and thats just it.
Maybe thats why it hurts so bad,
because its my fault.
I do it to myself.
I probably shouldn't be so hard on myself though.
If you're hurting now its because you did it,
you alone.
I won't ever know though.
Maybe thats what really hurts.
The so many "ifs".
The so many questions.
Perhaps I get my sad sop of a life published one day
and by fortune you find yourself reading it.
Perhaps the assumption of your affections for me infuriates you,
or perhaps you weep for loves long lost.
Perhaps in the future in we cross paths again when we're ready.
When we're good and ready.
Or we don't,
and I don't,
and you don't care,
you never cared.
I was right,
its the questions.
Why do you think people enjoy adrenaline rushes so much?
Is it the surge of fear,
impending death,
or the relief that follows?
Why do we keep hurting ourselves?
Because it feels so ****** good when it stops.
Real Nirvana isn't the answering of the questions,
but the decision to stop asking them.
Unfortunately enough every thought is tainted with your ghost.
You follow me around,
your name incessantly whispered behind my back.
So until I reach Nirvana is a lifetime away.
One in which I hope you return into
because I'm afraid I do like you a whole lot and I'm afraid I do not like it one bit.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
Last night I kissed a boy with taste of cigarette on his lips
He was drunk and he told me I was beautiful
Last night I had *** with a boy who would come up behind me after and hold me
This morning I woke up a boy with kisses and nuzzles because I wanted him to wake up happy
This morning I was dropped off at my house by a boy who I cant get out of my head
Last night I kissed a boy I've been kissing for 5 weekends straight
and every week I say "what am I doing?!? This must stop now!"
but every friday I kiss him again
and God I wish I didn't,
I wish I didn't want to
but there is nothing else I'd rather be doing when I'm doing it
and mush less when I'm doing anything else.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
And as I sit here pondering about my life,
The only thing that arouses over and over is you.
As girls, we crave the touch of tenderness and serenity;
To be looked at with presence and with the gold ness in your eyes.
If we are lucky enough to find it, grasp onto it like a rope,
Because one day you will look back and say, "He was my only hope."
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 10:58 AM UTC
“I like to pretend that sometimes” I said. He looked at me, in a way as though asking why or how without the desire to physically say the words.
“What I mean is that sometimes I like to pretend you were my first, instead of your older boy summer romance cliche. I don't know why though. Maybe I want to keep a bit of you with me when you leave. I think that when I’m old, or even just in college I’ll tell people how I lost my virginity to my bestfriend and how special it was. Maybe after I tell enough people I’ll even start to believe it too. Not that Michael isn't sumptuous or anything. Maybe its because when I tell people that story I’ll leave them with piece of you, and you’re great.”
He snapped the last of the bowl and kinda just sat there with a weird expression. It wasn't confusion or even melancholy. He seemed upset over something. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he said.
“It won’t always be.”
I didn't feel sad, or happy, or angry with the silence. It was cold that night and we both kind of just sat there looking at the bright Los Angeles skyline we were so used to. He packed another bowl but I was done smoking for the night. Perhaps he didn't realize I’d been dying to tell that to him for a while. Killing myself thinking about him. Maybe I loved him, then, truth be told, I didn't know. I felt empty. Like I’d just thrown up everything I’d eaten that day. My head was as blank as the smoke coming from his mouth. He slowly put his arm around me and kissed me that way you see in movies. The way your friends sometimes talk about but you don’t really understand until it happens. He then put the **** down and fell on my lap. I quietly ran my fingers through his hair. Then he said, “Did I ever tell you about this fantastic girl whose virginity I took in the schools parking lot?”
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
But like the sun he turns her to ashes, for she didn't belong in his world.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
We blame the starts, or society, or the son of God, because its just to hard to realize and acknowledge we're ****** people who sabotage our own happiness, for no good ******* reason.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
Oh God, oh God, oh God!
What have you done to me? You've denied me of my own body.
I am not in control. I am suddenly dependent on someone who will inevitably break my heart.
Don't break my heart. Why have you don't this?
At the end of the day all I have is me. All anyone has is themselves,
and you've made that not enough for myself anymore.
At the end of the day,
lying in bed I am not enough,
because suddenly I want you,
need you next to me,
and its torture.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC