gabbiwrites - Hello Poetry

If monsters aren’t born, then what am I? I suppose I am an aftermath of sorts, the result of something crumbling. My mind is crumbling and I wonder how long have I been losing this battle. My thoughts are a switchblade, they know how to hide their sharpness, they know how to slice me open just as easily. And oh, to think how much I can bleed from a sharpness that is my own.

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Jun 19, 2019

Jun 19, 2019 at 9:59 PM UTC

gabbiwrites

Monsters

If monsters aren’t born, then what am I? I suppose I am an aftermath of sorts, the result of something crumbling. My mind is crumbling and I wonder how long have I been losing this battle. My thoughts are a switchblade, they know how to hide their sharpness, they know how to slice me open just as easily. And oh, to think how much I can bleed from a sharpness that is my own.

7

Woman becomes blade. Woman becomes something sharp, something you’ll think twice before running your hands over. Woman becomes cold steel, because maybe if she is threat she is no longer target. You do not blame a sword for how it is sharpened, how if it is wielded in the wrong hands it can wound. Still you say this is no way to live. As if your sharpened teeth and hidden claws do not bear the same weight. You say this is no way to live. As if you alone could melt her winter heart and metal bones. She will not bend to your will, no matter how she loves you so. She will not soften her edges into a coffin. She will not become your final resting place.

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Jan 5, 2018

Jan 5, 2018 at 3:27 AM UTC

gabbiwrites

Woman Becomes Blade

Woman becomes blade. Woman becomes something sharp, something you’ll think twice before running your hands over. Woman becomes cold steel, because maybe if she is threat she is no longer target. You do not blame a sword for how it is sharpened, how if it is wielded in the wrong hands it can wound. Still you say this is no way to live. As if your sharpened teeth and hidden claws do not bear the same weight. You say this is no way to live. As if you alone could melt her winter heart and metal bones. She will not bend to your will, no matter how she loves you so. She will not soften her edges into a coffin. She will not become your final resting place.

12

1. I have blood in my mouth, if I open it it might come spilling out. 2. My love is a knife, my heart is a hair pin trigger. In the end this will only leave you with scars. 3. Because I will not leave you with scars. Not when I have my own, not when I know How easily they reopen. And not when I know that I am always one foot out the door. 4. I am not the girl you take home. I am the lesson you learn from. 5. Because I never learned how to say it without choking on it.

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Dec 15, 2017

Dec 15, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC

gabbiwrites

Why I Never Say 'I Love You'

1. I have blood in my mouth, if I open it it might come spilling out. 2. My love is a knife, my heart is a hair pin trigger. In the end this will only leave you with scars. 3. Because I will not leave you with scars. Not when I have my own, not when I know How easily they reopen. And not when I know that I am always one foot out the door. 4. I am not the girl you take home. I am the lesson you learn from. 5. Because I never learned how to say it without choking on it.

18

i. Sharp are her edges, what once was soft has long since been forged into a blade. To survive isn’t to live, to survive is to remember. ii. Let’s play pretend, let us build an imagined home. For once in this life let’s create something whole that will not be pulled out from under us. iii. There is no word for the awful cruelty that is memory. To playback and rewind a single moment, all because you cannot forget it. All because if you do forget it, it may find it’s grip on reality once more.

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Dec 15, 2017

Dec 15, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC

gabbiwrites

An Ode to Final Girls

i. Sharp are her edges, what once was soft has long since been forged into a blade. To survive isn’t to live, to survive is to remember. ii. Let’s play pretend, let us build an imagined home. For once in this life let’s create something whole that will not be pulled out from under us. iii. There is no word for the awful cruelty that is memory. To playback and rewind a single moment, all because you cannot forget it. All because if you do forget it, it may find it’s grip on reality once more.

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