Some day you will meet someone and everything you thought was true won't matter. It won't matter that you think you're not good enough or not attractive enough or not smart enough. Because they will look into your eyes and feel as if they no longer need the sun. Because you alone hold all the light and warmth they may ever need. You will be enough. You will be beautiful. And you will learn to love them by learning to love yourself. Hold onto that.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 12:10 AM UTC
One day you will meet someone. And they will turn your whole world upside down. Their habits and hobbies will make sense to you, even if they never did before. The smallest things will remind you of them and you will fall in love without even meaning to. It will feel like your whole body is on fire every time you hear their voice or feel their touch. You’ll dream of them constantly and it won’t bother you. All your plans of the future will include them. You won’t be able to imagine a life without them and you won’t remember life before them. You will see the universe in their eyes and everything about them will excite you.
And then one day, out of the blue, one of you will wake up and suddenly all the love songs will seem cheesy and overrated. All the things you loved about them stop making sense, and you won’t know why. Talking to them at the end of the day doesn’t take priority anymore and they won’t know how to brighten you up as they did before. Dreaming of them will become another reason you didn’t get any rest during the night. The love will fade for one of you and there is nothing the other can say or do to stop it.
And the saddest part? You will lose them. You will lose the person who gave you a new outlook on life, the person who taught you what love meant. And at the end of every day you’ll look back and wonder why. And it’ll hurt. It’ll hurt so bad that you’ll want to rip your heart out. It’ll hurt so bad that you’ll want to hurt them back. It’ll hurt so bad that you’ll never be the same again.
You never stop loving them. You never forget the way they made you feel. Every night you’ll wish you could call them, tell them. Tell them anything. Anything. Just to hear their voice again. But it’ll be too late, because they’re gone and there’s nothing you can do about it. All you can do is be happy that they’re happy and hope that one day you’re as lucky as they were to be able to let go of the person who made you feel nothing and everything all at once.
I’ll never stop loving you, and I will never top missing you. But I know you’re happy, and that’s more than I could ever want for you. I just wish you were still happy with me.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
I wanted to hurt him. Not in the way of cuts and bruises or broken car windows and severed brakes. I wanted to be the only thing on his mind. I wanted for him to write poems about me until his hands cramped and his vision blurred, and then some more. I wanted to infiltrate his dreams. I wanted him to wake up every morning and feel a loss in the pit of his stomach when he opened his eyes and realized I was gone. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted for him to think about me until it drove him to madness. I wanted to course through his veins, like a poison. Slowly rotting him from the inside out. I wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt me. I wanted him to suffer as much as I did. I wanted him to cry until his eyes bled and all he could see was red. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to be the only thing in existence for him. I wanted to rip him apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left. I wanted to **** him.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
Your friendship is like a kiss of death
It is better in the beginning
But slowly poisoning me with your affection.
And when I cling to you for strength
And when I need your breath in me
You silently draw away and leave me.
Better put a sting on my tongue
And punch me on the face than
Leaving me in silence and confusion.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
You open the door and a screech pierces your ears, but they're not coming from the old rusty hinges your father never cared to repair. Those screeches are coming from the Rottweilers inhabiting the room your parents once used to rest. The volume gradually increases with each conscious step you take, and as you do, your mind is capturing the whispers of the demons possessing your parental figures; ********** "good for nothing", "drunken ******* ***** ***** are the offensive terms you learn to use in "self-defense". But is it really self defense if the spewing venom is poison to your heart? It's as if you were a scorpion stabbing yourself in the chest with your own venomous tail to see your ex-lover suffer. You walk in and see acidic spit coming from their lips, and they're just getting burned from the spit of the other. They're playing a game using their words to see who's acid could burn who to death first - but in this game, who's really losing? Are you the loser if you choose to die by the hurt words of your lover or if you killed the one you loved because you struggled to find the words to say you did? You were hurt and you loved them to death - but then you actually killed them. You killed them and now the person you learned to love is gone forever. Now you're dealt with a bad card; you have to learn to love the monster you've mistakenly created. Learn to love the sound of your skin sizzling at the touch of the acid sent from its lips. Learn to love the way it holds your heart in its meaty hands, and squeezes it too hard from the rage. Learn to love the sensation of the fallout: internal bleeding. Learn to love the pain and spread the joy! Show your kids the true meaning of a family portrait, it will then live on for generations to come.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
today was the day I was getting you back.
nothing was going stop me this time.
everything was perfect.
it rained just like it did on our first day.
I had a white shirt on,
just like the one I wore that day, just like it.
everything was perfect.
as the rain fell from the sky all I cared about was you.
not if it was going to rain harder
nor if it was going to lighten up.
the only thought in my mind was... you.
I kissed you.
and I loved it.
God I loved it.
I loved every minute, every second.
I loved the way you tasted.
how your lips felt on mine
how we were in perfect harmony with each other.
it was amazing.
then reality hit.
and she spoke.
she didn't want what I wanted..
she didn't want me the way I wanted her.
I didn't know her for long but I was broken
it wasn't suppose to hurt this much.
why does it hurt..
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
Old men fascinated by teen *****
and the hues harnessed by high school hips,
I ask you to look at something corrupted:
yourself, this town, this world.
The town's lumber supplier has died
and daughters fight over dollars.
Greasy haired women, wearing denim,
smoking menthols and bruised with cheap make-up,
stand on fractured sidewalks.
I walk, wearing a Native American-ized fleece,
the Chippewa crush their cigarettes
and blink like lizards at me
because I wear bastardization,
but wash it.
Half the town smokes,
and if you ask the pastor,
the whole town smokes
because everyone's going to hell.
All the girls read John Green
and flip the pages because it's a cheaper escape than a bus ticket.
Plato said that everything changes
and nothing stands still;
these people will suffer,
their bodies will break down,
and they will die --
but what never changes is their hope
in eventual death.
What cannot change is my hope
in something more.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
1945
when the word flits off their tongue
a b u s i v e
it will taste like 3 days gone sour
like the lick of a catch before sacrificial slaughter you will caress
it and bury it in the backyard
you will let their lips cradle your neck like a baby while the ship slips under
slowly, willing
they
laugh you off like an old acquaintance
burn curses into you
make you pay sorry as toll tax till the end of time how could you have been
so
destructive my sweet nymph
my eternal beam of light they will laugh you off as a lying child tried like a old witch
your last lover, the one before she
the one you still choke on every time you purge your body
clean of the sin of nutrition
tells you that you and them were not inherently bad
but together an abuser's tale
do substances take responsibility for the damage they
cause together?
did the two uranium nuclei know they would call their honeymoon hiroshima
how atomic the love must have been
and oh, baby
how so catastrophic
the consequence.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 1:15 AM UTC
They say we remember what is written in blue most of all. I disagree, I have written countless things in blue and never seem to remember any of them. I do, however, remember every drop of black ink I ever put on paper that read your name. I remember every bold black letter I have typed in tears from each time you let me down. And now, as I type this, eyes free of tears but mind flooded with thoughts of you I know I’ll remember exactly how it felt to let go of my self-respect and admit to myself that I don’t want to lose you. I know the best thing for me would be to forget you, but I also know I will never be able to do that. How can I forget the one person who made me feel for the first time in ages? How can I forget the first person I cried for in ages? How can I forget the smile in your voice when I admitted you made me happy? How can I possibly ever forget the sound of your voice telling me you loved me? How will I ever forget the way it felt when my heart shattered into pieces when you admitted you didn’t want me anymore? Impossible. So why can’t I let you go? Why can’t I be as logical as I claim to be? Why can’t I get the thought of us out of my mind? Of what we could have been.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC
I can tell you about the girl.
Her freckles were beige constellations,
and her voice was husky and rasped
like birds before the churning of a storm.
She was weird and laughed at everything I said -
which made her even weirder,
because I'm only funny in certain photos
and in certain clothes.
Her left arm was covered in scars and burns.
"As you can tell, I'm right handed," she said.
Arthritis surrounded her wrists and other joints,
and all I could think about were my
grandmother's arthritis crippled hands,
and if the girl would thank the arthritis, one day,
for no longer allowing her to self-harm.
One of her feet were bigger than the other
and, when she walked, she would lose balance.
"I'm not sure if the world is too fast
or if I'm too slow. Then again," she winked,
"it's probably because of my feet."
I liked her because she treated me like a person,
but didn't take me as seriously
as I took myself.
I struggled with self-respect
and she struggled with a drug addiction.
Her arm was needle park
and sometimes she missed ******
more than she missed me.
She wasn't the type of girl to shake
without her drugs -
she'd, instead, talk about them
like they were old friends.
She understood them
more than she understood herself.
After a few months of ***
and, "I'll be sad when you leave,"s,
I called her my girlfriend
and she smiled.
Flecks of speckled angles, bright,
I saw her, first, she accepted
my night.
Five days later,
she overdosed on morphine.
I picked her up.
Her eyes were glazed over.
I said, "I love you,
but this is ********
She cried and said,
"Forgive me."
I lain in bed, next to her -
next to the avoidance of death.
She asked how I was
and I said, "Everything I write is ****
but I'm glad I can write ****** poetry
about how we'll be okay."
She asked, "We will be okay, right?"
I hope.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC