I have found a million ways to say "come back"
but none of them seem to bring you back home.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
ground zero
i become aware of boundaries
i am a dog chasing cars
i sing your voicemail to sleep
there are no surgeon general warnings
to tell me that
*the objects in the mirror
are more depressed than they appear*
so how do i tell you
that there are parts of my life
that move slower
without you in them?
or that i look for you every day
in emails & unanswered calls
in the sunrises
i didn't choose to be awake to watch
that i sometimes still stare at doorways hoping you would walk through them
stage 1 you tell your new lover you've got a splinter and they pull the sound of your body falling asleep on mine out of your fingertip
stage 2 your new lover says something at dinner that makes you choke so they call 911 & the paramedics do the hymleich not knowing you would ***** our promises all over the the restaurant
stage 3 your new lover surprises you by cleaning the house & washes the shirt you kept next to the bed, not knowing it was the last thing you had that smelled like me
after
people always ask
what was loving her like?
after a really long silence
i just say
"it must be nice"
but i never say
it's watching paint dry
i never say
it's a window seat in hell
i don't tell anyone
about the dreams
where i am reading you
bedtime stories
each one is a different way you die
& every time i can never save you
dreams where what i think
are angels in my bedroom
are just homeless versions
of myself you never loved
i have dreams
where i pay someone to shoot me
just to see if you would cry
just to see
if you would cradle my body
i don't tell people
that loving you is like
playing piano
for someone who can't hear
that it's hitting repeat
on my favorite song
& forgetting the words
every time it starts over
that it's finding out
there's no milk after you already
poured yourself a bowl of cereal
it's getting locked in the dark
& being told to
look on the bright side
that loving you is like
being reminded of what it felt like
the first time
you accidentally let go
of a balloon as a child
it's drowning without the water
it's the feeling you get
when you start to dance
& the song ends
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 11:59 AM UTC
I have fallen into the rhythm of goodbyes.
The steady beat of feet against tile
the sound of slamming doors and
echoing walls.
See, the worst part
is the silence that follows.
The all-consuming ringing that coats your ears
and kisses down your spine.
*Loving him was like hearing
every goodbye I've ever heard
all at once.*
"I can't do this anymore."
I have fallen into the rhythm
of unrequited love.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ********** with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
they told me to write when it hurts
when everything comes and goes
in blinding speeds,
smeared visions of
reds
blues
golds
grays.
they told me to write when I felt
so i'm here to write,
to pour myself onto paper
too white to bear
too innocent to corrupt
too fleeting to capture.
they told me to write about life,
about how things fall apart
as they come together,
about how it feels to drown in myself.
i'm here to tell you that life is some ****
it's the weight on your ankles,
the anchor pulling you down,
but it is also the life preserver
that brings you back up.
life will rise and fall and continue on
and it'll hurt like hell most nights
but it is beautiful in its madness
so get up, and write.
write when it hurts.
write when you feel.
write about your life.
write about you.
write.
write.
write.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
1. Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly; who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
i stay chasing spectrums of red wine
splattered across white rugs
and messy lipstick stains
streaking collar bones.
i stay chasing the rush of new lovers
that fill my bed long enough
to make me forget
but never long enough
to keep me from remembering
i stay chasing pain
pain that blinds
me with its darkness
because its better
to hurt than to feel
nothing at all
i stay chasing your silhouette
crashing my feet down
onto fleeting pavement
hoping to gather your
pieces before they float
into the darkness of the night
i stay chasing your light
because since you left
***shadows are the only things
that remain***
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
I am the stillest kind of chaos
I am the fullest kind of empty
I am
I am 4am 911 calls
I am soft poetry bouncing off peeling walls
I am I am
I am taut skin stretched over overworked knuckles
I am a kaleidoscope of tasteless adjectives scattered
over the ashes of your past lovers
I am I am I am
I am a mess,
a jumbled figure of a person
you've long forgotten
I am not myself
I am I am I am...I am not
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
you can't be everything I need.
*"you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party."*
truth be told, most days i am 4am 911 calls and ambulance rides spent thinking about my eulogy and the look on your mother's face when she hears the news.
I am wild-haired and hollow-eyed.
I am not what I thought I'd be.
I never noticed abandoned buildings until I became one.
I am watered down whiskey and second hand smoke floating into corrupted lungs.
I am not what you need.
I am lethal, a poison you'll never forget the taste of.
"all the flowers in my dreams smell like you."
you'll remember me in 20 years as your kids run around the kitchen and one of them remarks at the sunset.
you'll remember the girl you loved all those years ago.
the girl that loved sunsets and 2am coffee.
you'll remember the girl that mourned whatever she could but never herself.
the girl that saw herself through jaded lenses and never truly fell in love with her own consciousness.
maybe then you'll see the cracks I left in your pavement.
you'll see the way I drained you,
the way I chipped away at you until you were left bleeding, exhausted, the marks of your clawing fingernails forever imbedded on my locked door.
I used to ask you why you loved me and you always replied with, "we've been over this."
do you know why I kept asking you that?
well it's because I want you to tell me that you love me because I never became a news headline of teenage promise gone wrong.
I wanted you to tell me that you loved me because I was stronger than you could imagine.
I am falling apart at the seams but I wake up everyday and I get out of bed just like you tell me to.
I am losing my battles but I am still fighting my war.
I want you to tell me that you love me because I survived.
I survived the flood and I swam my way back up.
some days you are the hand pulling me up
other days you are the rocks in my pockets pulling me down to the ocean floor.
but I guess that's what love is.
so tell me dear,
"why do you love me?"
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC