haruka - Hello Poetry

I have found a million ways to say "come back" but none of them seem to bring you back home.

0

Jun 21, 2015

Jun 21, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC

I have found a million ways to say "come back" but none of them seem to bring you back home.

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.

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Feb 10, 2015

Feb 10, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC

premature goodbyes

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.

14

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.

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Dec 5, 2014

Dec 5, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC

w r i t e

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.

34

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***

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Dec 2, 2014

Dec 2, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC

s h a d o w

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***

25

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

0

Nov 30, 2014

Nov 30, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC

Am I?

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

15

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?"

0

Nov 9, 2014

Nov 9, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC

eulogy

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?"

32

thing often fall apart the same way they came together

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Sep 3, 2014

Sep 3, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC

entropy (10w)

thing often fall apart the same way they came together

4

like water filtering through my fingers, you escaped my memories. i can't quite remember the sound of your voice whispering my name, or the sound of your laugh over the roar of the wheezing car engine. i can't quite remember the color of your eyes and on good days, i don't feel your touch linger longingly on my skin. but at night, when i'm laying in bed running my fingers over the your old spot, i feel it all rush back to me in sporadic bursts. the scent, the sound, the touch, the very essence of you fills me to the brim and i can't hold myself together. i figure it's just as hard to forget as it is to remember.

0

Aug 22, 2014

Aug 22, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC

forgotten memories

like water filtering through my fingers, you escaped my memories. i can't quite remember the sound of your voice whispering my name, or the sound of your laugh over the roar of the wheezing car engine. i can't quite remember the color of your eyes and on good days, i don't feel your touch linger longingly on my skin. but at night, when i'm laying in bed running my fingers over the your old spot, i feel it all rush back to me in sporadic bursts. the scent, the sound, the touch, the very essence of you fills me to the brim and i can't hold myself together. i figure it's just as hard to forget as it is to remember.

16

i have been searching for happiness in lipstick stained wine glasses and hazy smiles underneath the sheets of strangers that roughly resemble you. i've learnt that we're not as sad as we are lost. because there's a part of me that seems to have lodged itself in you and now i've convinced myself i'll never get it back. so i go around and fall into the beds of strangers that smell like you, or laugh like you, or have your eyes, because maybe if i look hard enough, i'll find that piece of myself again. but every morning is the same filled with shame laced with fuzzy sunshine filtering through the hastily closed blinds. and every night is the same filled with crippling emptiness pouring out in fleeting poetry and labored breathing. i would be a liar if i said it didn't hurt because let me tell you, falling in love with you was like swerving into oncoming traffic. but i still don't regret it. and if you were to show up on my doorstep, I'm sure i'd rip out my heart and hand it right back to you. i guess i never learn.

0

Aug 22, 2014

Aug 22, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC

Mistakes Made Lessons Unlearned

i have been searching for happiness in lipstick stained wine glasses and hazy smiles underneath the sheets of strangers that roughly resemble you. i've learnt that we're not as sad as we are lost. because there's a part of me that seems to have lodged itself in you and now i've convinced myself i'll never get it back. so i go around and fall into the beds of strangers that smell like you, or laugh like you, or have your eyes, because maybe if i look hard enough, i'll find that piece of myself again. but every morning is the same filled with shame laced with fuzzy sunshine filtering through the hastily closed blinds. and every night is the same filled with crippling emptiness pouring out in fleeting poetry and labored breathing. i would be a liar if i said it didn't hurt because let me tell you, falling in love with you was like swerving into oncoming traffic. but i still don't regret it. and if you were to show up on my doorstep, I'm sure i'd rip out my heart and hand it right back to you. i guess i never learn.

36

i am tired of building my home in the arms of strangers that vaguely resemble your outline.

0

Aug 21, 2014

Aug 21, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC

homesick

i am tired of building my home in the arms of strangers that vaguely resemble your outline.

4