sometimes when i talk words just come out and i laugh because when i write stream of consciousness it just sounds like a fever dream
and then i see the flickering in the corner of my eye and then i hear my name
not the one i want to hear
the other one
and nobody said it and everyones still
and this isnt poetry the way the ones i love write poetry
they put words together in a way that sounds good and makes you feel
i put words together so i can understand them myself
i want people to read my poems because i want to be understood
but everything just leaves me in the dirt
i dont want to see it
i dont want to see it anymore
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 8:43 PM UTC
i want to cry because i cant help you
but i cant cry because i dont want to make it worse
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
sometimes i worry because i am nothing
i am nothing at all
agender and aromantic and asexual and sometimes i feel almost ahuman
but then i remember that some of the most beautiful things are nothing
the space and the night and what i like to hear is in the bad part of your mind
sometimes you dont have to be anything at all
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
names are really important to me.
i like saying your names.
your names are important to my and my name is important to me and when you say my name i feel important.
i say your names out loud when i think of them because maybe you will hear me and you will come back.
you all might hear me, then.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
I walk and walk and walk
These are my feet
They are walking
Walk walk walk walk walk
Where do I walk
I walk here and there
There are my feet
They are walking
Walk walk walk walk walk
Where did I go
I can’t find my feet
There they go
Walk walk walk walk walk
I feel them walking
Where are they going
Goodbye feet
Goodbye
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
How do you tell someone that they’re not real
Politely?
Quietly?
I don’t know what to do anymore
What if none of this really matters
What if we’re all going to be okay
Because I’m not real
And you’re not real
But how do you say that because we aren’t actually human
We’re just pretending
Because life is about the things that we don’t understand
We don’t see
But why can’t anyone tell me how to tell them I don’t experience
What I’m supposed to because
I’m not real
And you’re not real
And reality is just an illusion because we don’t really exist
And humans are just a concept
And life is just a fleeting idea in the mind of something we can’t even begin to understand
Because we’re not real
I’m not real
I don’t understand and I can’t see with all this dust around me
Dust kicked up by the thousands of feet
All copies of the same feet marching
Oh god we’re not real we all have the same feet look at your feet
How do I say this because we aren’t real so we can’t listen and we can’t hear
Is it polite to tell someone that their entire life is false?
Can it be done quietly?
We’re all going to be okay I swear to god
Because in a thousand other places we don’t exist
And in two thousand more we are okay already
So the odds say that we’re likely to be okay here
Because we’re already okay somewhere
I swear to god
But in the long run it probably doesn't matter anyway because there is no long run
Because I’m not real
I’m not real and I can’t see oh god there’s so much dust
All I can hear is the marching
I’m not real
I’m a thought in a bubble in a cloud in the dirt
I can’t be real because they told me reality wasn’t like this
But then when I hear you speak
Why do I hear humanity’s voice
When I read those words
Your words
Why can I feel the idea creeping politely
quietly
Into my mind that I might be a real person
Because this isn’t supposed to happen
Oh god, not to just a thought
Not to a mere figment
My feet are itchy
This isn’t supposed to happen
Not to a lie
Not to a lie like me
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
My feet are long
Long enough to be considered big
Both my big toenails are ingrown
and none of my shoes fit right
On my right leg I have 38 scars
Some of them are so faint
They are almost gone
38 and even though I put every single of them there
not a single one
is my fault
On my left leg I have no scars at all
None whatsoever
A blank slate
Marred only by a small
Dark
Splotchy
Crooked
Heart
it wasn’t meant to be a literary device
My belly is a minefield of pimples and hair and scars and scars and scars
the beautiful thing sticks out farther than my face
it’s large enough to be considered fat
and none of my shirts fit right
Sometimes I feel bad for my *******
Always squished under the same two bras
inside
outside
inside
outside
if i flip them around that means they’re not ***** anymore
My fingers are bony and thin
People recoil when they see them
They don’t bend the right way
And it hurts to hold a pencil
Maybe they’re ingrown too
My arms are
arms
only one scar worth mentioning
and only worth mentioning
because it was the first one i put on myself
My neck is sensitive
and always sore
it sends a shooting pain down my spine
and i cradle it and ask
what
My face is bright
even if my eyes are dull
big and dull and blue with long lashes
too ******* feminine
i try not to make a 39th
its not my fault
i am beautiful
but beauty belongs to women
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
I exhale
As I watch the blood slowly mix in with the bathwater
You deserve this
In the winter everyone wears long sleeves
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC