You don't drive me crazy,
just so far out of my senses
that all I can sense is you
and all I can hear is your fingertips
singing to my skin
in a language my mind
can't comprehend
but I know they're saying something
that's making me dance
that's making me sweat
that's making me crazy
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
Lately my dreams have been working 12 hour shifts
and you seem to disappear at the 13th
But around hour 15 I start to draw your eyes on the tv screen
and taste your lips on my knife
and
then
I start to bleed because I think your name just cut into my lip a bit
and you're gone
At hour 19 i swear I hear your voice on the other line of whoever my dad is talking to and I can't breathe anymore
and
then
Hour 22 is the roughest
but only because my hands are a lot softer than yours and I can't quite get them to do that thing you did
and
It's hour 24
and I think this blanket was stitched from your body
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
Over 200 schoolgirls,
what difference does it make?
If there were only one ten or eight,
they were never yours to take
Hadija, Febi, Chioma,
should be in all of our heads,
but are instead
in a filthy man's bed.
We are the hands
that need to hold their mothers
or wipe away the tears
of their broken baby brothers
One found schoolgirl
the difference that would make
to be held in her fathers arms
they were never yours to take
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
where's
the fun
in being
vulnerable
if there's
no one there
to use you
what's
the point
of being
lonely
if there's
no other island
to cruise to
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
I wish I wouldve written your words in Braille so I could feel your voice on my fingertips
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 3:37 AM UTC
When the next boy asks:
"What kind of music do you like?"
I'll tell him
about the rhythm of your breathing
And the baritone of your heartbeat
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
you could say,
are long dirt roads that never end
trotted on by horses
(you can call them men)
Women
you could say,
are cobble stone streets
constantly impaled by stilettoed friends
(you could call them men)
Women
you could say,
are black tar roads
riddled with curves and bends
plowed on by Subarus
(otherwise known as men)
Women
you could say,
are nice footpaths in the park
run on by children
around the age of ten
(often boys that grow up to be men)
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
sometimes we forget that the Sun is a star too
like how i forget that my world doesn't revolve around You
or that if the Ocean was red, the Sky wouldn't be blue
and even though i knew me, before i knew you,
if you left right now, i'd have no clue
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
Well there's the new satisfaction of
feeling
nothing
New rites of passage only attained
through
cutting
There's that new longing, for ringing in an empty
head
That new desperation for devils that leave you
more than
emotionally
dead
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
I should really stop taking your body as my communion
but oh God
do I remember Jesus every time.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 12:20 AM UTC