scrambling
desperate to
get the words on
paper.
Hands as a leaf
I cannot fathom how
Intimately
She and I are linked.
From the start we were kismet,
connecting on a level that
would astound all those
passing.
Two patrols of the night
couldn't even shatter the glass menagerie
We built to house our
broken identities.
I stumble through chaos to
find the foggy mirror
to peer
and view her lipstick
stained on my chin.
And desperately wait for
midday,
midweek,
When I can see her beautiful lashes again.
Intimately I want to
Know her, more than
the FIVE FAST FACTS
that stretched into
the perfect first date.
She is the one who fills this page back to front
and
Makes my entire body crumble and crave her like
my next cigarette
I cannot stop shaking
She will steady me,
My
Abby.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 12:10 AM UTC
I look at them and want to be all skin and bones
i am healthy and full and quite padded
forever wanting to satisfy myself
i tire of wanting to be less than i am
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
remnants of smoke still
drifting out of my ears but
even the beautiful spirals
can't push away the images
of you dancing naked in my
closet or snatching the last
bit of jelly donut even though
you don't even like jam you
were always taking the bits
of me that i wanted most and
all that's left now are the vestiges
of an empty shell how cliche,
how mediocre is it that you're
gone and i'm left here wrapped in
your flannel smoking the very stuff
i swore would **** you but you
managed to do that first didn't
you i always let you take those
bits of me that mattered most
because i looked at you
and all i could see within the
fractured hull that was your skin
was darkness but i could tell you
were building a whole person
deep in there with my scraps
i could hear the echoes of a scream
that wasn't yours but i didn't realize
until i got the call last tuesday that i
could wail in the exact tone and
frequency of those echoes funny
how grief works, you were dying
the whole time and i didn't even
notice you were fading, but now
that you're gone i can't get you
out of my head
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
waves of lines caress the wall
dripping until they leave a trail that
looks like tears the blood’s fallen
from his fingers for the final time
figurines smashed to
smithereens and i’m at a loss
for words i’ve always been told
i have a knack for
eloquence but when he walked
up to me with his
wrists the shade of my favorite
lipstick and said
"finally my veins can feel
the air” all i could say
was “what a mess you’ve made”
i cleaned him up again and packed
him up for
the house again but i pray
and hope and wish
that they can help him more
than i ever could
i love him to bits but this
love is breaking me
apart.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
My fingers smell like nicotine again and I don’t think I mind
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
I want someone to share these cold mornings with and to warm my toes when the air refuses to stop biting. I want someone who won’t mind my incessant need to trace the curves of their ribs or to learn how their body feels when my fingers grace their calves. I want someone who doesn’t need me to be whole all the time because I’m cracked at the edges and remember there is that one big split right down the middle that is pretty difficult to mend back together. I want someone who doesn’t think I’m pretentious because I write poetry at 11 am on a Saturday. I want someone who cries when they laugh so I can see the real depths of their emotional psyche. I want someone who will appreciate me for the ****** up mess I turn myself into but also for the beauty that I’ve been told I contain. I want someone to be the person to me that I could be to them.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
The cars roar past as each part of my mind erupts to wage a familiar war.
There is a certain air of romance in walking alone down the side of a busy street at night with my mind spilling out of my ears.
By romance I mean the beautiful and ringing dissonance.
( the intriguing option of death if I step to the left or the warm promise of safety if I keep to the right)
I let myself get wrapped up in my own world and forget how easy it is for everything to change with one swift movement.
As I shuffle down that street with the fake light of streetlamps warming my back I continue to walk forward, in order to avoid the making of any decisions.
But that in itself is a decision, and my feet begin to stray.
I keep to the right, like I always do.
But I’m now forever wondering what could possibly happen if I stepped to the left.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
I am an individual who is
Involved.
When asked by curious critics “Who are you?” I’ll invariably state,
Involved.
Involved, Busy, Stressed.
Involved.
Involved is an activity, is a stressor, is a blessing, is a curse.
Involved pleases my parents.
So long as
Involved is within the parameters that they have set forth and therefore approved.
Involved is enriching, ensuring, creating my path to freedom even if my future is still shrouded.
Involved is my choice of poison.
Involved is my choice of passion.
Involved is my sweet drink of hectic relief.
Involved is me.
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
Je suis malade
Je suis fatigué
Mais tous ces maux stéréotypées pâle en comparaison de la douleur creusée dans mes os qui restaient quand vous avez creusé ma moelle et m'a laissé sans une greffe
Je suis fatigué
Je suis malade
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC