every time i see you i forget you can see me too
more often then not i catch my eyes tracing your face
like if i can remember every detail i can keep you like a photograph
but just like a photograph the ink warps with time
and i have to remind myself this will someday be a memory
something i can not touch but feel
and i’d do anything to not forget this feeling
but in this frame i stand alone
cause you were never mine to keep in the first place
i’m just a girl with smudged fingerprints
Mar 7, 2022
Mar 7, 2022 at 6:58 PM UTC
You're in love with her.
She's the kind of soft that makes the sun fall to its knees every evening just to get a closer glimpse.
She's everything that makes a boy believe in god.
How else could he be alive at the same time as her if he didn't?
The odds are too great for there to be any other reason that he gets to make her smile.
That kind of smile that's designed to melt boys like him that i've turned cold.
You thought I was her once.
Speaking of thoughts, do I ever cross your mind sometimes like you cross mine? Even if unintentional?
At night I accidentally love you like no time has passed.
I know it's just my unconscious mind, but while I sleep there's a version of you that loves me still.
You're a dream that I wish wasn't.
So it's the worst kind of accident you could say.
Maybe not accidental if gods real like you believe he is.
My dreams might possibly just be his way of saying **** you".
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
If everyone that ever loved me was in one room,
I wouldn’t even be there to see it.
What do you call that?
Not seeing what has always been right in front of you?
Having everything but grasping at nothing,
My heart melts on a hot summer day when it feels your presence.
It’s like trying to show an ice cube that it’s okay to melt,
that you can still be you, but softer.
Because you- you always knew how to make even the coldest evaporate.
I’m not saying that you should be gullible enough to fall for every boy with kind words.
So many times, I’ve become a puddle for boys with no fear of drowning.
With no intentions of asking why I create the waves I do, my tides call out your name thinking I can become who you’re scared of leaving.
Beneath my rocky surface, I don’t know who I am.
If you pretend to know yourself for so long, you become a mystery to even yourself.
So you keep calling out names of boys who make you feel like
Something, Someone, Anyone.
With no remembrance of your own name.
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
I have no more tears to shed for anyone but myself.
My sadness is mine.
The moment you learn people aren't medicine,
you start getting help from your own two hands.
Nothing feels better than to fall asleep with
the person you know will be there in the morning.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 10:58 PM UTC
When you're the monster under your own bed,
you forget that you slept here too once.
That the shadows were meant for more than hiding in them.
When did you start turning off the night light?
When did your hands start dancing in your sleep?
Trailing up and down your wrist like a lost boat at sea, aching to come home from the war; You forget who you're fighting against sometimes.
You see, it's easier to blame the person you can't see then the one laying in your bones.
I tell my therapist that i'm just trying to figure out where these claws are growing from.
Digging in my skin is easier than asking myself why I have the shovel in my hands to begin with.
Dec 12, 2017
Dec 12, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC
The little girl rakes her fingertips across the condensation that builds on the windows from outside.
She carves out the sun like the grin that takes hold of her cheeks.
She lives like the rain will never touch her,
only evaporate from the warmth radiating from the dancing sun underneath her fingertips.
Mother yells she'll have to scrub the windows if she keeps it up,
as if messes can't bring beauty too;
That the sun has to shine for the eyes of others to be worth existing.
So mother rolls down the window,
and the little girl is washed away with the rain.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 4:47 PM UTC
He drew a figure eight on my spine, absentmindedly,
and traced the nape of my neck with his fingertip when he said,
“You are beautiful to me.”
But the ellipsis in the silence spoke louder than he did, and the look in his eye was not born because I was lovely;
It was not because he loved me.
A thing too small for love-
But far too large to be lust;
Simple. Ugly.
He looked at me like he was hungry.
So sweetly he critiqued each curve, every line, blurring my edges with the images of every bent perception pulled from the mire of his mind;
and I
could not
satisfy
Pretty innocence diminished in the grip of his vice,
Pressed tight against my body, despised in dark eyes.
I am not the inhuman creatures you contrived in the middle of the night.
I am not the feminine expression of your ********* pride.
What a wicked crime,
to take a woman’s body and leave the woman behind.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
You can't take it
You can't live with it
The pain is too much
The kids at school
They keep hurting you
Or maybe it was your father
Maybe your mother
Maybe they're both dead
Like how you will be soon
Maybe you're in love with abusers
Maybe you are simply sad
But either way
You can't take it anymore
You take a rope from the attic
You grab a gun from the cuboard
You steal a knife from the kitchen
You're at the bridge over the river
You're on a railway with a train
Wherever you are
Whatever you have
It doesn't matter now
You take a rope from the attic
The kids at school
They taunt you and laugh
They say they wish you were dead
Well their wish is coming true
You're suffocating
You're silent
You're gone
You grab a gun from the cuboard
Safety is off
You're in your room
You whisper a goodbye
To the father who hurt you
To the brother who loves you
BANG
The shot can be heard for miles
You're gone
You steal a knife from the kitchen
Your mother's prying eyes
Who breaks your heart
With hateful words
You're in your bathroom
You hold the knife to your wrist
Your lifeline is bleeding out
The blood is on the white floor
You're gone
You're on a bridge
There's a cold and fast flowing
River of tears and sorrow
Your mother is gone
Your father is gone
Time for you to go
You leave your other family
Who are grieving with you
You jump
You fall
You're gone
You're at a railway with a train
Ready to hit you with pain
It wouldn't be the driver's fault
It was the abuser
You thought loved you
But you were wrong
You are hit by the train
It stops with your broken heart
You're gone
Where is the rope burn?
It burns your parents
They weep and wail
They lost their child
They're sunk into a sea of sadness
They read the note
They beg dear god above
" why were we not enough? "
Who did you shoot?
Your brother's chest
He's staring silently
At his sibling's dead body
As he stutters and sobs
He wonders
" why was I not enough? "
Who was stabbed?
Why your sister
She doesn't know who to talk to
She doesn't know who can help
As she screams for the neighbors
As your heartbeat stops
" why was I not enough? "
Who drowned?
The family you left behind
Your uncle is silent
Your aunt is shocked
Your cousins, your grandparents
They cant believe it
" why were we not enough? "
Where is the wound?
It bleeds in your friends' hearts
No matter how many you have
Or rather had
They can't stop crying
They can't stop thinking
" why were we not enough? "
Your name is in the papers
You're on the front covers
The world is full of tears
The news reporter is upset
There's a book with your name
There's ****** roses on your grave
Marked with your name
You stop
You think
You put away the rope
You put the gun back
You replace the knife
You walk away from the bridge
You run off the railway
You hide your tears in the rain
But you think
Think, think.
Maybe you can live one more day
Or two days, three days,
Four days, five days, six days
A week or two
A month or more
A year or so
Maybe forever
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 12:14 AM UTC
Never love a poet so much,
for she will build her world around you.
She’ll contrast you to the sun and stars;
she will love you so.
She will give you lovely notes
to brighten up your day.
You’ll find it a little weird
but you look forward to it, anyway.
Never love a poet so much,
for she will invest a lot in you.
She will become the person you’ll only ever need
without taking a lot from you.
She will take you to places,
and make you experience things
within a room's four corners
and her words as your wings.
Never love a poet so much,
for even after all those things
she will take away her love,
and leave you without a trace
with her heartache as her fuel
for another masterpiece.
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 12:09 AM UTC