The eyes are the ******* of the soul
You play your cards right
Let the eyes tell the lies
People will believe anything that they see
The upside to being depressed
Is you become professional to outdoing the best
A smile here and raise of the eyebrow there proves everything
Especially that "I love you" is true
It's the truth if the matter, that the best is yet to come and I hope you're there to see it and I won't have to tell lies.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 1:37 AM UTC
Tips for quick weight loss:
-Find someone you love
-Let them break your heart
-Never feel hungry for anything but the love they gave you.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
i wonder if the doors in the house you grew up in
started slamming themselves to save your father the trouble.
i wonder if you can remember the last time you prayed,
and if you had trouble unfolding your hands.
i wonder if your mother knows
about the collection of hearts you hide in your closet,
i wonder if she could tell mine apart from the rest.
i wonder if your shoes know the reason why
you keep them by the back door and not your bedside.
and sometimes, i wonder
if you ever think about that night when i told you,
you wouldn't need to drink so much if you had me.
but it seems like we only speak when you've got body on your brain,
whiskey in your glass,
your judgement is overcast,
and you know i'm too weak to ignore you.
i learned how to translate your texts
from drunken mess back into english.
i am fluent in apology, but i don't ask you for them anymore.
this is just how it is.
it's not enough for either of us
but ******* it we are not above settling.
so i will ignore her name on your breath,
and you will ignore the fact that this means something to me.
i always thought the first time i kissed you,
it would be on your mouth.
i just wanted to be something warm for you to sink into,
something that could convince you to stay a second night.
but i sneak you out in the early morning,
and you take a piece of my pride with you when you go.
i am left to nurse the hangover from a wine i've never tasted,
wondering how this is possible.
waiting for the next drunk call,
for the next time i get to pretend we are lovers,
the next time i get to live out the fantasy i am most ashamed of.
it is the one in my head where you want me when you're sober too.
- m.f.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
Her voice is strained.
Her skin is fair.
Her ******* lay on the countertop.
I **** her until my thoughts stop.
She rejects the notion of love for all,
as she leans against my kitchen wall,
with a cigarette and an unbuttoned blouse-
she wants to be homeless in my house.
She keeps me in her necklace's locket,
and I keep her in the wallet in my pocket.
Her toes kiss the linoleum,
she walks like she's made of helium.
She mumbles that I taste like mint chocolate chip,
as she rubs against my hip.
Her breath smells like Malboro Lights,
and I hope she decides to stay the night.
Milky Ways and Vanilla Cakes,
she likes the way my body shakes,
as we lay and eat our troubles away.
Hurried words slow the day.
She asks me about my stretch marks and scars,
and if I've ever been hit by a car.
And I say no, but I've been hit by love before,
and it feels like getting your hand caught in a door.
Hurried smiles and bathroom stalls,
she likes the way my family never calls.
The words escape between her plump lips,
as my hand travels between her hips.
We move until we forget
that the world is moving faster.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
Loving you was like waiting at a stoplight that never turned green.
I could feel the time wasting away.
You drove across the intersection twice and I watched you.
I think you read the road map wrong, as usual, because you looked more confused the second time.
I knew where you were going.
North bound is the way to my house, but you were headed south.
I ran the red light.
I never liked to follow rules anyway.
I caught up to you quickly.
Speeding made my blood rush.
You took a sharp left into a graveyard.
The headstones were all engraved with pairs of initials, the first ones always the same.
You stopped at the newest headstone, the grass hadn't even been replanted.
In the dirt was a single flower and around it were all of the petals.
All I could hear while staring blankly at the grave spot was my voice echoing,
"He loves me not."
And there I stood watching myself get buried by someone I should have known never loved me from the start, but instead had been digging my grave the whole time.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
when i was
little my
parents
said
i was
growing
like a ****
(and maybe
i still am) but
what if i want
to grow like
something
else?
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
I can hear your back crack,
in the dark.
Removing your underwear
with chewed fingernails:
You softly ask
if we can share scar tissue
and if I'll stay
despite every issue.
You try to kick the covers
off of our bed,
and ask if we can share the thoughts
buzzing inside of your head.
When insomnia erases your eyes
and disease steals your brain:
You inhale ways to die,
because you still dream
but it's not the same.
I can hear the static in your skull.
I know why you keep
the kitchen knives dull.
You pull on my fingers
so I don't forget you.
You cry on the pillows
and hope I like romance too.
I kiss your temple
during each thunderstorm.
I read you books in bed,
because your eyes are worn.
I put my ear to your chest
because I want you to see
that the air you breathe
means everything to me.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
I hope you feel like the last petal plucked off of a flower.
"She loves me not."
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
I smell you on my skin
and I think about the rose garden
and how every flower was different,
beautiful
I wanted every one of them,
but darling roses are only for looks
don't try to pluck them
they will only ***** tiny holes
into your fingers
and draw blood from your veins
darling don't touch me,
I will only put holes in your heart
and draw tears from your eyes
I am the beautiful roses in the garden.
Don't pick me.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
kissing you was like swerving into oncoming traffic
i can never tell if i am more haunted by empty picture frames or the ashes of their contents
you taught me that the saying "pick your battles" meant not answering when love was at the door
sometimes when i drink whiskey i swear i can hear your voice in the creases of my bedsheets & i sleep on the floor
i still catch myself running my hands over things you touched the most, looking for the echoes of your fingertips
i practice things i'll never say to you
i remember the day you told me you didn't like poetry, how "everything's already been said" & how "nothing meaningful can be captured without being cliche" you know, i don't miss you like the sun and moon, i do not miss you like tide bent waves crashing on the shoreline, i miss you like a chernobyl swingset misses children
rumor has it that drowning is a lot like coming home, that drinking bleach can **** the butterflies in your stomach
for your love of cigarettes, i would have been an ashtray
this halloween i want to dress up as the you when you loved yourself and show up on your doorstep
i never understood what you meant when you said i was an instrument, back when you would cup your hands around my chest and breathe through the holes in my heart, i still wonder if the sounds i made remind you of wind chimes
i never paid much attention to abandoned buildings until i became one
in my dreams all the flowers smell like your perfume
i am the only person who has ever wished for the same snowflake to fall twice
if i could go back, and rewrite the definition of audacity, it would be how when we lost the bet of love, you said "we never shook on it"
i love you, if the feeling is not mutual, please pretend this was a poem
the only apology i want from you, is to have you repeat the names of children we will never have in your parents living room until they *****
we are the same person if you find yourself up at 4am dry heaving promises, or if you are kept awake by the laughter of those who've abandoned you
nobody ever told you that goodbyes taste like the back of stamps
sometimes i'm convinced that the only reason we hug, is so you can check my back for exit wounds
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC