4.9.12
(no idea what this is really, just wrote it after writing a horrible psychology paper)
I always wake up in circles
The imprint of my motionless
body worn craters between sheets
I never sleep under.
On a nightly basis,
I'm fearful of tucking myself
between basic layers of cotton
swaddled between thin air
and thoughts I don't understand
falling too slowly amidst
scattered mind conversations
In the morning, I'll be confused
by the emotions that lay
in-between the pocket of untouched air
when courage kisses my shoulder blades
i'll leave the abyss that my quilt has created
still fearful of those **** sheets
that have hidden themselves so quietly
beneath the imprint of my body
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
Sometimes, when bad thoughts plauge my mind at night
I shake my head
in a rapid succession of movement
my attempts to empty the excess
Every night of my childhood
I made a Vegas worthy deal with my father
He took my worries at night
and I took his
He claimed us the biggest worriers on the earth
Dubbed me queen of the Worry Wells before
carefully placing a kiss on my forehead
You see, forehead kisses
were my fathers attempt
to **** out the unseen youthful damage
of a brain constantly panicked with worry
Every night of my childhood
my father left me with his suitcase of fears
I was always too worried to open it
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 2:49 AM UTC
sometime between
the morning sun
and afternoon air
we would sit between
the two trees
in my front yard
the white picket fence
shadowing our faces
while you braided my hair
for each twist of honey colored hair
you would whisper
carefully building the foundation of my youth
tucked between flowers
and lullabies
it was always accessible
until your words would form
a different melody
of sweet plaited kisses
deep inside the strands
that made the summer
seem as long as the braid
swimming down my back
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC
Okay, so it's technically already the seventh but I haven't gone to bed yet, so this counts.
My heart is an accordion
Inside it's many folds
are notes
from past lovers
one says
"I told you I loved you, i promise I didn't mean it"
one says
"why are you such a cold hearted *****
and one says
"you give the worlds best back rubs"
together, these notes don't amount to much
they would make a ****** poem
a reflection on my innocence of how
to untangle the functionality of a relationship
a perfect precise image of my attempts
to figure out
how to be
and how to be with someone
I still can't figure it out.
But the thing about accordions is,
they sound beautiful with others
but just as awkward and lovely alone.
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 4:37 AM UTC
A year ago today
I considered all too much
pushing down the steady acceleration
of my sixteenth birthday present
I don't remember much.
The song "Breathe me" by Sia was playing
national anthem of bullied hearts
white noise for steel crushing
breathless air
10 minutes away from my house is the hospital
I have timed it.
6 minutes,
no red lights,
or unexpected traffic
On April 5th 2011
I prayed for unexpected traffic
broken red lights
moments of prolonged pain.
I wanted wounds for a reason
inflicted by something besides myself
because of someone else
Instead, my sixteenth birthday present
drove me to therapy
45 minutes away from my house
35 minutes away from the hopsital
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
You left your hair in the sink
I kept it there as a reminder
we were growing old,
that things fall out of place
and take awhile to rebirth themselves
You left your scent lingering
between my sheets
the familiar mixture of body heat, sly smiles
I left it there as a reminder
of our conversations,
the ones where our paper hearts
wrote tin can telephone conversations
through our arteries
You left every single god **** sock of yours
on the floor
tossed aside,
claiming they trapped too many feelings
inside them at night
Sleeping with feelings wedged between your toes
is the equivalent to walking between whispers
It never works.
You left your skin on the kitchen counter
between the sink and the stove
a reminder that we are always shedding the excess
that in six months we are sombody new,
something our body
doesn't quite feel comfortable yet
You left too many notes for me to find.
hidden in the crevices of drawers
under the matress
stitched inbetween pillow case threads
even inside the broken toaster
a reminder that anything can catch a flame
You left a lot of things in Oregon,
but you didn't leave your heart.
You took that with you.
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
I want a tattoo of your heart.i want it on the sleeve of my ****** skin.
And when you see it for the first time
I want you to immediately recognize it as yours.
Something out of place
taken out of your body
placed on the skin of someone
you have long forgotten
as some sort of remembrance piece
As even though it's still beating
your heart lays heavy on someone
else's skin for a change
A piece of thick flesh
with a distinct function
of that to only serve your body
not somebody else's
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 12:57 AM UTC
April 2, 2012.
The only thing I am capable of drawing
is a city skyline.
Anonymous configurations
buildings I've never actually seen before.
Everytime I was handed a writing utensil
and a smooth wriing surface
my hand would flow into the careful rhythm
of drawing parallel lines
some buildings were topped off with triangular party hats
others remained flat
a place for the horizion to rest upon
This started at a young age.
Somewhere between eight and twelve.
My body began to itch for a city
that was overcrowded with the heat
of dream driven bodies
A constant ticking of an alarm clock
that would never understand
the word snooze
Tonight, I am reminded of this feeling.
The worn out, drugged feeling
unsatiated with drawing the familiar pattern
A feeling I've constantly felt
but a skyline I've never seen
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
The first of thirty and the first time I've ever comitted to something I find very important.
Beneath my chest are two parachutes
On a daily basis the expand themselves,
with each breath.
Moving in a synchronized fashion, togther
they support the same body.
Never does one think of the consequence,
often embracing the heat of a cigarette
or the medically created air of an inhaler
My lungs
They make the best parachutes
Capillary kite strings,
perfect precision of movement
between the fine lines of the atmosphere
Kite strings that are often and only severed by a blunt force trauma
that, waking up feeling of getting hit by a truck
too many cigarettes between nervous conversations with a ghost
or the constant reassurance between inhalations that sometime soon,
my heart will beat again like it used too
for something that matters
instead of something that should matter
My lungs make the best parachutes
never ceasing to stop their rhythm
constantly supporting the downfalls.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
Upon finding pictures of your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend kissing
1) Remind yourself that he is a ****** kisser, that the first time he kissed you
was in the sketchy part of town
(he told you to hide your purse underneath his car seat)
and he kissed so oddly passionate
that he might as well of taken your tonsils out
2) Remember that his idea of a perfect date night consisted
of him sharing a 69 cent soda from Mcdonalds and
devouring a plate of onion rings like it was the 2010 world eating championship
3) Remember that food was all he liked to eat.
Nothing else.
4) When you see this picture, recognize that he is in something
other than his favorite maroon t-shirt.
Realize that maybe his new girlfriend, taught him how to do laundry,
maybe she even bought him cologne.
Instead of sheepishly leaving it on the hood of his car as
a friendly reminder that smelling decent is an important factor
in a long lasting relationship
5) Remember the nights your father paid him $40 to
take you out on a real date
6) Remind yourself that the $40 dollars was spent
on **** and a movie
you both don't remember watching
7) Remember that he was your first love,
that nothing more powerful than your two bodies
making out in his run-down car
behind the giant bush in front of your parents house
was once the most important thing in the world to you
8) Realize that maybe this new girlfriend of his
fits all of the qualities he found difficult finding in you.
9)Realize that he likes her, and he's falling in love with her.
The picture clearly shows it, he's falling in love again.
Pray for that girl
10) Pray that when he looks her in the eyes
for the hundredth time that when his lips part
and he whispers, "i love you"
that this time around, he'll actually mean it.
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 5:00 AM UTC