kirsten-nichole - Hello Poetry

I’m sitting here drunk on stolen *** Staring at the bottle I’ve been drinking from Empty of virtue, empty of sin Wishing for a swig of hundred-year gin. My thoughts are wandering, or nonexistent, Anything that comes is insufficient. It’s just a craving to fill a space Left by someone who stole my taste. It’s not the juice that has me tipsy Considering I’ve been playing gypsy Travelling to nowhere, dragging my heart Watching my soul being spread apart. It’s the fear of falling, both in love and out, Never knowing what you’re about. It’s the sense of drowning, of being pulled under, Of feeling the crash but empty of thunder, The mixed interactions, the constant rash questions, Attempting to sprint nine different directions, Seeing you write all the truths I’ve been told Then watching each lie slowly gently unfold. It’s sickening me, I thought I knew you Until I saw your true colors come through. I felt secure, as though I had sight Dancing and kissing under forty watt light Singing and laughing, feeling your touch, Then experiencing the words “this is too much.” It’s like standing on concrete and feeling it crack Opening a paintbox and finding all black. I’m so over this game, this half-hearted living Falling for feelings that aren’t so forgiving But I can’t seem to detach myself from the curse It’s a destructive addiction, and it only gets worse. I’m not even angry, I don’t even want blood, I’m just sick of feeling like I’m running in mud So I need some protection, a blanket I’ve sewn Of lessons I’ve learned and people I’ve known. It’s not that I’m fearful, I still want the passion, I’m just not getting trampled by your misguided actions. In a sense I’m surrounded, my heart’s walls are high But I’m willing to open if you’re willing to try. Don’t think that you have to be perfect for me Just tell me the truth, allow me to see. We can even forget to give it a name Friendly but physical, I can play that game Just whatever you do, don’t call it love Cause that isn’t the feeling I was thinking of. If we can be honest, we can be friends But as far as I care, that’s where it ends. So as I huddle alone, soft focused with wine No sense of direction, just killing time I expose my still heart, and find it rubbed raw From escaping the weight of confusion’s cold claw I’m drinking it numb, constricting the light Fervently sipping the froth of a pint It makes me uneasy, but goes down like silk As though I’m gulping thick sweetened milk I need a sense of emotional healing But crave the completeness of warm unfeeling I want to get high, but then it’s easy to fall Deliciously nervous then crushed from it all So I’d rather shoot whisky, let it burn down my throat Contemplate every ****** I wrote Purposefully killing whatever’s inside So I can forget about it, stop trying to hide Each time I felt stupid, each time I got ****** Gripping for something that didn’t exist. But don’t think this stopped me, I’ll sober up soon But you’ll always be hung-over past noon. Your selfishness suits you, so I guess the ultimate test Is seeing whose love life comes out for the best. I’m not one for pining, I’ve had my last drink Contrary to what ever **** you might think I’m telling you otherwise, if you think that I care Please get over yourself and try growing a pair.

0

Sep 14, 2012

Sep 14, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC

amor vincit omnia

I’m sitting here drunk on stolen *** Staring at the bottle I’ve been drinking from Empty of virtue, empty of sin Wishing for a swig of hundred-year gin. My thoughts are wandering, or nonexistent, Anything that comes is insufficient. It’s just a craving to fill a space Left by someone who stole my taste. It’s not the juice that has me tipsy Considering I’ve been playing gypsy Travelling to nowhere, dragging my heart Watching my soul being spread apart. It’s the fear of falling, both in love and out, Never knowing what you’re about. It’s the sense of drowning, of being pulled under, Of feeling the crash but empty of thunder, The mixed interactions, the constant rash questions, Attempting to sprint nine different directions, Seeing you write all the truths I’ve been told Then watching each lie slowly gently unfold. It’s sickening me, I thought I knew you Until I saw your true colors come through. I felt secure, as though I had sight Dancing and kissing under forty watt light Singing and laughing, feeling your touch, Then experiencing the words “this is too much.” It’s like standing on concrete and feeling it crack Opening a paintbox and finding all black. I’m so over this game, this half-hearted living Falling for feelings that aren’t so forgiving But I can’t seem to detach myself from the curse It’s a destructive addiction, and it only gets worse. I’m not even angry, I don’t even want blood, I’m just sick of feeling like I’m running in mud So I need some protection, a blanket I’ve sewn Of lessons I’ve learned and people I’ve known. It’s not that I’m fearful, I still want the passion, I’m just not getting trampled by your misguided actions. In a sense I’m surrounded, my heart’s walls are high But I’m willing to open if you’re willing to try. Don’t think that you have to be perfect for me Just tell me the truth, allow me to see. We can even forget to give it a name Friendly but physical, I can play that game Just whatever you do, don’t call it love Cause that isn’t the feeling I was thinking of. If we can be honest, we can be friends But as far as I care, that’s where it ends. So as I huddle alone, soft focused with wine No sense of direction, just killing time I expose my still heart, and find it rubbed raw From escaping the weight of confusion’s cold claw I’m drinking it numb, constricting the light Fervently sipping the froth of a pint It makes me uneasy, but goes down like silk As though I’m gulping thick sweetened milk I need a sense of emotional healing But crave the completeness of warm unfeeling I want to get high, but then it’s easy to fall Deliciously nervous then crushed from it all So I’d rather shoot whisky, let it burn down my throat Contemplate every ****** I wrote Purposefully killing whatever’s inside So I can forget about it, stop trying to hide Each time I felt stupid, each time I got ****** Gripping for something that didn’t exist. But don’t think this stopped me, I’ll sober up soon But you’ll always be hung-over past noon. Your selfishness suits you, so I guess the ultimate test Is seeing whose love life comes out for the best. I’m not one for pining, I’ve had my last drink Contrary to what ever **** you might think I’m telling you otherwise, if you think that I care Please get over yourself and try growing a pair.

74

I always carry a pen in my pocket. I watch I Love Lucy reruns when I’m upset. Chocolate is my obsession, my “péché migon.” I listen to quiet chatter and music without lyrics when I’m trying to focus. I am far from a picky eater, but I cannot stand ketchup or licorice. Watching Gilmore Girls religiously for five years taught me that life is too short to talk slowly enough for people to understand you. I find the world hilarious. Making it easy for people to laugh with me is my goal. I ogle over Ducky from Pretty in Pink with my best friend every time I need a reminder that not all boys are **** I want to walk down the aisle holding a bouquet of stargazer lilies, as my mom did before me, and I lose myself in Degas’ “L’étoile” every so often. Burt’s Bees honey lip balm reminds me of my childhood Winnie-the-Pooh scratch-and-sniff book. Every cup of Constant Comment tea, pair of jeans that fits perfectly, night spent listening to rain hit the roof, and run through damp grass with bare feet reminds me that life is beautiful. Once, I ate so much pineapple I burned the lining of my mouth. I cried the first time I heard “Save Us” by Cartel and saw the ending of Cyrano de Bergerac in French. I am going to marry the genius who invented cinnamon brown sugar Pop Tarts. Everyday, when I leave the house, I blow a kiss to the picture of Walter Payton my dad hung above the doorway to our garage. When on vacation, my family and I buy pastries and coffee and walk in front of a jewelry store, attempting to recreate the scene from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Life should be a little crazy most of the time. I may seem difficult to live with, but I’ve shared a room with my little sister for fifteen years, and she only hates me sixty-three percent of the time. I hope that you are up for a few good laughs and an extraordinary year.

0

Mar 27, 2012

Mar 27, 2012 at 7:37 PM UTC

dear somebody,

I always carry a pen in my pocket. I watch I Love Lucy reruns when I’m upset. Chocolate is my obsession, my “péché migon.” I listen to quiet chatter and music without lyrics when I’m trying to focus. I am far from a picky eater, but I cannot stand ketchup or licorice. Watching Gilmore Girls religiously for five years taught me that life is too short to talk slowly enough for people to understand you. I find the world hilarious. Making it easy for people to laugh with me is my goal. I ogle over Ducky from Pretty in Pink with my best friend every time I need a reminder that not all boys are **** I want to walk down the aisle holding a bouquet of stargazer lilies, as my mom did before me, and I lose myself in Degas’ “L’étoile” every so often. Burt’s Bees honey lip balm reminds me of my childhood Winnie-the-Pooh scratch-and-sniff book. Every cup of Constant Comment tea, pair of jeans that fits perfectly, night spent listening to rain hit the roof, and run through damp grass with bare feet reminds me that life is beautiful. Once, I ate so much pineapple I burned the lining of my mouth. I cried the first time I heard “Save Us” by Cartel and saw the ending of Cyrano de Bergerac in French. I am going to marry the genius who invented cinnamon brown sugar Pop Tarts. Everyday, when I leave the house, I blow a kiss to the picture of Walter Payton my dad hung above the doorway to our garage. When on vacation, my family and I buy pastries and coffee and walk in front of a jewelry store, attempting to recreate the scene from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Life should be a little crazy most of the time. I may seem difficult to live with, but I’ve shared a room with my little sister for fifteen years, and she only hates me sixty-three percent of the time. I hope that you are up for a few good laughs and an extraordinary year.

20

1. Marshmallow-roasting. While untwisting the wire can be tricky, the rewards greatly exceed the inevitable poking and stabbing. 2. A bow for your pretend arrows. Especially handy for when those pesky backyard monsters are after you, and your pretend gun is out of bullets. 3. Beating up your little brother when he refuses to give you one of his animal crackers. Truth. 4. “You lock your keys in your car?” “Nope, just washed it. Hanging it up to dry.” 5. You know that impossible-to-reach spot directly in the middle of your back that itches constantly due to Murphy’s Law? Well not anymore… 6. Perfect for poking air holes in the shoebox where you keep the pet ladybug you found at the lake. What, like you never did that? 7. A pirate’s hook. Isn’t that what they were made for? Just clip all that pesky “hanging” part off the bottom. 8. A necklace. Okay, not a very pretty necklace, but I’m running out of creative ideas here. 9. If you make a particularly large sandwich and a toothpick simply won’t do, straighten out the coat hanger… three feet of wire may be big enough to hold your monster meal together properly. 10. Pierce your tongue with the pointy end. Hey, I didn’t say these were good ideas. 11. When you see a member of the opposite *** you find attractive, “accidentally” catch the fabric of their shirt in the curved end as you walk past them. They won’t think it’s weird at all that you like to carry coat hangers with you. 12. Instant toilet paper hanger. 13. Oh wait, you can actually use it to hang coats in your closet, can’t you?

0

Mar 27, 2012

Mar 27, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC

13 ways to use a coathanger

1. Marshmallow-roasting. While untwisting the wire can be tricky, the rewards greatly exceed the inevitable poking and stabbing. 2. A bow for your pretend arrows. Especially handy for when those pesky backyard monsters are after you, and your pretend gun is out of bullets. 3. Beating up your little brother when he refuses to give you one of his animal crackers. Truth. 4. “You lock your keys in your car?” “Nope, just washed it. Hanging it up to dry.” 5. You know that impossible-to-reach spot directly in the middle of your back that itches constantly due to Murphy’s Law? Well not anymore… 6. Perfect for poking air holes in the shoebox where you keep the pet ladybug you found at the lake. What, like you never did that? 7. A pirate’s hook. Isn’t that what they were made for? Just clip all that pesky “hanging” part off the bottom. 8. A necklace. Okay, not a very pretty necklace, but I’m running out of creative ideas here. 9. If you make a particularly large sandwich and a toothpick simply won’t do, straighten out the coat hanger… three feet of wire may be big enough to hold your monster meal together properly. 10. Pierce your tongue with the pointy end. Hey, I didn’t say these were good ideas. 11. When you see a member of the opposite *** you find attractive, “accidentally” catch the fabric of their shirt in the curved end as you walk past them. They won’t think it’s weird at all that you like to carry coat hangers with you. 12. Instant toilet paper hanger. 13. Oh wait, you can actually use it to hang coats in your closet, can’t you?

13

Somewhere, Mother Nature’s breath floats Under a patch of crying sky And a sunset’s crayon box is reflected In the aviators of a thousand clouds. Here, the mind’s altar chooses The union of human thought and infinite atmosphere And a blue field pretending to be heaven Turns mortal vision into kaleidoscope dreams. Somewhere, love is worn not ragged, But on the skin of a body that knows the touch of life’s electricity And chocolate kisses melt on tongues In the mouths of a thousand faces that refuse to turn away. Here, the body’s compass creates Direction and vision rather than following it And glowing heartbeats bound in red ribbon Are cast into the wind and caught in old jam jars that illuminate with their fire. Somewhere, a beautiful stranger’s thoughts are woven Between a street performer’s nylon guitar strings And the space around a piano key Ripples with the color of a thousand unspoken wishes. Here, the soul’s music dances In the kingdom of the sound And expression overflows into a single note Because conversation is too light to bear the weight. Somewhere, butterflies fall Into the ashes of burning desire And bitter secrets burst open to scream The harvest of a thousand agonies. Here, the spirit’s window shatters Into infinite jagged shards of jealousy and greed And no matter how soothing, the dark of the night Never sings them to sleep. Where angels make conditional love My mind makes chalkboard scribbles And sepia dreams flood through the skylight of my vision And I wake up to a world where Love is real And pain is proof And lukewarm living is not an option. Here, the world’s seven wonders are immeasurable Tiny explosions called happiness and freedom and peace But the human eye is blind to this miracle.

0

Mar 27, 2012

Mar 27, 2012 at 7:08 PM UTC

shards of lukewarm living

Somewhere, Mother Nature’s breath floats Under a patch of crying sky And a sunset’s crayon box is reflected In the aviators of a thousand clouds. Here, the mind’s altar chooses The union of human thought and infinite atmosphere And a blue field pretending to be heaven Turns mortal vision into kaleidoscope dreams. Somewhere, love is worn not ragged, But on the skin of a body that knows the touch of life’s electricity And chocolate kisses melt on tongues In the mouths of a thousand faces that refuse to turn away. Here, the body’s compass creates Direction and vision rather than following it And glowing heartbeats bound in red ribbon Are cast into the wind and caught in old jam jars that illuminate with their fire. Somewhere, a beautiful stranger’s thoughts are woven Between a street performer’s nylon guitar strings And the space around a piano key Ripples with the color of a thousand unspoken wishes. Here, the soul’s music dances In the kingdom of the sound And expression overflows into a single note Because conversation is too light to bear the weight. Somewhere, butterflies fall Into the ashes of burning desire And bitter secrets burst open to scream The harvest of a thousand agonies. Here, the spirit’s window shatters Into infinite jagged shards of jealousy and greed And no matter how soothing, the dark of the night Never sings them to sleep. Where angels make conditional love My mind makes chalkboard scribbles And sepia dreams flood through the skylight of my vision And I wake up to a world where Love is real And pain is proof And lukewarm living is not an option. Here, the world’s seven wonders are immeasurable Tiny explosions called happiness and freedom and peace But the human eye is blind to this miracle.

42

Give me something that’s in my nature to love Something to drink that’s thick and sweet Something to listen to that’s ridiculous and beautiful Something to preside over disturbance. Give me something to turn plastic poetry to risky lyrics that fall off my teeth Something to shove my tongue into that’s warm and receiving Something to send a shiver through my subzero lungs Something to stir my personal life to keep it from burning. Give me something sensational to breathe in when the oxygen is stale Something to wrap my arms around when they’re screaming Something to lick that’s delicious and crazy Something to stop my mind running and allow it a place to rest. I’m asking this of you because I’m torn between caution and cupidity, Trying to maintain the majesty of whatever moment we’re in, And my fear cannot be remedied by your silence. While you sit still with your lanky arms crossed and your wet lips together I’m busy fanning fate’s flames because I care too much. While your depths prove endlessly interesting Your eyes do not shift, they do not express, they do not think. My loneliness is clinical, quantifiable, combustible material for tears. I’m sick of making love on triviality I’d rather be ******* over by passion. My back aches and my tongue is thirsty and my heart craves everything And each of them has been given only enough to sustain, not enough to thrive. Thank you for the sepia tone dreams and the coffee burns and the splatter paint wars and the red raw bite marks all over my neck But I know I’m not being felt the same way that I feel you, Caring for every inch of you, your heart and your body. And I can’t take the one way street anymore. This is the sound of me crashing as I wave goodbye.

0

Mar 27, 2012

Mar 27, 2012 at 4:22 AM UTC

give me something

Give me something that’s in my nature to love Something to drink that’s thick and sweet Something to listen to that’s ridiculous and beautiful Something to preside over disturbance. Give me something to turn plastic poetry to risky lyrics that fall off my teeth Something to shove my tongue into that’s warm and receiving Something to send a shiver through my subzero lungs Something to stir my personal life to keep it from burning. Give me something sensational to breathe in when the oxygen is stale Something to wrap my arms around when they’re screaming Something to lick that’s delicious and crazy Something to stop my mind running and allow it a place to rest. I’m asking this of you because I’m torn between caution and cupidity, Trying to maintain the majesty of whatever moment we’re in, And my fear cannot be remedied by your silence. While you sit still with your lanky arms crossed and your wet lips together I’m busy fanning fate’s flames because I care too much. While your depths prove endlessly interesting Your eyes do not shift, they do not express, they do not think. My loneliness is clinical, quantifiable, combustible material for tears. I’m sick of making love on triviality I’d rather be ******* over by passion. My back aches and my tongue is thirsty and my heart craves everything And each of them has been given only enough to sustain, not enough to thrive. Thank you for the sepia tone dreams and the coffee burns and the splatter paint wars and the red raw bite marks all over my neck But I know I’m not being felt the same way that I feel you, Caring for every inch of you, your heart and your body. And I can’t take the one way street anymore. This is the sound of me crashing as I wave goodbye.

33

I think I love you, you precious **** Your every flaw, your every quirk That painful glare, your disregard Your comebacks when they’re cold and hard I maybe love the way it stings The times you tell me awful things Your smile when it’s dripping pride And disrespects the other side When your conceit controls your vision Exposing your sinful disposition When you laugh, and it’s like a threat A joke that only you can get I think I love you and your ***** smirk The way you lie like fixed clockwork Your callused hands, your rough raw lips Your wandering gaze, the way it slips I just might love the way you boast The way you yell, but still get close Your abrasive touch, your shifting whims Your deceptions, their countless victims I could be wrong, I could be senseless But within my heart I feel defenseless There might be something wrong with me But I truly love your flawed beauty.

0

Mar 26, 2012

Mar 26, 2012 at 3:35 AM UTC

i think i love you

I think I love you, you precious **** Your every flaw, your every quirk That painful glare, your disregard Your comebacks when they’re cold and hard I maybe love the way it stings The times you tell me awful things Your smile when it’s dripping pride And disrespects the other side When your conceit controls your vision Exposing your sinful disposition When you laugh, and it’s like a threat A joke that only you can get I think I love you and your ***** smirk The way you lie like fixed clockwork Your callused hands, your rough raw lips Your wandering gaze, the way it slips I just might love the way you boast The way you yell, but still get close Your abrasive touch, your shifting whims Your deceptions, their countless victims I could be wrong, I could be senseless But within my heart I feel defenseless There might be something wrong with me But I truly love your flawed beauty.

24

Sometimes I see you better with my eyes closed When my gaze stops counting the lines in your forehead And the number of times you lick your lips And the freckles on your back. When I let my eyelids come between my vision and you The room becomes very crowded even though we’re the only people in it And I suddenly see your secrets that everyone knows and your complexities become understandable. Your worldly yet mellow curiosity teaches me to never underestimate doubt And when I see your laughter I remember to forget. Sometimes we’re very distant neighbors But when I close my eyes that distance shrinks When I can comprehend your passion as elegantly simple And your peace as a strong weakness. Your loyalty teaches me to quit quitting And your determination proves itself bittersweet. The silence of that never-ending moment roars through my ears But I like it, and I keep listening. Maybe it’s not right, but it’s true Everything I see about you can be seen with closed eyes, Everything that was hiding right in front of me becomes exposed in the darkness. And so far what I’ve noticed is that When you take out all the perfection, what’s left is a deadly beautiful contradiction. I’m just an average catastrophe But I’m hoping against hope that I’m right And that you’re completely unique just like all the others.

0

Mar 26, 2012

Mar 26, 2012 at 3:25 AM UTC

oxymoronic

Sometimes I see you better with my eyes closed When my gaze stops counting the lines in your forehead And the number of times you lick your lips And the freckles on your back. When I let my eyelids come between my vision and you The room becomes very crowded even though we’re the only people in it And I suddenly see your secrets that everyone knows and your complexities become understandable. Your worldly yet mellow curiosity teaches me to never underestimate doubt And when I see your laughter I remember to forget. Sometimes we’re very distant neighbors But when I close my eyes that distance shrinks When I can comprehend your passion as elegantly simple And your peace as a strong weakness. Your loyalty teaches me to quit quitting And your determination proves itself bittersweet. The silence of that never-ending moment roars through my ears But I like it, and I keep listening. Maybe it’s not right, but it’s true Everything I see about you can be seen with closed eyes, Everything that was hiding right in front of me becomes exposed in the darkness. And so far what I’ve noticed is that When you take out all the perfection, what’s left is a deadly beautiful contradiction. I’m just an average catastrophe But I’m hoping against hope that I’m right And that you’re completely unique just like all the others.

25