I've handed you
every missed opportunity I have ever had with a beautiful,
intelligent man. You are now
the object of my affection, like
everyone who came before you wasn't real,
only practice, but the sting of their rejection
has lasted. It's still burned into my memory.
I am giving it all to you.
Please hold it, for a little while, don't let
my chaos burn your skin, juggle it
between fingers and let it wind around your arm
like a boa constrictor.
You have the weight of the world
on your shoulders, it's up to you to redeem
all mankind, in my mind.
Please, smoke out the bad memories
from the empty, needy cavern of my mind.
Please, replace them with good, with your
jokes, and smile, and kisses on the
small of my back.
******* Bukowski was right, you have
no knife, the knife is mine. But I gave
it to you. Sharp as hell.
Please, don't use it
yet.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
She leads with sexuality.
She says **** me," instead of
hello.
If she says, "I love you already."
don't run away, don't
worry, it only means,
"How was your day?"
It means something
normal.
If she doesn't say it, still, she isn't
normal.
Her eyes begin every sentence with,
"Will you love me?
Will you **** me?
Will you promise to never
leave me?"
And when you say, "Bend over,"
It will mean, "Love you, too."
You used to think *** was love, but
now you know, *** isn't love.
*** is medicine for
sick people.
Your body, naked, shaking, is more of
a multivitamin for sociopaths,
than it is your body.
She leads with sexuality, but
how else should it be felt?
And no, your **** is not big enough
to fill the hole
in her heart.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
Because her heart broke
like the thin stem of a wine glass
6 years ago, and there was
no glue in sight.
Because mending is more
than glue, it's sand in the eyes and
metal wires in teeth.
It's drilling,
cutting of perfect skin.
Self-sabotage & destruction.
Because compassion is not
hunt for sport, you can't
prey on it.
It is so post-modern
to feel so disconnected
from other humans
that it makes you want to
take your life, take your beauty off
this earth. Makes you want to
make them miss you more
than anyone can miss
anything.
Love you more than anyone
can love anything.
Because if no one has
ever loved you in your lifetime,
it might sound nice. No one ever
loves you more than that moment
when they realize they lost
you to yourself.
Be tragic & reckless. Make them lose you
over and over again
like car keys.
When she is in it that deep,
she doesn't see consequences. She won't
be here to pick the mess up.
If emotion is weakness,
my body is a stitching together
of Achilles heels.
Because the reason girls say
they are "fine" when they are not fine,
is that you will call them crazy
at the first sign
& the slightest semblance of an
emotion.
Because she is not yours. She is
barely her own.
Let's raise girls who don't have
a childhood to recover from.
The sadness will
not last forever.
Because she needs to write
her way through it.
Because she never had
her mind, so she can't
lose it.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
We walked and smoked
an old, worn out joint
in between a school and church.
Inappropriately, how we did
most things.
We talked about life
and where we should be,
and why aren’t we there?
And why is there a chain
between us?
The wall is gone, but the chain?
It's strong, it weighed me down all day.
Running my hand along the metal
loops, my fingers dancing on our
disconnection.
Gliding over our separateness.
Back and forth we walked
chains and walls and years
separate us. We met in the
wrong lifetime.
We walked and smoked
the moment burnt and gone and the high, gone too.
And to him, I was one joint.
To me, he was a forest fire.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
We used to smoke, we used to spend time
like it was as precious as your last paycheck.
I loved you because
you were present, you got every joke
and heard every sigh. The few, small times
you were there, my god, were
you there.
Like a child, presence comes at a cost.
You broke everything.
Peter pan complex, your complexion
was dark and light
like your mood.
Love me like
I'm not crazy. Pretend I'm not sad
nor desperate.
My self esteem is as high
as we are.
I don't exist to be beautiful enough
for you.
I will never be beautiful enough
for you.
I gave you my time, the most
valuable thing I have. All I have to give.
Besides my body, but
that stopped counting
years ago.
Part of me knows
you cannot love another
living, breathing being. You
hate yourself.
So you smoke my ****
while I fall in love with you.
You could have had me
when you had me
but now it's too late.
There isn't enough alcohol in this
beautiful world to make me
**** you again.
If you need me, I'll be here
enjoying the present, listening
to our favorite song, smoking
all our memories.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
No, you cannot heal
if healing means leaving me here
alone. I won't allow it.
Stay close to me, hold
chaos's hand. Tie your ship
to mine and
we'll both
go down
together.
No, please don't heal, don't
get better if better means
away from me. Don't do it,
you should stay
and play with
my fire.
I started to heal once,
rehab for ghost hearts and
fragile bones, I patched myself up
with forgiveness and rope.
It came lose over time and the knots
were all frayed and life
undid the healing
I worked so hard for.
Time opens
all wounds.
So it's better to not try,
accept there is no bandaid that will fix you, you like
your broken parts and
grinding gears, you can't be
held together with sutures
or forgiveness or rope.
Don't heal.
Don't leave me here, broken.
Don't fall in love
as I'm walking away.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
Don't tell me what the weather will be,
I want to experience life myself. I need
that unknowable moment
when you step outside and
it hits you like a train.
Let's stop talking about the snow
and start rolling in it.
I want to know even less
about the future. I crave
shock and awe and
jaw-dropping reality.
I don't want to see the sun on the television.
I want it to slap me in the face
in person.
I don't care about the predicted
animated snowflake.
Let it surprise me.
Seeing is not believing,
I need to feel it.
I want to taste that snowflake
so raw, so real, so humanely cold
that it will be grateful
it landed
on my skin.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
I will write myself to sleep.
I will write long, pathetic
poems instead of texts to my
ex. I will write
the novel of my life
instead of asking you
for attention.
I will write
the new bible
on isolation, chronological
volumes
on loneliness.
I will write ten million
haikus before I write
you again.
I will write love letters
to myself until my fingers
bleed, until I
believe them.
I will write the handbook
on neglect, the idiots guide
to dealing with it.
I will write vague
fortune cookies about
self-acceptance and
self-forgiveness.
By the time I'm finished,
I will have exhausted
my depression.
I will write Shakespearean
prose about this
rejection.
I will write suicide notes
on my shield and armor for
protection and I will
save myself with them.
I will write angry, violent speeches
to rally the voices
in my head.
I will write a pledge of allegiance
to myself and recite it daily,
after coffee.
I will pray to the Gods of
"move on," and "get over it."
I will baptize myself
in holy water
that makes me
stop caring
completely.
Holy water, oh well, whatever
move on. Hallelujah.
I will write the ten commandments
on how to be
abandoned.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
Kind strangers cannot fill
the hole in your heart.
It doesn't matter how good they are,
how well they respond to your
match-lighting and
boundary-pushing.
Your bridge-burning
and soul desiring, unsatisfied
with the best of people.
You dont even know him.
How could you put him
through that, through you,
how could you try to
catch him in your web
and share your misery
with him. It
ain't right.
And it doesn't help
to have predicted how doomed you both were,
to have noticed right away how it
would end, before it began,
coldly. Without contact.
No hugs or kisses signing this
apology text. No x's and o's at the end
of this suicide note. It was
cold. You are cruel.
Don't ever take a kind stranger
by the hand and drag them into
your life. Don't ever hand
a sweet stranger a broken piece of yourself.
Don't tell them about that piece
of yourself.
You could have been anyone, you
could have been bold and confident
and beautiful and intelligent but
instead you talk like
a 12-year old girl
who is lonely and pathetic,
a human version of an
anxiety attack.
The next kind stranger that you meet,
don't introduce him to that girl.
She may exist, but you don't have to
force people to love her. Love
cannot be forced.
Introduce the next kind stranger to
the artist, the traveler, the linguist,
the lover and be so radiant and so positive
that even the little girl
will start to believe
it.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 5:04 PM UTC
It all went very well,
it was a terrible disaster.
You looked so peaceful, lying
awake in the dark,
so hideous the morning after.
I didn't want to walk alone,
I didn't want to hold your hand.
I'm in love with you.
You, who I cannot stand.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC