sometimes i wish i was back home, back in time. tucked in my purple galaxy sheets, upstairs in my twin size bed. back in a time where fireflies circled my room, with a night sky full of stars alight with possibilities. where familiar had a scent and it hugged my lunges around a camp fire. where it coated my hair in chlorine from night swimming on a summer’s night. where time had a feeling and it wasn’t so scary seeming so endless. where it beat in my heart like a song that i wouldn’t dream of hearing the end of it. home. i have scars of it on my skin from playing too rough in the backyard, with friends that made the air echo with kiddish laughter. i have pieces of it scattered in this house that doesn’t fit quite right. home. where every position of the sun hit every corner just right. where i grew with each vine. each root. each moment. i shared my adolescence with a blueprint built to a house that made itself a part of me. no fourth of july is right if it isn’t in my front yard, when the sun is just setting and the sparklers are being put out on the front porch. no christmas is christmas if I’m not watching the snow fall down between the street lamps of my neighborhood from the window in the front door, waiting for santa to give me what I’ve been good for all year. no autumn is autumn without the big tree in the backyard changing into these fire burning colors that rain ashes onto the grass, amazing me every time. no spring is spring without grams taking me to the back garden, showing me the respect roots need to grow.
home. once you leave it you will never get it back. sometimes you’ll find yourself on some random street in some random time catching a sliver of it. for no particular reason. the sun will align just right, and shine just enough, to remind you of what it used to be like. how life used to be before your home became somebody else’s. before the scars you now bare are not the kind built around laughter. before you got this hole in your chest where home used to fit. and everything that came with it.
holiday’s sing, but not in the tune i used to hear it in. flowers grow, but i lost respect for the roots that took my grams away with it. the forth of july will celebrate, and i’ll go along with it but it’ll never be the same.
home.
i’ll never stop missing it. no matter how long it’s been.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 12:31 AM UTC
*“It was a struggle of fighting to be who you wanted me to be, and who I actually was. I knew what I wanted, but it wasn’t in the same way that you did. I couldn’t hide my heart, I couldn’t put it away for you. And don’t you dare tell me that you don’t have one, because I’ve seen it. Even if it was just for a flicker of a second— it was there. I won’t accept your initial word, because what you said didn’t add up to what you did to me. You told me you didn’t want anything, but you called me. You told me you didn’t want anything, but you touched me. You told me this and you told me that, but you kissed me and did everything with me and you mean to tell me it was only ever because you were bored?
The next time you invite someone in, as she sleeps beside your tired body, don’t pull her close and tell her to “come here”. Don’t kiss her on the neck as you reach for her hand and have your breath softly hum on her bare shoulder like a sweet wind. Don’t pull the sheets up and dream so peacefully beside her.
Don’t do anything, because she’ll never forget the sounds. The train crosses through the empty town around 2 a.m. every morning, and she will wake up every time. She will see you there and her heart will sink because you sleep so peacefully. Her heart will sink because you say things, but then you do things. And she will become whatever is you want her to be, just so she can be here in this moment again. She will do absolutely whatever it is to breathe you in just one more time.
Even if that means she becomes somebody else completely.
She will do it, and you won’t even notice.”*
-E.A.D
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC
There are hallways
and there are rooms.
Roads connecting to homes.
Paths leading to villages.
Vacant spaces brining me to nowhere.
Veins are lines on a map,
we are more than just bodies.
We are unfolded pieces of paper
creased in the corners with relevant urge.
With crests and valleys composed of experiences
and dreams
and adventure.
I have yet to unfold.
Doors whisper,
they invite you in.
So many locks and keys
and treasure chests full of passion
of determination
of unwavering will.
I’m locked and no key has ever fit.
Footsteps are history in the making.
Artifacts.
Proof of the reason you stayed;
the reason you left.
The carved sand along the shore
making you wonder if they are running away
or going home.
I turn to only find my shadow.
Maps full
of all these hallways and rooms
and reasons
and unopened treasure chests.
Missing keys and ghostly whispers
before every door
and I begin to wonder
whether or not I was begging please
to the slurring headlights down the midnight road
or to somebody who could save me.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 8:07 PM UTC
You can't just let go
Because it runs so much deeper than that
Much much deeper
And to dismiss it so easily
Means it didn't even exist at all
And that this pain that is so real
Is all my imagination
And I did all of this to myself
That the way you spoke to me
Was in a dream
And I didn't even want to wake up
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
He’s afraid of the ocean
because he doesn’t understand why the shoreline deserves to be kissed
every time they push the waves away.
He thinks we’re all going to die and it’ll be for nothing;
that will live to fill up empty spaces like headless bees
with a desire to sting the very first thing we touch.
He believes that these limitations and politics are pointless
because apparently keeping your hands to yourself was something someone made up
because they were crookedly insecure about themselves.
He looks up at the sky and hates the moon
because it doesn’t burn bright enough to cover up all the secrets that the stars hold.
So he blames the system and closes his eyes and goes to sleep.
He listens to renditions of the same story told in fifteen different ways and is captivated every time because its so simple
and so easy
to have someone teach them for you
instead of sleeping on a bed of blades.
He doesn’t even walk
he saunters
and nods as a hello
and wears baseball caps
because maybe it’ll shadow the lies he wears creased between his eyes.
He isn’t real,
no matter how many times you touch him.
He’ll claim that he is a bearer of the sun and that the light is the ode to freedom
but you’ve never in your life kissed anything so cold.
He’ll whisper to you and you’ll want to whisper back,
but you’ll find yourself driving home
screaming at the top of your lungs
because you left drunk
and he was more worried about his career
than your heart through the windshield
when he could've just drove you home himself.
He’s Pinocchio and you’ll end up wishing he could lie better
So you could feel like a respected lady just once.
But his tone reminds you
that the only kind of love a boy like him is made for
is the kind of love that leaves you bleeding and wet.
He’s an empty auditorium full of reverberating echoes
and you’ll spend your time
waiting
sitting
wondering
when the show will end—
Not even realizing that the jokes on you.
You could’ve drawn the curtains at any point in time
but you didn’t
because he was smiling
And nothing in this world is as lethal as his smile
as he tells you
there’s nothing to be afraid of
Those words are bullets
and you weren’t wearing any armor.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 2:19 AM UTC
I searched for the words to say to you
in the floorboards that creaked and groaned
whenever the ghost of you would linger around my mind
In the same places I find you
as I stray into opposite corners of your room
to find something else in you
that should give me a reason to stay
Seduction isn’t wise in you
while I'm catching your eyes wandering
around the stumbling crowd
looking for something else to touch
I need to think about you with somebody else
so I can dance alone
and be okay with that
though you never wanted to dance with me anyway
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
I found you in the embers
of a burning fire
because I was stupid enough
to follow the trail of smoke
out against a yellow sky,
right into the thunderous wrath of you.
I should've just left you there—
in the trenches of the universe
where nothing is worthy enough of anything;
In the pit of the fallen feathers
picked from a murdered Angel’s gracious wings.
Like the wicked thief you are
you abandoned me
as you tied a splintered rope to my foot,
knotted it into the bottom of the earth,
and flew your way to the top
with the shattered pieces of my heart
that you lost in yours.
Vicious and ****** you were,
though I was trying to hammer you a shield.
Bruised and battered you left me,
though all I gave you was an outlet to the Epicurean Philosophy.
Rugged claws is all that’s left of me
and a silence so loud in it’s wake
I can’t hear myself think.
I haven’t spoken a real word
since you touched me,
So I listen to the rain pour
down in it’s muttering rhythms
at the bottom of the ocean
while the chest beneath
the heart you split open
caves in.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC
I've been slipping
digging
into my heart,
using these broken nails
to crawl my way out of this dirt
that I buried myself into.
"No," I've promised myself.
"*This world-- it's hypnotizing.
It'll **** the soul right out of you.*"
The hungry skies will feed off of your light
to make the stars shine.
The world might be flat in the way it feels when you hit the floor,
but it will still fold into you
like a lock twists into a cage.
Don't ever forget
to keep dreaming
keep thinking
keep breathing,
for the world will take it from you
and you'll never be able to live again.
If you don't swim you'll drown.
If you close your heart in the way you close your eyes,
you'll never wake up.
The heart never sleeps,
and the longer you keep yourself in the dark,
you'll close your eyes.
And never wake up.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
At some point
you just pull off the Band-Aid
and it hurts
but, then it's over and you're relieved
and you can see the wounds
for what they really are
and face the truth
that you're already healing.
E.A.D
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
Take her down to the city streets
And she'll follow the trail of leaves
Down to the trees,
Where she'll climb the branches until
She reaches the sky.
She'll jump onto the clouds
and lay there until she splits into pieces
and rains down onto the towns
Where she's dreamt
Of sleeping.
You'll remember her down
By the rivers where the evergreens
Meet a golden sky
Because she told you to live in color.
And on the bridges where the cities meet
These rustic roads
You'll hear her whispers between the iron bars
Like magnets to a needle on a compass
And be confused on which way is home.
You'll follow the footsteps in the snow
To a door that's frozen shut,
And remember that her hands were always cold
When yours were always warm.
You had a heart when she did not.
Your pulses drove her home,
Where she hadn't been in quite sometime.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC