lp-sills - Hello Poetry

Why are you so sad, For a man that let you go, So easily, So simply. A man that said, “We will never get this right…” And left with no other reasons. Why do you mourn him? Because I loved him In all the ways he thought He shouldn’t be loved. I loved him in ways he will realize too late, If ever at all. But, I do not miss him. I miss the way I allowed myself to love him. I miss the way I fought for him. It makes me sad to love him. But only because he will never realize The ways in which I did.

0

Sep 11, 2023

Sep 11, 2023 at 9:40 PM UTC

Victor Michael

Why are you so sad, For a man that let you go, So easily, So simply. A man that said, “We will never get this right…” And left with no other reasons. Why do you mourn him? Because I loved him In all the ways he thought He shouldn’t be loved. I loved him in ways he will realize too late, If ever at all. But, I do not miss him. I miss the way I allowed myself to love him. I miss the way I fought for him. It makes me sad to love him. But only because he will never realize The ways in which I did.

19

This morning I had coffee with God, or the divine being, or the top dog.. Whatever you want to call her. Sometimes I call her a ***** But that’s the thing about Gods, right? They are what you need them to be. So she strolled in around 6:45, blasting Jay Z’s “Encore” through my Alexa and asked me what the **** I was doing. It went a little something like this: “Get your *** up, we need to have a chat.” “I don’t remember calling you..” I groan as I put my hand over my eyes. “Yeah well, you never call me anymore.” “Yeah well, I prefer to think you wouldn’t answer anyway.” “Been a long time since I’ve heard you say that one… I think you were a kid, still.” “I dunno.. probably” “What’s the matter? You look a little hungover?” She asks as she begins to bang the back of a frying pan with a wooden spoon. “Is that my ******* pan?” “Yeah, Lp. It sure is. Did you want me to stop?” As she hits the pan harder. “Okay, okay… what do you want?” She puts down the pan, hands me a cup of black coffee and sits on the edge of my bed. “This isn’t you. Not all of you. You’re allowing the parts that are missing as an excuse to crumble. That’s not you. You don’t do this anymore. I raised you better than this.” “You raised me? You never stepped foot inside that house.” “Whining over trauma you worked so hard to get past? That’s what we’re doing, now? Fine. Crumble. Drink too much. Push people away by trying to scare them off with your nonsense about being too much. You want a grenade to throw into your life? Fine. I’ll pull the pin and stand clear…” “Being an accomplice doesn’t really seem like your vibe.” “You really are a ******* sometimes. Stop trying to rationalize giving in because change is hard, because you miss them, because you’re worried you won’t be someone that someone decides to take a chance on. You are better than the you that you have convinced yourself that you are.” “What if I’m not? What if this is just… where I am, now?” “Then you’re a brat, and all the courage you’ve built, has been wasted. Get the **** up. I won’t coddle you next time.” And just like that, I blink and she’s gone. Back to wherever deities go after dishing out epiphanies, while leaving no blueprints of how to do so. I spend a couple more moments with my face in my pillow, “99 Problems” pulsing through an otherwise empty house. Before I get up, mutter to myself that she’s a real pain in the *** and pour every drop of ***** down the sink. Clean my kitchen. Fold the laundry. Change the sheets.. Because she’s a **** but she’s right.

0

Jul 16, 2023

Jul 16, 2023 at 3:19 PM UTC

Coffee with God

This morning I had coffee with God, or the divine being, or the top dog.. Whatever you want to call her. Sometimes I call her a ***** But that’s the thing about Gods, right? They are what you need them to be. So she strolled in around 6:45, blasting Jay Z’s “Encore” through my Alexa and asked me what the **** I was doing. It went a little something like this: “Get your *** up, we need to have a chat.” “I don’t remember calling you..” I groan as I put my hand over my eyes. “Yeah well, you never call me anymore.” “Yeah well, I prefer to think you wouldn’t answer anyway.” “Been a long time since I’ve heard you say that one… I think you were a kid, still.” “I dunno.. probably” “What’s the matter? You look a little hungover?” She asks as she begins to bang the back of a frying pan with a wooden spoon. “Is that my ******* pan?” “Yeah, Lp. It sure is. Did you want me to stop?” As she hits the pan harder. “Okay, okay… what do you want?” She puts down the pan, hands me a cup of black coffee and sits on the edge of my bed. “This isn’t you. Not all of you. You’re allowing the parts that are missing as an excuse to crumble. That’s not you. You don’t do this anymore. I raised you better than this.” “You raised me? You never stepped foot inside that house.” “Whining over trauma you worked so hard to get past? That’s what we’re doing, now? Fine. Crumble. Drink too much. Push people away by trying to scare them off with your nonsense about being too much. You want a grenade to throw into your life? Fine. I’ll pull the pin and stand clear…” “Being an accomplice doesn’t really seem like your vibe.” “You really are a ******* sometimes. Stop trying to rationalize giving in because change is hard, because you miss them, because you’re worried you won’t be someone that someone decides to take a chance on. You are better than the you that you have convinced yourself that you are.” “What if I’m not? What if this is just… where I am, now?” “Then you’re a brat, and all the courage you’ve built, has been wasted. Get the **** up. I won’t coddle you next time.” And just like that, I blink and she’s gone. Back to wherever deities go after dishing out epiphanies, while leaving no blueprints of how to do so. I spend a couple more moments with my face in my pillow, “99 Problems” pulsing through an otherwise empty house. Before I get up, mutter to myself that she’s a real pain in the *** and pour every drop of ***** down the sink. Clean my kitchen. Fold the laundry. Change the sheets.. Because she’s a **** but she’s right.

44

You could say they were doomed, the night they picked the flowers off the dogwood in the courtyard of an otherwise insignificant apartment complex somewhere outside of Savannah. A fairytale of unlikely lovers slowly more captivated in the passing moments of that Georgia heat. The type of heat that coats your skin and roots your soul into the Earth. Air that defies all laws of nature, because it seems almost palpable in your hands. The type of air in which you fall in love too quickly, because it slows down time and space. Where a night can become a lifetime, shrouding demons and doubts. Where a kiss becomes a promise, and a hesitated touch becomes forever. Young lovers fooled by the tricks of those southern summer nights, under weeping willows and fireflies masquerading as stars. But the demons returned when the humidity broke, far too late to doubt the mirages that had been created by the night; inevitably feigned promises whispered by the glow of distant street lights. Expectations, tied like anchors to ships that otherwise should have passed in the night.

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Mar 21, 2023

Mar 21, 2023 at 8:40 PM UTC

Dogwoods.

You could say they were doomed, the night they picked the flowers off the dogwood in the courtyard of an otherwise insignificant apartment complex somewhere outside of Savannah. A fairytale of unlikely lovers slowly more captivated in the passing moments of that Georgia heat. The type of heat that coats your skin and roots your soul into the Earth. Air that defies all laws of nature, because it seems almost palpable in your hands. The type of air in which you fall in love too quickly, because it slows down time and space. Where a night can become a lifetime, shrouding demons and doubts. Where a kiss becomes a promise, and a hesitated touch becomes forever. Young lovers fooled by the tricks of those southern summer nights, under weeping willows and fireflies masquerading as stars. But the demons returned when the humidity broke, far too late to doubt the mirages that had been created by the night; inevitably feigned promises whispered by the glow of distant street lights. Expectations, tied like anchors to ships that otherwise should have passed in the night.

31

I do believe, without intention, that I have somehow, in some way, become undeniably, enchantingly, horrendously, addicted to you.

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Jul 19, 2022

Jul 19, 2022 at 9:11 PM UTC

Untitled

I do believe, without intention, that I have somehow, in some way, become undeniably, enchantingly, horrendously, addicted to you.

8

I don’t miss you as much as I should. Or maybe I still miss you too much. I never understood grief very well. I was always told I grieve too long, the “stages are too long and you get stuck”. Ten years in October and I never reached acceptance. I guess I did get stuck. I blew right past bargaining, I wasn’t wasting time. Straight through to anger, before settling down into pure, unadulterated grief. I miss you. And when I don’t miss you enough, I force myself to miss you harder. Because no one speaks about you anymore. And I can’t tell your story, Because I got stuck in the stages, lost swirling in the catacombs, a pan’s labyrinth of nostalgia. Sometimes, I wonder what you would think of me. In the world you said you couldn’t fit into anymore, because there was no space because you loved me in all the ways that I couldn’t love you, all the ways I learned to love you, too late. I wonder if you would be proud of me for walking away, or staying so long… I wonder what you’d say to me when I told you stories of how I never quite got it right. I think you’d tell me to write more. I think you’d tell me to love less, because you never thought anyone was worthy. I hope we would still yell at the top of our lungs when we were angry, but never forget an “I love you.” I can’t hear your voice as clearly as I used to. But when I close my eyes tightly, I can still make out how you looked at me, All those nights on your front steps, under the stars, When we truly believed we’d never have to miss each other at all.

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May 23, 2022

May 23, 2022 at 10:33 PM UTC

B.

I don’t miss you as much as I should. Or maybe I still miss you too much. I never understood grief very well. I was always told I grieve too long, the “stages are too long and you get stuck”. Ten years in October and I never reached acceptance. I guess I did get stuck. I blew right past bargaining, I wasn’t wasting time. Straight through to anger, before settling down into pure, unadulterated grief. I miss you. And when I don’t miss you enough, I force myself to miss you harder. Because no one speaks about you anymore. And I can’t tell your story, Because I got stuck in the stages, lost swirling in the catacombs, a pan’s labyrinth of nostalgia. Sometimes, I wonder what you would think of me. In the world you said you couldn’t fit into anymore, because there was no space because you loved me in all the ways that I couldn’t love you, all the ways I learned to love you, too late. I wonder if you would be proud of me for walking away, or staying so long… I wonder what you’d say to me when I told you stories of how I never quite got it right. I think you’d tell me to write more. I think you’d tell me to love less, because you never thought anyone was worthy. I hope we would still yell at the top of our lungs when we were angry, but never forget an “I love you.” I can’t hear your voice as clearly as I used to. But when I close my eyes tightly, I can still make out how you looked at me, All those nights on your front steps, under the stars, When we truly believed we’d never have to miss each other at all.

40

Remember that time I read you poems in the dark until 2am? and the way you used to hold my hand until you fell asleep ...You know I hate when you do this. Can we have an actual conversation, please? Oh, right. Because I’m always the bad guy. Would you just listen? I love you. What about that time we made love in your truck? There is something worth saving here. What about all the nights we spent laughing until we cried? Yeah, well you’re never willing to try, anymore. I’m not crazy for asking if there’s someone else. You’ve always said this would never work. I’m ******* trying, here... You’re tired of all of this?! Yeah, me too. No... **** you... Babe, please... people fight... Don’t tell me it’s not me. It’s not over. It doesn’t have to be over. Let’s give this a real chance. Fine, ******* go then. Wait..

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Nov 29, 2020

Nov 29, 2020 at 11:01 PM UTC

Shards.

Remember that time I read you poems in the dark until 2am? and the way you used to hold my hand until you fell asleep ...You know I hate when you do this. Can we have an actual conversation, please? Oh, right. Because I’m always the bad guy. Would you just listen? I love you. What about that time we made love in your truck? There is something worth saving here. What about all the nights we spent laughing until we cried? Yeah, well you’re never willing to try, anymore. I’m not crazy for asking if there’s someone else. You’ve always said this would never work. I’m ******* trying, here... You’re tired of all of this?! Yeah, me too. No... **** you... Babe, please... people fight... Don’t tell me it’s not me. It’s not over. It doesn’t have to be over. Let’s give this a real chance. Fine, ******* go then. Wait..

23

I gave you everything that I had. What the **** did you think would happen to me?

0

Feb 3, 2020

Feb 3, 2020 at 7:57 PM UTC

Tired.

I gave you everything that I had. What the **** did you think would happen to me?

4

I have this recurring dream where I’m running. Running and running. Full speed, sprinting towards everything and nothing at all. And I don’t know what I’m running from, or running to. I don’t know where I am, There’s no history of what I’ve done. In this place I know nothing, and I am nothing. I just know that I have to keep running. Because there’s a pounding in my chest, and my feet are aching to keep moving and there is this subtle but paralyzing fear that if I stop running, only for a moment, if I stop running, if I can place where I am if I can remember who I am, if I stop for one single moment, I know that I will die. So I run. In some versions, tears stream down my face blurring into the lights and sounds. In other versions, I am laughing with intoxicating bliss, like some animal that has been kept locked away, only to discover that there is an entire world outside the iron walls of everything I knew before. Sometimes, I keep looking behind me, like I’m waiting for something to catch up to me. Sometimes I look nowhere but ahead, to the horizon, the rising moon, never-ending ground. Sometimes there is pavement, and street lights melting together, as if the lens of my consciousness has been left open, sometimes I can’t see at all, I only hear my own breath, the rhythmic pounding of my soul hitting the pavement. But always, I am running.

0

Oct 19, 2019

Oct 19, 2019 at 10:21 PM UTC

Oasis.

I have this recurring dream where I’m running. Running and running. Full speed, sprinting towards everything and nothing at all. And I don’t know what I’m running from, or running to. I don’t know where I am, There’s no history of what I’ve done. In this place I know nothing, and I am nothing. I just know that I have to keep running. Because there’s a pounding in my chest, and my feet are aching to keep moving and there is this subtle but paralyzing fear that if I stop running, only for a moment, if I stop running, if I can place where I am if I can remember who I am, if I stop for one single moment, I know that I will die. So I run. In some versions, tears stream down my face blurring into the lights and sounds. In other versions, I am laughing with intoxicating bliss, like some animal that has been kept locked away, only to discover that there is an entire world outside the iron walls of everything I knew before. Sometimes, I keep looking behind me, like I’m waiting for something to catch up to me. Sometimes I look nowhere but ahead, to the horizon, the rising moon, never-ending ground. Sometimes there is pavement, and street lights melting together, as if the lens of my consciousness has been left open, sometimes I can’t see at all, I only hear my own breath, the rhythmic pounding of my soul hitting the pavement. But always, I am running.

50

Long ago when Eden masqueraded itself as a paradise Back when the tree of life bloomed with the sins of fallen angels And Eve picked the apple that the snake had offered her And once the juice trickled down her lips So the snake laughed and writhed with glee At the idea that woman had condemned us all With her feminine wiles And selfish urges. Back when god scoffed at his muddled creation For being weak enough To take temptation by its supple fruit ****** us all She did. By being human. How could woman be so stupid? How could woman be so vile? Did she not understand what she was doing Did she not understand what she was setting into motion. That all of this Could one day be her fault For being hungry For being human. Did she not understand that the fruit Was poisoned. Wasn’t it? Woman be ****** For isn’t it your fault. It must be. That the monstrous ways of men were born.

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Jul 16, 2019

Jul 16, 2019 at 12:46 AM UTC

Eden.

Long ago when Eden masqueraded itself as a paradise Back when the tree of life bloomed with the sins of fallen angels And Eve picked the apple that the snake had offered her And once the juice trickled down her lips So the snake laughed and writhed with glee At the idea that woman had condemned us all With her feminine wiles And selfish urges. Back when god scoffed at his muddled creation For being weak enough To take temptation by its supple fruit ****** us all She did. By being human. How could woman be so stupid? How could woman be so vile? Did she not understand what she was doing Did she not understand what she was setting into motion. That all of this Could one day be her fault For being hungry For being human. Did she not understand that the fruit Was poisoned. Wasn’t it? Woman be ****** For isn’t it your fault. It must be. That the monstrous ways of men were born.

29

Looking back, maybe most of it wasn't as beautiful as I thought it was. Maybe most of it was in fact, afternoons I spent trying to guess what you were thinking. Maybe most of it was me asking too much, you telling me that you didn't want to fight. Not here. "Not like this..." You said. Looking back, maybe you were trying to let me down easily over and over again. While all the while, I fought you until you conceded for another day, until you just couldn't anymore... I think now, that most of it was me loving you, thinking that I wasn't asking anything of you. When really, I was asking everything of you. That was never fair. I focused so hard on the magic, the single fleeting moments, that I used them to fill in the gaps. I created this story where everything was beautiful... when all we really were, were shards of shattered glass being hit by the sunlight. See, those moments glittered in my mind so brightly, I forgot that they were sharp. I forgot that things weren't supposed to start that way, jagged and broken. You blinded me. And when you finally did leave, I walked across those memories over and over again until it began to rain, until there was no more sunlight. And when they stopped glittering, I looked down to see my feet, covered in the open wounds you left behind... And my feet bled, and my heart ached, and I cried. I cried so badly for the loss of you. I cried over all the things that I had never seen coming, because I had been so worried about never expecting anything from you, that I had forgotten to protect myself. I had never prepared myself for the moment when you wouldn't be there anymore. I never had a plan for how I would handle the way you had looked at me would inevitably haunt me. And it did. You did. For weeks I cried for you, in the quiet moments between doing other things. You broke my heart. And then you came back... Came back as if I would still be here. And I was, for a while. But I can't be here anymore. I can't love us enough anymore, can't pick up the slack another moment, because my heart is tired, and my feet are bloodied, and my hands are broken from trying to hold the pieces of this together, while all the while you were pulling us apart. You can't come back here. I'll admit, I thought I wanted you to. I waited for you. I wanted this. I WANTED this. I ******* wanted this... didn't I? But now you're here. You're here and I realize, how few good moments there really were. So many of our days, weren't good days at all, were they? So many days you left me devastated. Left me questioning who I was, what I'd said, what you were thinking. I spent so much time waiting for you to leave. So, I think it really is time now. I think it's time for us to really just... Let us go. Because I could spend forever wishing that I'd known our last kiss would be so, so that I could kiss you just another moment longer. I could wish for one more drink, one more iron table, smile at me one more time, look at me that way, brush your hand across mine, smile at me, make me laugh, ask me what I'm thinking, hold me in a parking lot, tell me that you thought of me today, tell me that you thought of me in general, miss me. For the sake of ******* everything, miss me just more ******* time. Please... But the reality is, none of that would change any of this. You'll still be you. I'll still be me. And I'll still love you. And you still won't know what to say. You'll never let me inside of you, and I'll forever be at the mercy of you. I can't live like that. I don't want to know you, if it means that we have to pretend that none of this was real. That isn't fair to what this was. This was broken and dangerous from the beginning, but when the sunlight hit it, Baby, this was magic. So leave me here, like this. Let me heal. Let me miss you when it rains, but let me get over you. Let it be enough, because it has to be enough now. Walk away, because I'm not strong enough to do it on my own. So if you ever loved me, in any way, set me free. Set me free, for the last time. I love you, L.

0

May 2, 2019

May 2, 2019 at 1:53 PM UTC

a letter you'll never read

Looking back, maybe most of it wasn't as beautiful as I thought it was. Maybe most of it was in fact, afternoons I spent trying to guess what you were thinking. Maybe most of it was me asking too much, you telling me that you didn't want to fight. Not here. "Not like this..." You said. Looking back, maybe you were trying to let me down easily over and over again. While all the while, I fought you until you conceded for another day, until you just couldn't anymore... I think now, that most of it was me loving you, thinking that I wasn't asking anything of you. When really, I was asking everything of you. That was never fair. I focused so hard on the magic, the single fleeting moments, that I used them to fill in the gaps. I created this story where everything was beautiful... when all we really were, were shards of shattered glass being hit by the sunlight. See, those moments glittered in my mind so brightly, I forgot that they were sharp. I forgot that things weren't supposed to start that way, jagged and broken. You blinded me. And when you finally did leave, I walked across those memories over and over again until it began to rain, until there was no more sunlight. And when they stopped glittering, I looked down to see my feet, covered in the open wounds you left behind... And my feet bled, and my heart ached, and I cried. I cried so badly for the loss of you. I cried over all the things that I had never seen coming, because I had been so worried about never expecting anything from you, that I had forgotten to protect myself. I had never prepared myself for the moment when you wouldn't be there anymore. I never had a plan for how I would handle the way you had looked at me would inevitably haunt me. And it did. You did. For weeks I cried for you, in the quiet moments between doing other things. You broke my heart. And then you came back... Came back as if I would still be here. And I was, for a while. But I can't be here anymore. I can't love us enough anymore, can't pick up the slack another moment, because my heart is tired, and my feet are bloodied, and my hands are broken from trying to hold the pieces of this together, while all the while you were pulling us apart. You can't come back here. I'll admit, I thought I wanted you to. I waited for you. I wanted this. I WANTED this. I ******* wanted this... didn't I? But now you're here. You're here and I realize, how few good moments there really were. So many of our days, weren't good days at all, were they? So many days you left me devastated. Left me questioning who I was, what I'd said, what you were thinking. I spent so much time waiting for you to leave. So, I think it really is time now. I think it's time for us to really just... Let us go. Because I could spend forever wishing that I'd known our last kiss would be so, so that I could kiss you just another moment longer. I could wish for one more drink, one more iron table, smile at me one more time, look at me that way, brush your hand across mine, smile at me, make me laugh, ask me what I'm thinking, hold me in a parking lot, tell me that you thought of me today, tell me that you thought of me in general, miss me. For the sake of ******* everything, miss me just more ******* time. Please... But the reality is, none of that would change any of this. You'll still be you. I'll still be me. And I'll still love you. And you still won't know what to say. You'll never let me inside of you, and I'll forever be at the mercy of you. I can't live like that. I don't want to know you, if it means that we have to pretend that none of this was real. That isn't fair to what this was. This was broken and dangerous from the beginning, but when the sunlight hit it, Baby, this was magic. So leave me here, like this. Let me heal. Let me miss you when it rains, but let me get over you. Let it be enough, because it has to be enough now. Walk away, because I'm not strong enough to do it on my own. So if you ever loved me, in any way, set me free. Set me free, for the last time. I love you, L.

148