It's been over a year,
Since I wrote you my dear,
Things simply haven't been the same.
You see,
One year ago,
I was far too caught up in the moment.
You see,
Six months ago,
I was too busy getting lost.
You see,
A little over three,
There was no longer a 'you and me.'
It's crazy it seems,
You're still in my dreams,
And I truly can't shake this hell.
You see,
A little over three,
I lost what made me, me.
You see,
A little over three,
I was finally engulfed by the sea.
You see,
A little over three,
You shattered my reality.
Yet you still call,
Yet you still come around,
Yet your voice is still my favorite sound.
You see,
A little over three,
A little over three,
Holy **** it's been a little over three.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC
I could write about darkness,
And the losses I've felt,
But today,
Oh today,
I feel flowers growing in my lungs,
And I can smell the roses blooming.
I don't have the time,
Nor the patience,
Nor the space,
To pay any attention to the aches.
I feel the sunshine in my brain,
It warms me from the inside out,
And I swear you felt it when you touched me.
My feet,
They want to dance,
For the first time in forever,
And for once my subconscious is singing.
But today,
Oh today,
It is singing.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
I found the love of my life at the bottom of my last regret,
And that's not to say I found him in my brokenness,
But more to say that the broken can still love,
As easily as waves can repeatedly crash,
And a storm can rip through the tide.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once.
When I got that anonymous question asking me "why is it when you fool around with your dad, no one gets in trouble, but when I do it I'm a ****** I almost snapped. The smell of cheap beer formed under my nose and the entire contents of my stomach almost fell to the side of my bed, however, I had not eaten enough to push all of my mental instability out of my mouth. I could feel my father's hands around my wrist, pulling, pinning, calloused hands scratching my nine year old skin. I could hear my young cries for help, and the tears staining my cheeks. I could feel the air on my ear as he whispered. "Tell anyone and it'll be worse next time." I remembered cleaning my own blood from the carpet that afternoon.
And I almost replied with a defensive remark, but I stopped. There was no need for this private matter to be put on display on a social media forum, because then who's the girl that "fooled around" with her father?
But then the question, it irks me to my very core, the reason my hands are so swiftly typing this poem between waves of hurricanes in my eyes. It's as if my dignity has been stripped from me again, no more layer of scar tissue to protect even the deepest layers of my darkest secrets. Nothing was safe anymore.
And when I showed it to my boyfriend, the look in his eyes terrified me. It was as if someone had just dropped a match on a mile long pile of bone dry trees doused in gasoline. But someone had. Someone had dropped a match on me, just as fragile and capable of burning up completely.
Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
It didn't matter who,
Or When,
Or Where,
Or What,
He used to get his way.
A manipulative little boy,
Born and bred to be,
No less than destructive.
A brother by blood,
But by God not by love,
And perhaps that's why.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
I wanted to write to you,
But I couldn't find words,
That wouldn't fail to make you sad,
Because I wanted to make you smile.
You see,
You were so far away,
And I,
Well I was left behind,
And every emotion I felt,
Was sad.
But I wanted to make you happy,
As happy as you made me,
So I wrote down every good memory,
And powered through my tear stained cheeks.
So I hope you find solace,
In the scrambled ideas I scrawled,
While I laughed about our first date.
And I hope you find time,
To recollect on these things,
As they made you and I,
And that's all that matters in the end.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 10:48 PM UTC
I wanted to paint,
A trail of red,
Down your chest
leaving nothing but,
The stain of my lips,
To lay in contrast,
To your fair skin.
You brought forth,
A pallette in my eyes,
Birthed within a new,
Sight of purples,
Left behind,
By the lost ramblings,
I drown in after ***
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
It was not the idea,
Of jumping off a bridge,
That kept me from,
It.
It was not the idea,
Of feeling my body fall,
At 75 mph that scared,
Me.
It was not the idea,
Of my own inevitable ending,
That stopped me from,
Death.
It was your face,
And my mother's,
And the tears,
And the blaming,
And the last thing I wanted,
Was to hit the water,
And know that you'd jump in,
An hour after,
They found my body.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
It's been hard,
To write since you left.
My words,
They hardly paint,
Anything of,
Substance.
You were my muse,
It seems,
The Clyde to,
My Bonnie,
At least it seems like it,
Anyway.
It's not so perfect,
This situation,
Or you and I.
But God ****
I wish,
You hadn't taken my words,
So far away.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
Three days in,
And I must admit,
It's getting better,
Like they said it would.
However,
I have been using everything,
I have,
To keep that feeling of you,
Close to me.
Your clothes,
They still reek of you,
And the laundry soap your mother uses.
I keep the stuffed giraffe we won,
At the county fair,
On my night stand to remind me,
That you're coming home.
And I haven't yet washed my face,
I really know I ought to,
But your kiss is still on my cheek,
And I don't want to lose it.
All of our friends,
They've kept me company,
So I don't panic,
When your name doesn't pop up on my phone.
I check that **** thing so often,
You'd think I would stop,
But god **** it,
I'm hoping I'll wake up,
And none of this had happened.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC