I never liked crying in public. Matter of fact, I dread crying in public. Because to me personally, crying means attention craving and weakness. Two of the things I wish to not have in my fragile bones. But today, I couldn’t help but cry; nothing could describe the hurt I felt inside. Those tears were more than tears, they were my months of hard work, they were the nights I spent home studying when I could be out having fun, they were my spring break and all the time I spent hidden in my house, they were everything I gave up. And now the feeling left inside me is more hurt and loneliness. I sit in my room on this Friday night, alone. I drown out my pain with the blasting music coming from my laptop. I turn up the sound to the maximum and have the sound bounce in my eardrum.
Thump,
Thump,
Thump.
My eardrums yell at me to turn the noise down, but what I rather fight is the feeling inside of me, the devil soaring in my soul.
You know how you can really determine good friends?
The times when you’re crying your eyes out and you want someone.
You go through your contacts figuring out whose gonna actually care for you.
You scroll down looking at all the names and for a millisecond your mind checks them off them one by one.
Until you get to the end of your contacts and realized none of them has the time for you.
****
I let the music reach the limits of the stereo until I can practically hear thumping in my eardrums. Does it make me reckless? I hope. Cause I never done anything reckless in my life, so this must make me a bad- ass. HA! I am so bad I will keep blasting my music up to a point where I lose my hearing. If I cannot hear, I cannot listen to the words I have been petrified to attend to, the truth.
Don’t you ever have those times when you picture yourself losing it? You picture yourself throwing glass bottles at your bedroom floors? You see yourself throwing your phone as if all the memory of the phone meant nothing? You get so angry, so furious; you don’t know what to do. You look at your swollen face in the mirror and you cry, because you know that it’s Friday night, and everyone but you is having a blast, and your sitting in your room, crying wishing you could be in anyone else’s shoes but your own. **** how did I get like this? Maybe it’s my fault for isolating myself to a point where I was my own best friend.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
i make a fat joke about myself and
"i don't ever wanna hear you say something like that again," he says
he asks if i am unclear as to why
and i want to ask
if he is unclear as to why
i made it in the first place.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
our college lists intersect
only once
and i wonder if
i can take that as a metaphor
for the way our lives
will run parallel
to each other
but never, again,
perpendicular
and i wonder if
the thought
will ever cease
depressing me.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
my mother has taught me ten things;
1. *** is a sin. pleasure is a sin. cursing is a sin.
2. happiness and selfishness are equals
3. drugs are only bad when you are a teenager, but it is okay to sulk about them if they are a part of your damaged past.
4. the mirror you stare into each day should be looked at with disgust and agony.
5. when looking into another human's eyes be wary of swimming in the colorful veins and muscles of each iris. you will get too attached and become broken.
6. love is to be given, not taken, nor accepted. every compliment is undeserved and every wound is earned.
7. let a man take your life and crush it into powder the jet-rockets up to your brain. let him dissolve into your bloodstream and control every muscle movement.
8. a mother has the right to every possession that you call your own. she brought you into this world through unholy actions, and she may take you out the same way.
9. the world breaks you body down into soil that will be dug up and replaced with busy sidewalks. you are impermanent.
10. you will never be complete on your own; you must always lay your heavy head on someone else's shoulder instead of learning to balance it between your own.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
Oh and my dear how I could love you
but will you allow me
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
my father is a blind man.
heavy drooping lids with even heavier dripping blood.
i am his failure that was only good at one thing.
swimming past the others.
and maybe i'm not the perfect daughter;
maybe you weren't expecting the *** or drugs or parties or ****** language,
but **** you for acting like it meant i was dead.
you do not own me.
you will not write my eulogy when i finally succeed after failed attempts.
you will not say how i had a beautiful heart and YOUR sense of humor.
i will write my own goodbye letter.
and yes, maybe every i love you feels like a swallowed, searing coal.
and yes, maybe my signature at the bottom of the loos-leaf sheet of blood-stained paper will remind you to acknowledge your two other children, and stop saying that i am your favorite.
i am not your favorite.
you should be willing to stay for a favorite.
so leave me the **** alone
to bleed in peace.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
Regrets are nonexistent reflections
Of possibilities
That were never actually possible
They say that hell is an eternity
Of fire and damnation
But at 4 AM
When sleep eludes my advances,
It only sounds like the description of my own mind
Life is temptation,
Temptation beckons coyly
With the promise of heaven often
And I've got nothing
But a come-hither smile
And fragments of fragile lace left
The best you'll ever be able to do is look
But
Never
Fully
Taste
I am much too far from redemption
But consequences,
Fail to prevent your inevitable fall
Seldom have I ever felt remorse for my lack of "grace"
© 2014 Peach
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
1. You’re my entire universe. I see you in every single star. Every single planet.
2. I don’t need you but I want you so much that I can barely breathe.
3. Please stop smoking cigarettes.
4. Come to bed.
5. I wasn’t afraid of dying until I met you.
6. You’re mine. If I could tattoo tastes, I’d get your coffee soaked lips stained onto my tongue. I don’t care how much it would hurt. I want to swallow you down with everything I touch.
7. You’re a wildfire.
8. I feel you in my fingertips.
9. I can’t get enough of you. Even when you’re here, pressed up against me, intertwined with me, so close that I feel the blood flowing through your veins, I’m still finding ways to get you closer.
10. I’d sit through some horrible french film without subtitles for a few hours if it meant getting to accidentally brush my knee against yours.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
I can feel this pain of loneliness
When I am left alone by you
No chat became interesting
No music made me comfortable
No sleep made me relax
No season made me entertain
But you are the one
Who made me comfort
Who caught my interest
Who made me entertain
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
It’s Whatever
Multitasking is impossible, did you know that?
Especially when you’re focused on one thing,
And not really worrying about the other.
When you love someone you give them your heart, did you know that?
Then they carry it around with them,
And if they love you in kind, they’ll hold it close and keep it warm.
I gave you my heart, did you know that?
I gave before you were focused on another,
And you shifted your focus a dozen times since then, yet never once onto mine.
It sits in the crook of your arm, did you know that?
Like an afterthought in what little space is left, while you press another into your breast,
And mine bounces around as you step.
It gets cold here, did you know that?
Sometimes the wind is chilling,
Yet that little warmth you spare is enough to live on.
Sometimes my heart falls off, did you know that?
It tumbles off your arm, into the dust and the rocks you might even step on it,
Yet before long you pick it up, brush off the shards
Dragging each bit
Rending its flesh,
Leaving tiny, almost invisible bleeding slashes,
Not because you don’t care,
You just don’t take the time to notice.
Then you set it back in the crook of your arm.
…
Tiny cuts add up to a grievous wound, but you already know that.
And it’s too cold out here to heal.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC