So here's a poem about the boy who i'd never thought would notice me did
A poem about shyness, about crushes, about the things you see in your dreams, about the things you say quietly yet desperately at a friend's grave, about the things you swear are engraved on the walls of your mind, about being scared of silly things, about being stupid, about realizing that it's all about the metaphorical big picture (maybe everything is just a metaphor)
This poem is about all these things
I wish I could get a little more of what I need
I'm very depleted these days but I'm trying to always remember to be thankful any way
I guess Job and all his friends taught me a little something
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
I wonder why everything I write on paper is so depressing
And why my mind picks random lines from poetry to recite over and over like quiet prayers (is this my religion? words and stories?)
Why red ink tastes like sin (no that's too cliche) like seduction?
Why the cover of this moleskine is so soft and forgiving (I swear just for me) the sigh into a trusted friend's shoulder
I can't cry any more so I'll sing badly but fervently songs that help soothe the gnawing ache inside
Cherish the few people who make me feel full and whole (Banish the phantom pains for limbs or extensions of me I've lost)
I'll exhale poems to ravel up the bad feelings
It's a struggle or maybe just a war that I just don't want to lose any more
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 7:05 AM UTC
I'm convinced ghosts and memories are cousins
I feel them in the walls
In the bathroom, in my(?) bed, and even in the glossy surface of the sink
It's just the wind I chant surrounded by stuffed friends
Then why do I feel so full I crave purging
Why do I feel their essence dirtying my palms
They're clinging to the hem of my dress
I want to yell
STOP HAUNTING ME! I'VE DONE NOTHING TO YOU BUT MOVE ON, THAT'S ALL I COULD DO.
My weary head meets the wall.
He replaced us. He hid all the tiny traces of us we didn't take and moved a brand new family unit in
Avoiding speaking of us like it would erase us from existence
From existing here.
I say quieter
I did nothing. I did nothing.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 4:08 AM UTC
I took three sleeping pills tonight
The other four waited as I concealed them in my fist
Unnaturally blue and felt like all the things I needed to say but were mere ghosts on my lips
Bare feet hit glossy, white floors. I'm praying aloud to a friend who does not exist for hope or penance or just to see other day.
It isn't my choice any more
But instead i just cried and lied
And watched the walls move in my bedroom
I need help, so much help but I can't bear to hurt the people I love
this is going to **** me, and I can't do anything but let it
It has branded scars on my arms, legs, and heart
Emotional pain shouldn't be so tangible
An adult sized monster under my bed
I'm hiding under thick blankets
Not knowing how the story's gonna play out
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 4:35 AM UTC
I feel as if I'm corrupting you
You exhale as you have me pushed against your bed
I think of unholy baptisms and ****** awakenings
I just want your body
You slur insistently
But I also want your hair. And your lips. And your eyes.
You add importantly
Using your fingertips gently for emphasis
Now I don't know whether to go or stay
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
I tried to repeal you. Pushed you slowly with a scrunched forehead and heavily resting lashes on skin. I guess you found a home next to a monster or two in the furthest corner of my mind.
You rebelled.
Disturbing me in and out of consciousness.
A dream has never manifested into tears for me before.
But oh you did.
I'm so glad you existed.
I'll never forget looking in your eyes the day before you left for good, searching for something I just couldn't find.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 4:29 AM UTC
You slipped right through my fingers
(I never really had you any way)
I could swear up and down you don't care for me. It makes things so much easier.
Flashback to you kissing my freckled cheek while I'm asleep. Telling me words I've save for later. I'll turn them over and over in my head like worry stones.
Flashforward to you sitting with me in a crowded place. "We're just friends," you say evenly. I try my best not to squirm. Because we were never just anything.
I knew I'd pay the price for this. But who was I to give up a body that fit so well into mine?
You dowsed my ribs in gasoline when you first spoke words of your affection. You consistently threw lit matches at me.
Now you recoil and Jesus Christ, how do I begin to put myself out?
Do I even want to?
You show me a match you've saved for later. I don't know if able to reconstruct myself for the hell of it just to watch it burn later
Don't think I wasn't destructive before you. I am, and I will be infinitely. I am thinking of how my smoke built up in your lungs. Exhale now. Doing what's best for all involved parties.
"Do you know what it was like being around you, knowing I couldn't hold you?"
In that moment I'm certain somewhere in another life I would have loved you. Because all I ever wanted was the kind of romance I could write about it. The kind of sadness and longing that settles behind your ribs. If it had been a book I would've dog eared us and wept. But this is my life, real life and I can't just this back on the shelf.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 4:29 AM UTC
I think I should clarify that I am not a writer
just a lover of books, words, and stories
but sometimes at night my head fills up with all these
thoughts, stories and words so beautifully articulated
I want to grasp them
have them rest between my palms for a while
I wonder if my writing means anything
or something to anyone
more often than not I wonder this too about
the hand behind the pen
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 4:24 AM UTC