youre talking about a loon thats so far ahead of us that it swims out of my view. its easy to lose sight of things when the fog is this thick. and im avoiding the hill because i cant risk seeing the blazing trail of a departing plane just yet. you try to find value in things that no one else could love and im sorry you have to find out like this but i belong under the hill, not on it.
the only flowers i can keep alive hang blankly on my wall and maybe thats why you take so many pictures of me. im not something you frame or press in a book i am not something you put on display i am not something you should water.
on the floor theres a bag thats missing 4 but everything still hurts.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
and floating feels like an understatement now, as water levels drop instead of rise and the clouds are closer than ever. i spend every night wishing on stars that soon we will be standing on those clouds, the moon our next stop. i guess you never really anticipate the heaviness that can be presented to you so suddenly and i am floating on rain clouds back down to earth. somewhere on my journey down a familiar light stops me like an old friend and i stay, hovering above the lake i so often wished to be apart of. the darkness that surrounds me chuckles in time with the pounding in my chest, the kind of alarm that rings only at 3am. those dreams of thunderstorms have overstayed their welcome and i am the one doing the evicting this time.
but this is not the end. suspended by newly sewn strings i see a countdown forming above the glowing city, a reminder that nothing has ever stopped us before. we conquered the funeral and flowers grow from my fading graves. we've climbed hills that feel like
mountains to sit on the moon. we are still roughly 581 days away from the beginning and i have come to accept that maybe the stars were never spelling out "closed" but rather "not open yet". the grey mass that fills the air is the last curtain before the grand opening.
and that glowing city is as clear as ever and for the first time ever the end credits are rolling backwards.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
july 28, 2015, 9:18 PM
i cant see anything on the horizon tonight but maybe the future isnt always meant to be seen.
theres a boy on the bench next to me speaking of perspective and the comparable sizes of the earth and the sun. tonight i learned that no problems are ever to complex or too big, and that the sky does not belong to me. we're all learning from the stars and theres limitless possibilities lying ahead. there are people who have yet to learn to look beyond the horizon and those who look exclusively. my greatest accomplishment is not relying on the clear skies but rather learning to work with heavy storm clouds.
there is a girl on the bench next to me reading a book and i see her eyes wander and graze the watercolour palette ahead.
i can see lights in the distance now, and they are flickering and unsure and i am thankful for their honesty. distance and time are two factors that fill my mind daily and i find myself constantly running along their axes, seeing which one will collapse first. the first thing i realized tonight is that distance is always relative and the space between two places, two people, consists of a lot more than just metres. the second is that time is not just a human created concept but an excuse we fabricate for rash decisions and delayed to-do lists.
the sun set tonight like it always does and i dont think i have ever seen a more beautiful goodbye. it seems like everyone was watching the sky tonight and i watched stars appear for every heart beat. we filled the sky with light as the darkness took over.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
july 19 11:43 PM
my heart hurts again tonight.
i cant help but feel stupid on nights like these. i feel clingy and annoying, everything he's so grateful i'm not. when i looked at the sky on my walk home i was engulfed in colours and shapes reminding me how much the world has to offer me. the first thing i thought to do was share this with him and when his phone went to voicemail without even ringing the waves were suddenly taunting. the wind as if it was just waiting to push me off the edge. i reminded myself to appreciate my own skies sometimes and to let him do the same yet somehow i had already dialled that familiar number. someone else picked up the phone and i begged the wind and the waves to welcome me. he didnt see my calls. i shouldnt have called. i shouldnt get too attached and i shouldnt let myself fall. falling only leads to crashing, a sound so familiar to the cavity in my chest as he distractedly told me he couldnt see the sky. im so selfish. im everything he hates wrapped into a package that he's convinced himself he loves. "cloud 9's never felt more like home" and ive never felt more alone. a sunset that reminded me of so many beginnings began to remind me of nothing but an end. the clouds drifted together and the stars spelled out "closed". one by one their lights burned holes and i became the ocean as salt water replaced air and i remember how to drown. i do it so well now. my thoughts are beginning to feel like quicksand, the more i struggle the more i sink and suddenly it is just me and the pit and im the only one doing any falling.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC
when van gogh painted starry night, people called him crazy because his paintings weren't "real" enough, they were "childish" and "messy". i find that all so strange as i look into the sky and see vincent's brush strokes swirling around the stars. they seem to move with the wind, but even mother nature couldn't take credit for something so beautiful.
and i think of you every crescent moon, when the mountainous clouds are coloured gold; their backdrop looks more like the ocean than the sky.
i read somewhere once that poets are too idealistic, too unaware of reality, their heads so far up in the clouds too see that poetry is not a profession. that was in response to my favourite slam poem-- and i bet the view is so much better up there.
lately i've been seeing you as poems instead of just my muse and often when i speak of you computer-screen critics come out of hiding and tell me my metaphors are crazy and that my hopeful words are idealistic and that i can't base my future around you and to get my head out of the clouds, but i like the world so much better from up here. i realize now that maybe everyone has it backwards. maybe they are so caught up in their self-dug holes to see his brush strokes at night, maybe theyre not looking. they are so afraid to see the sky a different way than how it has been painted for them their whole lives.
the other day i read that starry night was painted by van gogh in an asylum in his last year on this starry earth and that those glittering masses were the view from his window.
i'm not sure how clear things were to him at that time but those stars live on with their little orbs of light; illuminating my thoughts about you, and love, and the future with such clarity. i can only hope my words someday mean as much to someone as that cosmic portrait does to me.
and i hope that one night when you look up at the sky you will see my brushstrokes and think of me.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 9:46 PM UTC
somewhere between the moon and the horizon I saw stars that reassured me things would be okay. there was rain on my skin, drops resting on his hands holding me tightly. i felt the rain and for the first time i stopped waiting for its end. lost in his grip the clouds seemed so thin. i could not see the stars tonight but i sure as hell knew they were there. you can learn a lot from the sky. something tells me the storm will soon pass and the clouds will blow over, and i know no better than to trust it. misty nights can feel so different when you are not the one raining. dewy mornings and wilted flowers aren't always a sign of the end. the cold feels so different with company; it's as if somehow the loneliness felt a lot like wind. winter's over now and i hear heat rises so it's no wonder we feel it all the way up here. and i wonder how he does it, how with every word he speaks the stars look a little brighter. i have this feeling that his stars are different, they will not burn out and they will not hide and when they fall i will not blame them, he will write a new galaxy. it's amazing how such a cosmic boy could wind up in my sky after countless years of hopeless gazing. i think we're floating now; cloud 9's never felt more like home.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
the truth is no one ever taught me how to fix a flat tire or how to ask for help or what love was even good for in the first place
and the truth is that the cookie was good but the lemon icing wasn't and the truth is baking should be done without any kind of lemon at all
and the truth is i wish you'd hold me close enough that our skin fused together and i could burrow into your spine and learn all the things you won't teach me
and the truth is you were never good at making eye contact but i dare you to look at me long enough that i can trace the line that connects your iris to your pupil and count how many shades of black a person can produce
and the truth is i don't know if the grass has fingerprints but i know that yours are cigarette stained and no better at letting go than mine
and the truth is i am a dump site and you are an inhale and i am clockwork and you are a melody and i can't keep my teeth off your eloquence
and the truth is my feet are covered in acrylic paint from leaving smudged footprints in sparkly things
and the truth is i don't want you all to myself but you can pretend i'm yours when i'm engulfed in the ocean and making it hard for you to breathe
and the truth is i'm looking for a different kind of intimacy from you
and maybe it's just some teenage girl talking but the truth is that i want to drown with you. i want to burn with you. i want to scream with you so violently that the body that crushes my lungs crumbles and i become a balloon for real this time
and the truth is, if you hadn't called me beautiful, i would have mistaken last night for a paradise i don't believe in
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
god ****** she misses you
and god ****** i miss you
and im sorry, god, for swearing but i have run out of ideas on how to make this no good shapeshifting warm handed boy notice me remember when he said i love you
this is not a goodbye you don't deserve one this is not a plea for help see previous poems, twitter, my wrists, etc this is not a romanticization of your destructive ways and i no longer hear birds sing when you torch cities and i can't bring myself to see the love in your inferno so what the hell do i have left to say to you
i once wrote that you left love letters on my tongue and that you made drowning fun but i have come to the conclusion that those are both in fact lies and that the only thing you left on my tongue is the bitter taste of your name and beer and that drowning is ******* terrible and so are you
i remind myself everyday that you must have been a good person somewhere along the way and that there must have been some point where you actually did miss the feeling of my skin and that i was the only one you cared for- but i must also remember the day you filled my vacancy and turned on the lights and i still see you in the smiling pictures hung on the walls like your head in the hall whenever i pass by and i remember the day you moved out and on to nicer things and to this day you have succeeded in making the whole thing feel like an eviction, like it was me that wanted you gone and my peeling wallpaper has since revealed that the only thing holding me together was you
funny how every part of this poem ends with you and funny how every thought these days ends with you
and it's funny how when things ended with you you were the only one laughing
this is not a cry or a plea or an appology
this is a eulogy from me to you and i will not waste any more metaphors or adjectives or nights where i should be fast asleep on your whirlpool eyes and twisted smile
you once said, at 3 am, "you know when you're as close to loving someone as physically possible without actually saying it?" and i replied with "yes" and i love you i love you i love you
i hope flowers grow from your rotting heart and i hope you wake up some life and feel just a hint of remorse as you look into her eyes
i'm not a poet and you're not a nice boy and there was a time when i would devote my life to writing about the way you touched my cheek and you would devote your life to exploring the small of my back
that life has ended and i hope she holds you close enough at night
(my own hands will find comfort in the folds you left unnoticed and i will let myself hear the whispers of flattery upon every surface i touch. i will love myself and i will learn to not love you and i will find someone that i can love without pushing myself aside)
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
i don't know how i ended up here but it feels as if i got on the wrong train and ended up at an abandoned station and your eyes resemble the wall clocks and the tracks your arms. i would give the world to jump down below the platform and faded yellow line, to feel your cold as metal touch on my cheek once more. i wish i never bought a **** ticket in the first place. i wish i would stop romanticizing what you did to me and i wish i wish i wish i could stop writing about you.
but **** how can i? you're still in my mind and you're still in my texts and you're still in the mouths of everyone who talks to me and you're still standing there with your puppeteer strings and my scissors cant free me this time.
who could forget the boy with the oceans in his eyes and the poison on his tongue. i think i am immortal now because i keep drowning and there seems to be no end. i also think you're a huge ******* ******* please let me kiss you again.
you couldn't **** me so you ****** with my brain and you ****** with my heart and you ****** my friends and i never even got to say goodbye you know that? you said you hated goodbyes and i know now it's because you never needed closure. i am still a weak girl who has sewn new strings and will move to your command in a heart beat. throw me aside with your other toys until the day comes around when i become needed, i will be beautiful again.
so when you tell me you miss the feeling of my skin, ******* i am confused because it feels as if you have never felt below my shell. i am confused because you are high and i am tired. i am confused because the next week you took a match to us and left the wreck unscathed.
it's 10:05am and i did not drink last night and you were kind of a **** and i don't think you're aware of the overwhelming presence you have on my life. you ******* looked into my eyes yesterday though, for the first time in months, and i could've sworn i saw something human in your eyes.
i used to compare your oceans to my salty rivers and mistook a black hole for a wishing well.
i broke a boy's heart the other day and cursed you for ruining me.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
I think i believe in god now. Not as an overbearing presence or a silver-bearded man sat upon clouds dictating my every move but i think i have found meaning the idea of a greater power.
I don't know how we end up drenched in cold september rain every time we go out but i think its a sign. Of what i'm not yet sure but i know the way your eyes lit up the last time i saw you was the work of an angel.
I swear i reached heaven when my heart jumped out of my chest and into your hands, metaphorically of course since your hands explored my skin, i was beside you and i think i lost track of where blanket met boy because your warmth replaced mine and my god did it feel good.
I'm not juliet and you're no romeo but maybe our lips can do as hands do one day, and maybe i can reach enlightenment or like hold your hand or something.
I think about why people pray as i lie in bed synthesizing you out of blankets and no amount of god **** pillows can make every hair stand on end like you. My thighs miss your hands and their melodic movements and trails of fire and i miss the sound of your heart and how fast it was beating and i wonder if you could hear mine too from across the room.
I hope heaven looks a lot like that room, as this one is hell and someone turned up the heat.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC