I am a combination of my family.
I am a war fought within myself.
We cannot have a holiday without a fight,
And religion, politics and football a screaming in my veins.
I am a women from a collapsing matriarchy,
Who sways her opinion in age,
But could **** you with one look.
I don’t give a **** if I inconvenience you
Because I am fighting for my freedom with An expensive taste in scotch.
I am young, I am youth, and I am confused
Surrounded by people who have their **** together.
I am holding back tears
When I am told I should stop dreaming, because this is my reality.
I am full as I continue to eat,
Because everything is a competition in my family
And they didn’t let me play dodge ball with the boys.
I am a stone cold fox who gets torn down
By those I’ve known my whole life.
They strip away my confidence
As I hide in the corner.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
I’m really bad at this talk.
I know, because I’ve tried and failed
Plenty of times before.
And yet, here I am again.
I **** at this talk,
I **** at finding the right words.
That’s probably why I’ve written this poem
On the back of receipts thousands of times
And each time they end up crumbled
In the bottom of my backpack.
We kissed last night.
And people look different after you kiss them.
Some people look like the solution
To all of your problems
And the love connection you’ve worked so hard to find.
And yet,
Other people look like awkward run-ins
In the school cafeteria
And late nights wondering the subtext of said kiss.
Did it really actually mean something
Or was the liquor bullying us to do so.
I’m really bad at this talk,
So I guess I’m just tired of wondering.
Because I meant what I said that night
As we held hands on the couch,
Did you?
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
When I was a kid we had a rosebud tree in my front yard
It bloomed pink in the spring
Sprouting new leaves,
Each leaf was in the shape of a heart
I used to pluck the leaves from the tree,
because I liked the way they looked.
They looked like love.
Love for the whole neighborhood.
Love for the neighbors who I stole flowers from.
A few for the garter snakes we’d torture on the lawn.
Love for Sydney across the street
Knocking on my door every day at 10
Asking to come and play.
Love for Mrs. Moore who loved the sound of our laughter
But wished we’d stay off of her ******* lawn.
Love for Keanna with the fastest bike.
Love for Paige with a pool in her backyard.
Love for Jim,
Call him Mr. Jim, my mother used to say
With a plow on his four wheeler
So our winter chores were simplified.
Love for the steep driveway two doors down
To launch our bikes into the street.
Love for hide and seek.
For freeze tag
For lightning bugs in mayonnaise jars.
For mud pies
For trees that didn’t have pretty leaves.
Love for the stop signs at the end of the block
That told us when to stop pedaling.
Love for my brother
Love for my dad
Love for my mom.
And love for 3023 N 48th Street.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
I’m done with nights like these
With the drinking and
The drugs and the boys
I tell myself for the fourth time this year.
Maybe I just won’t go out anymore,
No more drinking and maybe,
Just maybe I can keep my pants on
Around some dude I’ve just met.
Make a more attainable goal
My friends who’ve the gossip say,
I’m not that kind of girl
I tell myself for the fifth time,
The kind who leaves love at the door
When she picks up the bottle
I have feelings and a heart.
I fall in love with my drunken regrets
Because they call me beautiful
And accept me for who I am.
This isn’t me
I say for the sixth time,
“What’s your name again?”
I ask after it’s over
But maybe it’s a little more me
Than I’d like to admit.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
When you kissed me
I let my mind run wild
and it chose to run to
the memories of kisses
I try so hard to forget.
You kissed me
and I really liked you,
I really did.
But I said the wrong name.
And he,
that repressed memory
came to life.
And I was no longer with a boy I loved,
but with one I fear.
Please stop kissing me.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
Do I kiss strangers to prove
he hasn't ****** me up?
Or has he ****** me up
to the point where I kiss strangers?
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
I doodle our names
Over and over
And over and over again
And then I draw so many hearts
That it makes me sick.
I do all this because I like you
I like you like first grade.
When I call you a meanie **** face
That’s to show how much I care.
I wish I could bluntly tell you how I feel.
I would say:
“I think you’re cute”
“I like-like you”
But I can’t say those thing
Because you can’t a boy you like him
If it makes you look like an idiot
And I am tongue tied
In the presence of you
It is impossible for me to look in your eyes
And not speak in an idiotic, incoherent babble.
I like you like first grade
I’ll chase you around the playground,
I’ll steal a kiss when I finally tag you.
I want to catch all your cooties,
Because, baby, I’m love sick.
I want to hold hands
Til all the other kids say “eww”
Because boys are gross,
Well, all boys except you.
Maybe I’ll have my mom call your mom
And we can go on a play date.
Juice boxes,
Pillow forts
And old Disney movies.
How romantic?
But for now I’ll just doodle
Until I get up the courage to pass the note
With three check boxes
Do you like me back?
Yes?
No?
Maybe?
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
Every make-up has a name,
Every shade is labeled differently.
Her lipstick is called Trapped
It’s a beautiful blood red
She applies to the corners of her lips
To accent their shape.
She always couples that with
But He Still Loves Me, her blush.
A purple, yellow and green combination
To make her cheekbones pop.
Her eye shadow is called
I'll Try Better Next Time
When applied it gives her a
Perfect smoky eye.
Her foundation comes in
A socially accepted beige titled:
Everything’s Fine, I Promise
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC
he won’t text me back.
is that bad?
does he like me?
should i text first?
i’m gonna text first.
he didn’t respond.
this is important.
am i not cute?
why won’t he text me today?
am i a bad kisser?
will he ever come around?
i really like him.
does he like me?
what am i doing?
am i overreacting?
why won’t he text me back?
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
I don't very much like compliments anymore.
Please, please don't call me beautiful.
I'm still trying to cope with the last time
I was called beautiful,
*I wouldn't a' ****** ya
if you weren't*
How reassuring,
he said it as though my beauty
was the only reason I was graced
with the gift of his ****
It wasn't the drinking
or the party
or the conversations we held.
Only my beauty.
Beautiful
is what the men who are
twice, no, three times, my age
nod at me as I walk to work.
Beautiful
is the nickname given to me
by one night stands
who can't seem to remember
my name is Nicholle.
Beautiful
feels like his hands silhouetting
my body after I told him to stop.
Beautiful
just reminds me of how hollow I feel
at the end of the day
Beautiful
is an understatement
for everything I am.
So please, find another way
to compliment me,
a different adjective
to describe me looks.
Or better yet don't
compliment my looks,
I am so much more.
You can compliment
my words
my soul,
the way I make you feel.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC