positively_pessimistic - Hello Poetry

I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster." The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.

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positively_pessimistic

Oct 29, 2018

Oct 29, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC

jaysblue

Stupidest Things

I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster." The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.

1

They say pictures paint a thousand words, But I'd rather hear the ones drawn by your lips, The ones lost in the movement of your hips. As if the air your lungs exhale, Was the only air mine knew how to inhale. As if the melody of the sound waves your vocal chords send my way, Were in perfect harmony with the sound of my heart beating... ... Broken and out of sync, like it's on the brink of collapse And I know that pictures paint a thousand words but actions paint a million more But the only action I seem to recall is my hand holding yours, Pressed up against the wall, your lips pressed against mine, Not drawing anything more but emotions, raw pure affection, pure movie magic, pictures in motion. Pictures do paint a thousand words but you left me blind, And now all I can do is hear the words one by one, haunting my every thought, Leaving me a faint image, the memory of a picture painting no words at all.

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Sep 20, 2018

Sep 20, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC

positively_pessimistic

Picture worth no words

They say pictures paint a thousand words, But I'd rather hear the ones drawn by your lips, The ones lost in the movement of your hips. As if the air your lungs exhale, Was the only air mine knew how to inhale. As if the melody of the sound waves your vocal chords send my way, Were in perfect harmony with the sound of my heart beating... ... Broken and out of sync, like it's on the brink of collapse And I know that pictures paint a thousand words but actions paint a million more But the only action I seem to recall is my hand holding yours, Pressed up against the wall, your lips pressed against mine, Not drawing anything more but emotions, raw pure affection, pure movie magic, pictures in motion. Pictures do paint a thousand words but you left me blind, And now all I can do is hear the words one by one, haunting my every thought, Leaving me a faint image, the memory of a picture painting no words at all.

15

Three words Fear, love, anguish All synonyms to my mind Memories of how you vanish How you banish my very thoughts Distinguish yourself amongst my soul The sound of your footsteps fading away Like symphonies on repeat that beat to the sound of my broken heart Keeping it alive, just too barely Yet enough to remember That you were tough And I was weak

0

Sep 5, 2018

Sep 5, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC

positively_pessimistic

Symphonies to my broken heart

Three words Fear, love, anguish All synonyms to my mind Memories of how you vanish How you banish my very thoughts Distinguish yourself amongst my soul The sound of your footsteps fading away Like symphonies on repeat that beat to the sound of my broken heart Keeping it alive, just too barely Yet enough to remember That you were tough And I was weak

13

If I had wings And I could fly I'd watch over you Wherever I'd go But what good ever Could come out of this When all I ever do Is falling hard for you Not that it would change much You never needed me Yet here I am still falling Hoping that one day you might No if I ever got wings I would leave, fly far away To the deep and dark oceans Where falling would hurt much less But then I would be sinking Seeping deep into your lies Your dark, beautiful eyes Never to leave my thoughts Drowning in your shadow I would then realize Flaws to my demise Needing compromise So if I grew wings I'd cut them clean off Fall down and cry Never to fly

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May 31, 2018

May 31, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC

positively_pessimistic

Flight

If I had wings And I could fly I'd watch over you Wherever I'd go But what good ever Could come out of this When all I ever do Is falling hard for you Not that it would change much You never needed me Yet here I am still falling Hoping that one day you might No if I ever got wings I would leave, fly far away To the deep and dark oceans Where falling would hurt much less But then I would be sinking Seeping deep into your lies Your dark, beautiful eyes Never to leave my thoughts Drowning in your shadow I would then realize Flaws to my demise Needing compromise So if I grew wings I'd cut them clean off Fall down and cry Never to fly

28

People think that to be alone, you must feel lonely… that to stare at a blank wall, you must be depressed… that to be listening to nothing, you must be overwhelmed… that in order to cry, you must be sad… I feel lonely, when people keep on bringing this up. I feel depressed, when everyone thinks me weird about all this. I feel overwhelmed, when the world asks me if I’m fine all the **** time I feel sad… I feel sad to know that I can’t be understood, for being human… When I need a break from the world, it is not because I hate it. It is so that I can keep on loving it, without having to compromise myself. Silence is not a disease, and I am not infected. It is a gift, a rare offering, forgive me for enjoying it.

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Apr 18, 2018

Apr 18, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC

positively_pessimistic

Silence

People think that to be alone, you must feel lonely… that to stare at a blank wall, you must be depressed… that to be listening to nothing, you must be overwhelmed… that in order to cry, you must be sad… I feel lonely, when people keep on bringing this up. I feel depressed, when everyone thinks me weird about all this. I feel overwhelmed, when the world asks me if I’m fine all the **** time I feel sad… I feel sad to know that I can’t be understood, for being human… When I need a break from the world, it is not because I hate it. It is so that I can keep on loving it, without having to compromise myself. Silence is not a disease, and I am not infected. It is a gift, a rare offering, forgive me for enjoying it.

20