that you saw every part of me
fall apart like the house we live in.
i watched you freeze over
like a lake in winter,
when i asked
why my stuff was left packed
by the door.
sometimes i feel like a kid
running towards the cars,
without looking twice,
because you forgot to tell me i need
to look both ways.
i wish i knew then i shouldn't have to beg
to be treated like i'm wanted.
i need not reach for a hand
that slaps mine away,
or pulls apart like the sea from a shore
which begs to kissed.
i think you forgot love isn't all beautiful,
it's waking up to your stinking breath in the morning
and kissing you,
it's being in an multiple choice exam
but the answer i always circle is you.
it's being in the ring and
choosing not to throw the punches
despite the raw screaming,
and the crowd cheering.
i still catch a breath,
when i think how ****** up it was that
you drove me to see an old friend
you hadn't seen in years
and joked about our future like there was one,
when you were planning
on ending it the same weekend.
i still remember your stares,
the pebbles on the beach,
the kids ride you made me sit on with you
because you thought it would be scary
but the only scary thing was
you telling me you loved me,
when you hated me.
nowadays i get so angry when i hear
other people debate what love is,
when i've known and i've lost.
but i'm so ******* glad you never read
any of my poetry.
because that will be just another thing
you don't understand,
alongside what love is.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 6:18 PM UTC
Men they call them,
I have a different name.
I find myself scoffing at the dark,
At hands that rough themselves
Against me,
At prowling fingers pulling leaves
As they go.
Perhaps they have yet to learn,
That is it better to nurture
Than to maim.
Watering my roots will make me
Grow taller and prouder,
To take pieces, branches,
Stunts my growth,
The leaves will only decay soon anyway.
I’m learning quickly,
To be alone is better than in bad company.
I am longing for those days
I stop chasing after bad men.
It’s like running towards the knife
Instead of away from it.
I have a habit of sacrificing myself
To these men,
Like I am the devils conquest.
I’ve become a mad woman
Trying to find someone who cares enough
To learn all my crevasses.
I keep telling myself
That I will forget them,
One day my eyes won’t stare
Watering into the dark,
My fists as tight as my stomach.
I will fall asleep peacefully in arms
That water me with potential.
I want physical comfort to be
Meaningful again.
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 6:06 PM UTC
my minds like a child screaming,
and i'm full of headaches,
all these thoughts that i can't shake lose,
like brambles on my brain.
i wanted you to fix me,
instead you just wanted to **** me.
that was my mistake, again.
i tend to make them.
i have a thing for narcissists.
you can't be straight up and i'm too forward.
vulnerable is the new ****
not stupid, vulnerable.
you asked about my brother and i stuttered,
i didn't know what to say.
maybe that was the first time i made you
uncomfortable,
because you realized i was a person.
the picture stared down at us from
the staircase,
isn't it odd how the dead can still watch us,
make us feel guilty.
you left with mumbled apologies,
the door slammed as you went,
it left a quiet emptiness within.
maybe that was easier,
there's already enough ghosts in this house
without you becoming one too.
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 3:42 PM UTC
she's got that black dress on again,
the thigh-highs tight on slender white legs.
the men they stare like their eyes caught fire,
she's a walking inferno, smoke billowing
behind her heels.
have you ever had a stranger **** you so good
you told them you loved them?
she's tangled like a rainbow fish in his net,
the tide of the sheets pulling her in.
she's like a rare animal going extinct,
but oh her face is pretty,
like those flowers on your mothers windowsill.
and she tastes even prettier than she looks.
bury your face in her neck,
let her hair billow round in ringlets,
messy, knotty.
bury your face in her chest.
but if she says no,
that does not mean convince her,
her will is as strong as her thighs wrapped
tightly round his neck.
but it feels so good,
it feels so ******* good,
it makes her want to scream the walls down.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 1:31 PM UTC
i hate you, and i wish you were dead,
because if you were dead,
i could remember you kindly,
my memory would be of
how you cared for me,
not how you hurt me.
i could reflect on us fondly,
without every memory tainted
by how you left me all bone,
that vultures could not find
anything left to pick of me.
there would be no need
to think about what you were up to
every single day.
i would think of you rotting,
and how i wished you could stay.
i wouldn't pace aimlessly,
my head cold like the winter sky,
knowing you are out there living,
vivacious, carefree,
not giving a **** about me.
i do not wish to have unmet you,
but i do wish you dead.
instead i'm grieving someone
who's still alive.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
i'm a bad person because
i cannot love you as you deserve to be loved
i used to write about anonymous men
who thunder through this world,
leaving cracks in the sky
to the women that love them.
but here i am now,
i am just as heinous as the clouds that
block the sun when the earth needs it most.
i have lost my ability to tiptoe
over my anger.
when i'm sad i don't know myself
or you anymore.
my depression makes me see
those who love me as the enemy,
i'm fighting the people who try
to help me,
sometimes i wish they'd see me
as a lost cause.
they're all just trying to
get me out of the smoke so
i can see properly,
but it's too deep into my lungs now,
they're charred by the ash.
you said you wished we could,
i quote: "just be happy"
and i'm apologizing again
because it's always my fault.
*i wonder if abusive people know
they are abusive?*
i am bad for knowing that i spew
toxicity on everything we grow.
i am bad for not stopping myself,
because my emotions control me as though
i'm merely chemical mass in my head,
not a soul, or a person who
wants to be better.
i'm so sorry, i can't be the good person,
i shouldn't make excuses,
because somewhere under all the illness
i am there.
the more i cry apologies,
the more meaningless they become,
until i send you away by
wanting you closer.
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 5:14 PM UTC
a pretty face won't make him stay,
only words can,
but you write them all down on paper
instead of telling him anyway.
if you spoke up sooner,
if you didn't let your words strangle
themselves in your vocal chords,
maybe love would be a roar,
maybe it would be louder than the sound
of your neighbors fist hitting his wife.
maybe your love wouldn't be so silent,
as his footsteps late at night,
when he comes back stinking of anothers perfume.
you'd turn your body to face the wall,
you'd be a body of bricks,
you'd be the wall.
maybe if both your bodies entwined,
you could form fossils in bed.
and later, archaeologists could marvel
at the beauty of human heartache,
how the heart turns to dust,
and the love decays with us.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 7:49 AM UTC
sometimes alcohol makes my
stomach churn with its lies.
the more i take, the less i feel.
maybe there are addictions worse
than addiction to skin.
i can't understand why you
make me feel so empty
so my glass is always full.
i'm scared of kissing you sober,
i've never kissed a man sober.
i tell you i love you,
hoping you'll blame my
***** veins.
i don't trust smiles that
hide the teeth,
but i'm here now,
cradled in his palms,
tasting his flesh.
i once thought his eyes
reminded me of oceans,
now i realize they remind me
of sharks.
he looks like someone that
could **** me,
that's just my type.
i forget to say no.
the last man i loved put his
fingers inside my mouth
and ripped my tongue out.
my body doesn't know
how to say no anymore.
last time,
this is the last time,
oh i said that last time.
i fell too deep into the rabbit hole,
like alice in wonderland,
except alice is the one
who fell in love with the mad hatter,
and alice is the one
who lost her head.
it's getting darker,
and i'm afraid.
i can't stay, my dear,
i can't stay.
the pen will only run out
and i'll be awake all night
if i don't empty
it of this ink.
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 12:04 PM UTC
never mix a poet and an artist.
he whispered to me, his words mix like
paint in his head to form a beautiful
sunrise.
"two pretentious people can never
get their way,
we're two busy expecting the other
person to make a move".
i'm too scared to let him get close,
i'll write about him,
i won't be able to forget about him,
and all i want to do is act reckless
at night and pretend
i'm good in the morning.
i wonder what games i'm playing this time.
maybe i wanted to kiss him,
maybe i didn't.
my brain can't make it's mind up.
i'm fickle.
all i know is an emotion in the moment,
and i tug on it,
i won't let it go.
if i can feel anything at all,
let me feel it.
so i'll play with his hands and he'll shake
his head and complain i never know
what i want,
and our heads lean in and i tell myself
i won't kiss him,
and something twists in my stomach,
and i tug, i tug.
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
now we're in the backseat,
and my stomachs turning.
maybe i just want people in my life
in an un-romantic way.
i like to get under their skin,
and steal their souls story.
i love how everyone is different,
and i can't hate a single thing,
because it makes them human;
the girls who steal bikes at midnight,
and the guys who offer their apartment
out at night.
i find myself in the wrong crowd,
i find myself in these situations,
in the backseat,
with someone who's speaks a
language far from consent
and it's all desperation.
his hands on my neck,
and there's no attraction,
physically.
mentally he has a way of making
my head spin faster than the
alchohol,
and i'm not sure if i'm
kissing him sober,
or if the night itself is drunk,
and i'm waiting for the sun to shine
a light on my mistakes,
as it always does.
i take their stories, they take mine,
but i'm not sure what part of it's true.
the girl in the backseat,
the girl shaking,
the rigid lips and bites.
maybe we won't speak,
maybe he'll lecture me again,
for using my body as a token
to pay my way.
love is an expensive thing.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 7:21 AM UTC