You saw the nightmares alive in my eyes.
You saw the terror, the wonder, the magic all die.
I couldn’t tell if you had burned them or broken all of the promises my devils had spoken.
That fear, that beauty, that moment in time,
it was my wanderlust, and backbone, and spirit, and sign.
And I told you, I told you that I wanted it back, but it was
too late to grab them out from the black.
So I tipped up that bottle and I swallowed my guilt, and prayed to the room as it started to tilt.
Then we gathered my insecurities and left with your plans
of mountains and divinity and lovers holding hands.
My breathing was shaky, my eyes full of tears. You held me and loved me and wiped away those years.
They put signs on my back, saying “broken, but here”.
And I reached for the wheel, though I was too drunk to steer.
The crashing, the glass, the slurred, frightened screams.
I wonder if smoke can freeze, and if it can,
I’ll call it dreams.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
"We took such care of tomorrow, but died on the way there."
We planted so many new trees, we forgot to stop for air.
I can't remember what your voice said, but I know that it was bare,
Because your words could always find me, yet they couldn't reach me there.
I always feel the way my tears drop when I wear my smile for you.
You'd always compare my legs to new trees, and my breathing to morning dew.
I can't remember every tear I've shed, but I'd name a few for you.
I'm scared to leave my life behind again, but I know you want life anew.
I'm sorry for every time that I cried, for I know it gave you strife.
My heart may stop beating tonight, but I've been dead my whole life...
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
I wanted to drink until I forgot
your scent lingering on my shirt when you would hug me.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
all your empty promises and bitter words.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
your cold gaze piercing my back when you said to leave.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
those apathetic eyes and self-righteous taunts.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
myself begging you to let me cry in your lap.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
how many times I apologized for my abuser's actions.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
the sound of my own voice.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
the sight of my tear-stained face.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
the scars branding my body with "failure".
I wanted to drink until I forgot
you were my mom once.
I ended up drinking myself to
death.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
You say you love my short nails; they show I’m not high maintenance.
You say you love the way I nibble my food, like my brain is exploring other worlds and is too preoccupied to focus on chewing.
You say you love how I don’t wear a lot of eye makeup; you’ve always liked the natural look.
You say you love how I’m constantly daydreaming; books are envious of my imagination.
You say you love me for me, for everything I am, and everything I do.
However, you don’t know that I keep my nails so short so that they don’t scratch the back of my throat when I purge.
You don’t know that I nibble on my food because I’m terrified to open my mouth more than half an inch or I’ll stuff my face and fill myself with shame.
You don’t know that I don’t wear too much makeup in case it runs while I’m throwing up and you notice.
You don’t know that my eyes are just unfocused because I don’t have the energy to keep up with the world around me after fasting for four days.
You don’t know that you don’t love me for me or any of the things you think I do.
You love me for everything I don’t tell you.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
You can tell me what you want to, with a mouth dripping vinegar and
eyes the size of God.
I will let your lies soak into my skin and
fold themselves in my smile. It will be one of those smiles that
doesn’t crinkle your nose or reach your eyes.
They will fit snugly between my teeth as
a reminder that no matter what I say, your words are the ones I taste.
Those last few truths that left your lips will be woven in my hair,
broken by ribbons.
Your kiss tasted how sobs sound, and your embrace could not
warm my shivering bones if you even cared to try.
You let the shadows under my eyes slip down my cheeks and
pool in your hands as murky puddles.
The masquerade could have stopped there…but we both knew it wouldn’t.
And you let your pride say you loved me because we both knew you were dead inside.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
The hair on my arms flutters like feathers.
The wind, powerful and insistent, is all the encouragment I need.
"Did you give me wings?" My question is soft and breathless.
You were born with wings, darling, you whisper at the nape of my neck.
"I can jump?" The idea is invigorating.
I need the end. I crave a conclusion.
No...You can fly.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 2:38 PM UTC
“I ripped these out of your symbol and they turned into paper.”
The words that once read new breath into me now fall just short. They
sink and sag across the pages, lost and wandering without a spine to keep them upright.
Does the value of that symbol become so diminished then? Why, yes.
Yes, it does.
The papers that flutter presently across my floorboards belong nowhere now. The pages might as well be empty.
Without “before”s and “after”s to them, every startling sentence and promising phrase holds nary a glance of the eye.
Listless, meaningless, and inconclusive.
Such a pity.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
Maintaining that faux image.
Live up to society's expectations.
Have *** and be ******
*Don't have *** but act like you do*.
The boys set the bar,
We want to reach it.
We wear make-up because it will
Make us pretty.
We dress **** because it will
Make us hot.
We want to have *** because it will
Make us normal.
Does pop culture have the right to
Tell us what's normal?
If we do not measure up, then
We will put on a show if we have to.
We hope we look approachable so
Then boys will talk to us.
But we have to say no and stay pure so
Then boys will want us.
We are supposed to understand the
Mixed signals and popular beliefs.
We must ignore our morals, yet claim they
Are what we live by.
Pornorgraphy, 'Girls Gone Wild', and risque magazines all tell us that
Guys want us to be a certain way.
We are supposed to turn ourselves into
What they want,
And accept that that
Is all that matters.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
I used to consider chapstick makeup.
I used to consider using conditioner “doing my hair”.
Now it takes me 90 minutes to deem myself acceptable enough to show my face.
Where did that carefree attitude go?
It used to be that the lengthiest part of my morning routine was brushing my teeth.
Now my makeup covers scars as well as blemishes.
Now calories are not something I’m studying in a small elementary school classroom, but deceitful numbers that bury themselves into my mind and thighs.
The beach used to be a safe haven to splash into and gasp out of.
Now I dread the idea of squeezing into a bathing suit.
I cry at my reflection and shout expletives at the scale.
I starve just to keep my demons at bay, and cut as a peace offering.
I use Percocet as an anesthetic for the pain of waking up in my bed everyday.
I wish I could say I used to make love, but since love was not used to make me, how could I?
I reach out to those ever-growing shadows and I cling to the corners of remembering.
I do not fear death, but I fear the memory I leave behind…
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 1:27 PM UTC
You were right there. Standing,
hands in your pockets, like nothing could hurt you.
Defiance palpable in the air you breathed.
Your back straight and your eyes so skeptically open
that if I didn’t look closely, I’d swear they were closed.
You were so close. Leaning,
skin warm with stories, close enough to leave me trembling in your wake.
Rebellion rocked in the earth around you.
Smoky breath and chewed-raw lips, and your
smile could never quite meet your eyes.
You were so tired. Listening,
mind open and walls up, always listening for pretty words.
Confidence almost shaking now in your bones.
A head full of curls, and a mouth full of codes
trapped so solidly as to not tarnish your tongue.
You were so alone. Talking,
people constantly surround you, about stories you never want to forget.
Rich, devilish words seasoned in your descriptions.
Your voice stimulates my mind’s starving curiosity, and
your hands could carry me home.
You were so lost. Running,
middle fingers locked in place, toward everything that scared you.
A bark of contempt for anyone in sight.
Always the question of: Could you say you used to make love
when love was not used to make you?
You were so broken. Tearing,
with wings of gold, through the waste of the human life.
A force so unstoppable it weakened my heart.
Your soul was on fire, and in the midst of the flames,
I saw you. You were never meant for here.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC