My heart aches for your simplicity.
Your kiss on my cheek.
Absent.
It's only been a week.
Is this what it's like
to be dependable?
Depending on your
words and lips.
love is a nuisance.
Love is a new stance.
Love is your black pants.
They are old and worn out.
They fit your legs like a glove.
The garbage can
will never see our love.
The garbage can
is recreation.
Your filthy mouth,
the night we almost
had a three sum
with the black boy
down the street.
I am so glad,
it was only us between
your sheets.
you are a book,
even I would like to read.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
My name is Jaclyn,
and I have a drinking problem.
I am trying to find the courage,
to ask you to love me anyways.
My mom used to say,
Don't you dare put someone
through what you did to us.
You are not a good person
when you're drunk.
Yeah, I'll quit drinking..
Next weekend.
I swear, This is the last time.
But I'm sure you've heard that line.
I've worn out the meaning,
in the knees of my jeans.
Dry heaving.
She brings me a glass of water,
and all I gave her was a middle finger,
and a **** you.
I just wanted to have fun.
At the expense of my love.
Here is my word:
I will never make
you be the girlfriend,
of a dead girlfriend.
Because we got too many
dead friends already.
This is my getting sober poem.
This is my "not passing out
in a parking lot" poem.
This is my "You gotta die
from something, but it will
not be an overdose" poem.
Please.
This is my,
"Please Love Me Through This"
poem.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
She hardly speaks,
but when she does.
Her words are bullets.
And instead
of being filled with tiny
pellets of metal.
They are filled with seeds.
Cause she is growing on me.
Grow me into a vine.
That stretches across
the whole garden.
So when you try to take me out,
I’ve touched every part of your life.
You can’t get rid of me.
I’ll be a pain in your ***
Attached by my heart strings.
You’ll have a huge box of my things,
buried in your closet.
With all of your skeletons,
and your dresses, your jeans,
and shoes.
And when you blow the dust off of me.
Remember my guitar strings.
The way I used the stems of flowers
as tally marks,
for all the days I hadn’t blown it yet.
So when I do.
Shoot your bullets in my dirt.
So your seeds can grow.
Don’t worry about my garden,
being over grown by weeds.
Cause I quit sewing those seeds,
years ago.
I do not rely on your happy,
to make me happy.
I know I am weak,
at the knees.
Because everybody trips
over their own feet, sometimes.
How many people can say,
they’ve seen something
more beautiful than a sunset.
April Showers
didn’t bring the flowers, darling.
Your heart did.
Your heart did.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
I had a night terror again.
The one where I’m
trapped in my house and
there are giant bugs crawling
in through the walls.
I can’t escape.
The doors and windows
are locked,
so I set the house on fire.
With me in it.
And we all burn out.
I wake up,
drenched in sweat.
My white sheets,
now stained yellow.
I can’t sleep.
I have to go back to bed
on the floor.
I can’t stop crying,
my room is muggy,
no longer my sanctuary.
This is not a dream anymore.
This is real life.
The nightmare I fall asleep to.
The soundtrack of
my sleep schedule.
Wake me when it’s over.
10/1/2015
2:56 AM
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
A poem about ****** abuse.
I don’t know how to write
this poem yet.
But when I do,
You’ll be the first I tell.
Sincerely,
It was hell.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
Consent.
What does that even mean?
***
What is that?
If we’re both drunk does it count?
Because I am the definition
of awkward.
So a drink in me might
do her a favor.
But just for the first time.
So I’m comfortable enough
to draw my line,
Or the line of hickeys
I left on your neck.
Consent.
Because you’re awkward, too.
A lovely Shade of shy.
But all I could do was look you
in the eyes
and say you’re beautiful.
Then a tear streamed down your face.
And all that came out was
Are you sure this is okay?
Consent.
Because I’m not comfortable,
the way you’re comfortable.
The way taking off my shirt
feels like letting the sea inside me.
So I’ll keep my pants on,
until the lights are off.
And even then,
my scars are screaming.
It’s ringing in my ear,
my biggest fear.
When she stops and whispers,
are you sure this is okay?
The first time I’ve ever heard
those words.
Was the first time I felt free.
For the first time,
I didn’t feel *****
When you whisper in my ear.
I thought, Baby!
I love it when you talk
consent to me.
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 11:34 PM UTC
I'd be a butterfly,
For Heaven's sake.
The kind that Noah forgot to take.
But still survived The Flood...
In your eyes.
I'd build a boat.
Out of your ribcage,
To set the birds free.
You heard me!
Butterflies?
**** butterflies,
I got birds inside me.
No.
What I have to say,
comes from the rip chord
of my razor blades.
Waiting my whole life
for that rubber band
to snap back.
Thank God for my destruction.
Thank God for my ruble.
Because tree's
grow out of the sides
of stone cold mountains.
That have been blown up
by the rough hands
of people mining for gold.
And people set forest fires
on purpose.
To get rid of the dead stuff.
So new things can grow.
And Sometimes.
I pick the plants.
Just to see how much dead stuff
I can accumulate,
before I set myself on fire.
And when I do,
I swear to God.
I'll be an empty notebook.
So you can cover me with lines.
The good kind.
That come from your pencil.
Cause we don't have to roll up
dollar bills
to see the moon, anymore.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
I Just feel a lot.
I told you I would write about it.
So here it is.
I am me.
And I have been hurt.
So I know what it feels like
to be someone's second choice.
but you will never be my second choice.
And I believe you.
When you say you don't believe me.
But I will do what I can
to ease the idea that someone else
is in my thoughts.
because it's just an idea.
And I don't know what I am saying
half of the time
but the other half
I am constantly.
trying to come up with a line
that will ease your mind.
like I **** up,
but I mean what I say.
Even on my drunkest day.
But you are always my first thought.
Like getting over the worst,
was just a thought.
because I can handle the worst.
I don't hope for the best,
I prepare for it.
Because my head,
doesn't allow me to feel,
Things that make me happy.
So when I fell like my heart will explode
I run.
Into myself,
Because me.
What ever I am,
Will be there.
And that's hard to explain.
So when I wish I had something better to say,
I will just tell you the truth.
How my heart was abandoned.
How I long to be felt.
How my heart feels so much,
It makes the grand canyon
Feel ashamed to be felt.
My heart melts.
Yes, My heart melts.
And i don't how to say it anymore.
Because I thought I could say it.
But when it comes to you,
I'm not joking.
Like the butterflies
were surprised
when you said " This is good."
It was like a breathe of fresh air,
That I could finally breath.
When you said,
This is good.
This is good.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
I like dating a poet.
Every time you talk
you write a poem in my heart.
Words that I can't speak.
Thats called being speechless.
My biggest fear.
Not knowing what to say
when she tells me
she had a bad day.
Like I'd give you a hug,
but I know you don't like to be touched.
So I'd wipe your tears,
but whats wrong with crying a river?
So I can float on my back
to your out breath's.
So you can breathe me in
on your in breath's.
Can you tell me again,
what step it was?
To just tell you it's okay,
Because even on my worst days,
that's all I can come up with.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
We have words in our hearts,
That will never be free.
Like my biggest secret
is that I gave my parents PTSD.
How ******
That I hurt people who love me.
And I love them,
but did you really love them?
Yes.
Sometimes it's not like that.
See, we love people the best we know how.
And sometimes that doesn't feel good.
Like every time the house whispers,
my mom wakes from a dead sleep,
wondering if I'm still alive,
and why this is her life?
Or how she used to go to the grocery store,
an hour away from home.
in hopes she wouldn't run into some body
That maybe she'd know.
For the fear she'd have to explain,
her daughters in the loony bin,
but she's not insane.
Just off the deep end.
So I could dive.
Right into my life.
Head over feet,
So if I were a bed,
all you'd see were the sheets.
Like if I were a mirror,
I'd be a piece of glass.
So you could see right through
so I could show you my last cast,
with the fishing line of my life,
how all I could do was hold on tight.
And hope that my dad strung the pole right.
When I was 7, I caught a fish.
But he said to throw
it back so it could grow.
And little did I know,
that he just wanted it to get stronger.
So it could believe in itself,
that it could breathe above the water.
That just because I was sinking,
didn't mean that I would Drown.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 2:40 AM UTC