the museum of my heart
has a blurry picture of his green eyes
the boy whose I name I never knew
there's a special exhibit
of all the bathrooms I had a breakdown in
there's polaroid pictures hanging
of all the friends I lost through the years
and all the friends who lost me
there's the poetry I wrote about them
words written in red ink and messy handwriting
there's statues of copper and tin
of all the lovers who couldn't love me
there's a constant humming of white noise and lo-fi
echoes of unspoken words I kept and ones I never heard
there's a selection of wingless butterflies
and a collection of blunt pencil sharpener blades
there's a basket of fortune cookies
and every single piece of paper carries the same aphorism:
"amidst the loneliness, the things you loved will forever haunt you."
there's old tv sets and a stack of DVD's
of all the films I wish I'd seen
there's all the skeletons I've hidden
secrets written on napkins and snuck between the wall cracks
there's a brand new guillotine and a golden noose
carefully kept for anyone who tries to hurt me
there's blackberry trees, an open ceiling
and dark splatters covering the ground beneath it
there's a chapel with empty seats and burned bible verses
rose petals and pink, lilac and blue candles
where an altar waits for a future love's mementos
there's a fountain of sweat, blood & tears
there's me standing in the corner
waiting to hand you your ticket and lure you in
there's angels and devils praying that you make it to the end of the tour
Jan 29, 2023
Jan 29, 2023 at 8:19 PM UTC
I wanna run into the night
but I always end up tangled up in your arms
lately everywhere I turn to I bump right into you
I wanna tell you to **** off
but it comes out as "I'm sorry"
lately everything I say sounds like an apology
I'm still just a kid, I'm still on my knees
begging you to love me
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 7:45 PM UTC
there's not a spell, a song, a wish upon a star
that can make someone love you the way you want to be loved
only you can do that
come to think of it...
nothing is quite as romantic as saving yourself.
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 7:38 PM UTC
when you stop reading their horoscope
when the things you used to find charming
start making your stomach churn
when the butterflies turn into eye rolls
you know that it's over
you know that it's time to go
when the love that you give is bigger and brighter
than whatever it is that you get in return
when you realize that loving you is a lesson they'll never learn
when you run yourself dry
by watering a lover that will never grow
you know that it's over
you know that it's time to go
when you're more enemies than lovers
when you start sitting across from each other
when the kids become witnesses
of dinner table cold war battles
when those three words
turn into silent screams in the depths of your throat
you know that it's over
you know that it's time to go
Feb 22, 2021
Feb 22, 2021 at 10:34 AM UTC
like haunted steps on a newly built mansion
like all the traumas you never mention
like breathing through your mouth
like crying when the lights are out
like wishing you lived in a soundproof house
Sep 17, 2020
Sep 17, 2020 at 4:57 PM UTC
maybe one day I'll walk the way we walked together
hand in hand,
arm around neck
and my heart will ache
so I'll have to change my ways
do a detour so that I don't see you in that corner,
by that shop,
in that alley.
and I'll have to explain what's changed to whoever walks with me
but for now
I'll smile whenever I walk by that corner,
that shop,
that alley.
why should I think about tomorrow when today's been so deliciously sweet to me?
Sep 29, 2019
Sep 29, 2019 at 12:07 PM UTC
Time passes me by and I realize I'm so much bigger and yet so much smaller than I hoped to be.
I don't watch good films. I don't read enough or write enough. I don't think enough.
I don't play guitar; a couple chords is all I know, I'm afraid that's as far as I'll ever go.
I don't sit and write songs on paper, I type them out and forget about them ten minutes later.
I don't have people I can call friends; at least not anymore.
I've distanced myself from everything and everyone I ever loved.
I don't speak spanish, french or romanian. I've never seen the ocean or been kissed on the lips.
I only know a couple words in italian.
I don't go to parties. I don't have a job or a good credit score.
I don't have pretty handwriting. My mom doesn't like me; she might love me sometimes, but she doesn't like me.
My father doesn't know me,
I'm afraid by now he forgot how to pronounce my name.
I spin in circles and dream of a life of happiness, love and fame.
I dream of picking my own wall paint and moving my furniture around the place.
I dream of saying I own this house and everything inside,
myself included.
I can close my eyes and enjoy some expensive wine,
I earned it.
I dream of a lover who understands that I might be happy but no amount of love could ever ease the pain or heal the hole in my brain.
I let the good thoughts escape,
the bad ones remain.
I dream of someday being able to look at my left hand and not see the purple-hued bruise that my mother left behind when she pushed to the floor that one time; it's not the first time she hits me or steals me from my dignity,
I should be used to it.
I close my eyes and I allow myself to feel the pain.
My body is weak.
I feel her dragging me to the bathroom and yelling at me.
The pain is everywhere,
I'm too dizzy to think.
The neighbors listen to her screams, my cries
But they pretend it's alright.
So the next morning when my math teacher asks me why I missed class
I look down, then he looks down and asks me why my hand is lilac
I tell him I fell, it was late at night and I didn't have my glasses on,
It's alright,
I fell.
I take the test I missed. I hold back tears while reading words that look like greek to me
I fail.
I could have died that night.
I could have died the next day.
I spent the next three years thinking about committing suicide.
She tells me she's sorry, it won't happen again. That was the last time she ever laid her hands on me; out of pity or fear that she might end up committing an inescapable felony.
She tells me she loves me,
I tell myself that love doesn't feel like daggers buried deep into your left hand.
Those broken bones never mend.
I'm almost twenty now,
I was fifteen then.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 5:59 PM UTC
I'm no angel,
I've seen hell for myself
I won't offer you a hand,
you're better off left on the shelf
if you're worth saving anyway,
you've got do it yourself.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 2:22 AM UTC
superglue couldn't keep my heart together and neither will you.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 2:17 AM UTC
I wanted you, and I still do
others have tried to
I kept all their names, their kisses,
the missed calls
If you're not the one who's loving me,
I don't want to be loved at all,
not even by myself.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 2:09 AM UTC