scully - Hello Poetry

come to the river of your longing, put your grief down next to mine. i will show you how i can bleed, let time play on your chest like the hands of a lover. i will pull back the covers of the sky, i will pull my heart back from the Dark, i will pick up your pieces and bring them home.

0

Aug 1, 2022

Aug 1, 2022 at 1:46 PM UTC

scully

Untitled

come to the river of your longing, put your grief down next to mine. i will show you how i can bleed, let time play on your chest like the hands of a lover. i will pull back the covers of the sky, i will pull my heart back from the Dark, i will pick up your pieces and bring them home.

8

Your lips- The first disaster. A strange sea of intense blue, Dangerous and horrifying like love. Our bodies walk untouched by the light, Shadows supreme and arrogant. My love is not cruel- That does not mean it is kind. That look is breaking the ground underneath me, The way an earthquake does when two strangers meet. The roots spread and break through every goodbye planted Inside of me. We are trying to see who can hurt worse. The tide came in while my eyes were closed, I am thrown headfirst against the rocks. All this time, The world was spinning in circles. The wind pushes and pulls us away. All of the places I can't dream of going Have my name taped to the mailbox. You love out of a suitcase, always Ready to pack up and leave. Holding faith that one of these people You let touch you with the lights off Will be more than just a past-lover. And the phone rings, Like a call back from the darkness, "I love even the parts of you that have to go home."

0

Nov 19, 2020

Nov 19, 2020 at 3:09 PM UTC

scully

worn out maps

Your lips- The first disaster. A strange sea of intense blue, Dangerous and horrifying like love. Our bodies walk untouched by the light, Shadows supreme and arrogant. My love is not cruel- That does not mean it is kind. That look is breaking the ground underneath me, The way an earthquake does when two strangers meet. The roots spread and break through every goodbye planted Inside of me. We are trying to see who can hurt worse. The tide came in while my eyes were closed, I am thrown headfirst against the rocks. All this time, The world was spinning in circles. The wind pushes and pulls us away. All of the places I can't dream of going Have my name taped to the mailbox. You love out of a suitcase, always Ready to pack up and leave. Holding faith that one of these people You let touch you with the lights off Will be more than just a past-lover. And the phone rings, Like a call back from the darkness, "I love even the parts of you that have to go home."

28

I liked to be in Hell, and I liked to be there alone. Violence tangled in this tissue, This shame, I am cut open, A faithful mutilation with scars that Read like atonement. This Rage is violent and mine- The wrong kind of ugly, I know. The living body of a survivor Wakes up each morning in a grave. I have always carried my love for this world, Carried my horrible reverence for this world, This world is sick like a knife. I can feel eternity pressing against my throat. There is Nothing, It comes to devour from the inside. The length of silence swells like a syndicate of ants. In Hell we are alone. What can you do besides hold your hand out to the dark?

0

Sep 21, 2020

Sep 21, 2020 at 2:36 PM UTC

scully

possession

I liked to be in Hell, and I liked to be there alone. Violence tangled in this tissue, This shame, I am cut open, A faithful mutilation with scars that Read like atonement. This Rage is violent and mine- The wrong kind of ugly, I know. The living body of a survivor Wakes up each morning in a grave. I have always carried my love for this world, Carried my horrible reverence for this world, This world is sick like a knife. I can feel eternity pressing against my throat. There is Nothing, It comes to devour from the inside. The length of silence swells like a syndicate of ants. In Hell we are alone. What can you do besides hold your hand out to the dark?

21

love rains from my mouth, it drips down the front of my t shirt. i am pouring, i overflow. with the lightning and thunder, with a heart drumming the beat of a hummingbirds wings- briefly, breathlessly. existing on the brink of tragedy; what was it all for? if there is comfort it is one thing, you are here. if there is fear it is another, i am here, too. i give up, i give in, i won’t fight any more. there is too much hurt here but still, i am giving you this, the right hand and the wrong one. trusting that you will take both and hold them to your chest, to your own weathered heart. you hurricane, you fire raging, i have been looking for you in every broken piece. if it was all meant for this, all meant to bring me here, i would understand. i would understand.

0

Jul 22, 2020

Jul 22, 2020 at 5:58 PM UTC

scully

hummingbird heart

love rains from my mouth, it drips down the front of my t shirt. i am pouring, i overflow. with the lightning and thunder, with a heart drumming the beat of a hummingbirds wings- briefly, breathlessly. existing on the brink of tragedy; what was it all for? if there is comfort it is one thing, you are here. if there is fear it is another, i am here, too. i give up, i give in, i won’t fight any more. there is too much hurt here but still, i am giving you this, the right hand and the wrong one. trusting that you will take both and hold them to your chest, to your own weathered heart. you hurricane, you fire raging, i have been looking for you in every broken piece. if it was all meant for this, all meant to bring me here, i would understand. i would understand.

28

To tell the truth about myself, A confession to my untidy spirit. Blood dries under nails, I'm not sure which me it belongs to. Once, I had a man tell me, "Forgiveness looks beautiful on you." I unhook my ribs And hang my lungs on a coatrack, I do it for love, For love I abandon my self. A soul stretching like one uninterrupted wound, Climbing up the length of my spine. Forgiveness looks like an accident, Spilled on the pavement, Reflecting the light. I have never learned how to decay gracefully. An affinity for crisis, An empathy that runs deeper than dreams And thicker than blood, You couldn't wash me from your memories if you tried. All the ways one heart can bruise, Love in itself is a sort of solitude, you said. The timid ghost of myself Casted here at my feet, I am looking at myself only to be seen. How cruel a forgiveness which Doesn't know when to trust itself. To tell the truth about myself, To be the sun instead of light emitting from a dead star, Would be an admittance that even God isn't ready to hear.

0

Jun 14, 2020

Jun 14, 2020 at 9:17 PM UTC

scully

THE TRUTH ABOUT MYSELF

To tell the truth about myself, A confession to my untidy spirit. Blood dries under nails, I'm not sure which me it belongs to. Once, I had a man tell me, "Forgiveness looks beautiful on you." I unhook my ribs And hang my lungs on a coatrack, I do it for love, For love I abandon my self. A soul stretching like one uninterrupted wound, Climbing up the length of my spine. Forgiveness looks like an accident, Spilled on the pavement, Reflecting the light. I have never learned how to decay gracefully. An affinity for crisis, An empathy that runs deeper than dreams And thicker than blood, You couldn't wash me from your memories if you tried. All the ways one heart can bruise, Love in itself is a sort of solitude, you said. The timid ghost of myself Casted here at my feet, I am looking at myself only to be seen. How cruel a forgiveness which Doesn't know when to trust itself. To tell the truth about myself, To be the sun instead of light emitting from a dead star, Would be an admittance that even God isn't ready to hear.

30

It's a funny thing to lay next to someone, to sleep with them in a bed. I can start off close and drift away in the summer heat, morning brandishing my dreams until it rattles me awake, gasping for sunlight. I can account for the missing space between our bodies, getting drunk on the warmth of his skin and waking tangled up in his curly hair. I can count the stars and talk to the moon while I trace my name into his palm with a finger, listening to the sound of his even breathing and the steady drum of his heartbeat. The world is quiet when my lover is asleep, my heart takes a deep breath and the soul pauses. I exhale all of the days worries in the middle of the night when he takes my hand and pulls me closer to him. In the spring time, we wake up further apart than we are used to, and my sleepy head turns to face him, and it's like waking up all over again. That moment where we are remembering the bed, the person in it, coming back to life, and he runs his hand down my back and kisses my forehead. "I've missed you," every morning, like a daily prayer for our survival, for another day of bliss.

0

May 16, 2020

May 16, 2020 at 12:17 AM UTC

scully

sharing a bed

It's a funny thing to lay next to someone, to sleep with them in a bed. I can start off close and drift away in the summer heat, morning brandishing my dreams until it rattles me awake, gasping for sunlight. I can account for the missing space between our bodies, getting drunk on the warmth of his skin and waking tangled up in his curly hair. I can count the stars and talk to the moon while I trace my name into his palm with a finger, listening to the sound of his even breathing and the steady drum of his heartbeat. The world is quiet when my lover is asleep, my heart takes a deep breath and the soul pauses. I exhale all of the days worries in the middle of the night when he takes my hand and pulls me closer to him. In the spring time, we wake up further apart than we are used to, and my sleepy head turns to face him, and it's like waking up all over again. That moment where we are remembering the bed, the person in it, coming back to life, and he runs his hand down my back and kisses my forehead. "I've missed you," every morning, like a daily prayer for our survival, for another day of bliss.

2

My grief and I are well-acquainted. Two strangers sharing the same body. How else to explain grief but as a mirror? The grief and my body. The grief or my body, It is my grief every time. I torture it, I lay in it, I set it on fire. A still burning star, A still living thing, A still life of my first night alone. The room is still, too. It does not breathe It does not turn over, reach for my hand, Cough, or flutter its eyelids open onto my face. It is just a room with two bodies. I hold my grief, I do. I hold it until it stops bleeding, Until it too is a lifeless thing, I hold it. How many more times can I say I miss you without flinching? How do you write about what it should've been without sounding like an ******* Without losing yourself in the fantasy? Like a hymn, I give my grief to God but it doesn't go anywhere. This is where the poet in me stops breathing, And it hurts, It hurts, It hurts to breathe. Pulsating through my body like adrenaline, Fueling these poems with empty traces of your name. The grief opens my mouth and says your name. Over and over, Chanting pleas of worship. How are you still standing? The grief knocks me over, Like mid-day waves against the rocks, And now I am a hollow body of devotion, I tend to my grief like a garden On my hands and knees, and watch it Grow into weeds. At least there is life here somewhere. I lay in my grief. Two bodies laying in the dirt. How can you just stand there and watch me die?

0

Apr 18, 2020

Apr 18, 2020 at 3:48 PM UTC

scully

ANOTHER POEM ABOUT GRIEF

My grief and I are well-acquainted. Two strangers sharing the same body. How else to explain grief but as a mirror? The grief and my body. The grief or my body, It is my grief every time. I torture it, I lay in it, I set it on fire. A still burning star, A still living thing, A still life of my first night alone. The room is still, too. It does not breathe It does not turn over, reach for my hand, Cough, or flutter its eyelids open onto my face. It is just a room with two bodies. I hold my grief, I do. I hold it until it stops bleeding, Until it too is a lifeless thing, I hold it. How many more times can I say I miss you without flinching? How do you write about what it should've been without sounding like an ******* Without losing yourself in the fantasy? Like a hymn, I give my grief to God but it doesn't go anywhere. This is where the poet in me stops breathing, And it hurts, It hurts, It hurts to breathe. Pulsating through my body like adrenaline, Fueling these poems with empty traces of your name. The grief opens my mouth and says your name. Over and over, Chanting pleas of worship. How are you still standing? The grief knocks me over, Like mid-day waves against the rocks, And now I am a hollow body of devotion, I tend to my grief like a garden On my hands and knees, and watch it Grow into weeds. At least there is life here somewhere. I lay in my grief. Two bodies laying in the dirt. How can you just stand there and watch me die?

49

I AM WAGING WAR UPON MYSELF. THEY TELL ME IT TAKES GRACE TO REMAIN KIND IN CRUEL CIRCUMSTANCES. IF THATS THE CASE, THEN I AM HATEFUL, I AM HEARTLESS. I AM SPITEFUL. GRASPING TO THE RUINS OF WHAT WE USED TO BE, THRASHING LIKE A WOUNDED ANIMAL. SHARDS OF GLASS PEAKING OUT FROM MY RIBCAGE, IF YOU COULD SEE ME NOW. IF YOU COULD SEE ME NOW. IF YOU COULD SEE ME NOW. I'VE ALWAYS BEEN ONE TO CLING TO LIFE, TO SEARCH FOR A BREATH IN LIFELESSNESS, TO HOLD OUT FOR A HEARTBEAT. I USED TO THINK IT WAS A CONVENIENCE, TO FIND LOVE IN EVERY THING I SEE. WE LOCK EYES AND I CAN HANG THAT LOOK LIKE A PICTURE ON THE WALLS OF MY CHEST. I USED TO THINK IT WAS A SACRIFICE, TO BLEED FOR EVERY MAN I TOUCH. BUT I CAN'T BE TAMED, I CAN'T BE HELPED, THIS HAS MADE ME UNRECOGNIZABLE IN THE FACE OF KINDNESS. BECAUSE YOU WERE SO CRUEL THAT I HAVE BEEN FIGHTING A WAR SINCE YOU LEFT. AND I AM SCREAMING THROUGH THE BULLET WOUNDS, DEPRAVED THE WAY YOU MADE ME. BUT THIS TIME, I AM CHANTING A DIFFERENT PRAYER. I AM SCREAMING INTO WHAT IS LEFT OF OUR LOVE: "I WILL NOT DIE TO KEEP YOU WARM. I WILL NOT BURN FOR YOU"

0

Mar 17, 2020

Mar 17, 2020 at 2:34 PM UTC

scully

I WILL NOT BURN FOR YOU

I AM WAGING WAR UPON MYSELF. THEY TELL ME IT TAKES GRACE TO REMAIN KIND IN CRUEL CIRCUMSTANCES. IF THATS THE CASE, THEN I AM HATEFUL, I AM HEARTLESS. I AM SPITEFUL. GRASPING TO THE RUINS OF WHAT WE USED TO BE, THRASHING LIKE A WOUNDED ANIMAL. SHARDS OF GLASS PEAKING OUT FROM MY RIBCAGE, IF YOU COULD SEE ME NOW. IF YOU COULD SEE ME NOW. IF YOU COULD SEE ME NOW. I'VE ALWAYS BEEN ONE TO CLING TO LIFE, TO SEARCH FOR A BREATH IN LIFELESSNESS, TO HOLD OUT FOR A HEARTBEAT. I USED TO THINK IT WAS A CONVENIENCE, TO FIND LOVE IN EVERY THING I SEE. WE LOCK EYES AND I CAN HANG THAT LOOK LIKE A PICTURE ON THE WALLS OF MY CHEST. I USED TO THINK IT WAS A SACRIFICE, TO BLEED FOR EVERY MAN I TOUCH. BUT I CAN'T BE TAMED, I CAN'T BE HELPED, THIS HAS MADE ME UNRECOGNIZABLE IN THE FACE OF KINDNESS. BECAUSE YOU WERE SO CRUEL THAT I HAVE BEEN FIGHTING A WAR SINCE YOU LEFT. AND I AM SCREAMING THROUGH THE BULLET WOUNDS, DEPRAVED THE WAY YOU MADE ME. BUT THIS TIME, I AM CHANTING A DIFFERENT PRAYER. I AM SCREAMING INTO WHAT IS LEFT OF OUR LOVE: "I WILL NOT DIE TO KEEP YOU WARM. I WILL NOT BURN FOR YOU"

32

I'm sitting in a cramped chair, throwing popcorn at the screen. "I don't know what to say" - he says, and I'm laughing. "It's okay," I tell him, and I'm about to spill over. It's so close he can see it in the reflection of my eyes. "I know what we are- and I know what we are not." I can't bare a sequel to this awful film. I can't stand to look at it any longer. Are you making her promises you can't keep? He's running his hands through his hair, trying to find something interesting to say, to bend the will of someone else and knock her over just to catch her. Did you rehearse these lines at all? It hurts the way that love isn't supposed to, and it reminds me of when my mother told me: always be the first to leave. Cut to: I'm standing in the shower, washing him off of me. He sticks to me like blood, and it stains the water red as it circles the drain. It's a scene I haven't played before, and I'm trembling because the cameras are following me like a raincloud. I was the bird, and I know that much. And I gave myself to him softly, as gently as I could. I gave him a suitcase full of bad memories and said, "here. hold this." And maybe that's selfish, but its okay because I'm not the main character of this story. I don't think I ever was. I think that this story is about you. Lets go back, shall we? The cast resets, the cameras pan to the first time I walked past. Boy meets girl, and he wants everything he can get his hands on. He's hungry for experiences, things that he can only dream of doing while other people do them. He wants to be a person who does something- anything, so he falls in love without looking at me. Without seeing me. Is it love if you're dangling the telephone cord over my head? What about wrapping it around my throat? He wants to be the kind of person who writes about love, so he tries to be everything that he thinks love should be. But, I'm standing in a spinning room and I hear someone yell, "Cut!" The cameras turn off, and I can't see the way his face contorts into something unrecognizable. But he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds and calls it poetry for you. Whats the difference between bleeding out of agony and bleeding out of love? Cut to: Us, sitting on the floor, and he's trying to wrap his arms around me so completely that I fade into the outline of his sweater. But it doesn't feel like comfort, it feels like choking. And I can't breathe in the space that is left in between us. Are you trying to close the gap, or are you trying to suffocate me So I stop making noise? The reviews are in: Girl Falls for the Same Trap Over and Over Again. A tragedy, they're saying. A real shame that its not what it could've been. I scribble out "my love" and write his name at the beginning of an apology note I don't finish. I don't have anything to be sorry for, But my love is laying open on the pavement. He's staring at it saying, "We can fix this." But he won't touch it. And I wonder what is so disgusting about me that makes him turn his head away, makes him flinch. I wonder if I can pinpoint the moment he decided I wasn't good enough, if I could go back and say my lines better. Give me another chance to be what you were projecting onto me. I can be a blank screen, you can use me to watch your own highlight reel. Its a good scene, so I cry the way that an audience is supposed to. I clasp my hands to my chest and try to will air into my lungs For days. I can't play this role, I can't fill these shoes for you. I don't even know who they belong to. "Is this how you see me?" He's asking, And I can't tell if the pain in his voice is recited from memory. The audience laughs, because its funny, the way The girl gave him a bird and watched it die in his palms. I was the bird, and I know that much. Everyone's eyes well with tears as the credits roll, Or maybe its just mine. Thank you for keeping up the act for so long.

0

Feb 2, 2020

Feb 2, 2020 at 5:29 PM UTC

scully

ouch.

I'm sitting in a cramped chair, throwing popcorn at the screen. "I don't know what to say" - he says, and I'm laughing. "It's okay," I tell him, and I'm about to spill over. It's so close he can see it in the reflection of my eyes. "I know what we are- and I know what we are not." I can't bare a sequel to this awful film. I can't stand to look at it any longer. Are you making her promises you can't keep? He's running his hands through his hair, trying to find something interesting to say, to bend the will of someone else and knock her over just to catch her. Did you rehearse these lines at all? It hurts the way that love isn't supposed to, and it reminds me of when my mother told me: always be the first to leave. Cut to: I'm standing in the shower, washing him off of me. He sticks to me like blood, and it stains the water red as it circles the drain. It's a scene I haven't played before, and I'm trembling because the cameras are following me like a raincloud. I was the bird, and I know that much. And I gave myself to him softly, as gently as I could. I gave him a suitcase full of bad memories and said, "here. hold this." And maybe that's selfish, but its okay because I'm not the main character of this story. I don't think I ever was. I think that this story is about you. Lets go back, shall we? The cast resets, the cameras pan to the first time I walked past. Boy meets girl, and he wants everything he can get his hands on. He's hungry for experiences, things that he can only dream of doing while other people do them. He wants to be a person who does something- anything, so he falls in love without looking at me. Without seeing me. Is it love if you're dangling the telephone cord over my head? What about wrapping it around my throat? He wants to be the kind of person who writes about love, so he tries to be everything that he thinks love should be. But, I'm standing in a spinning room and I hear someone yell, "Cut!" The cameras turn off, and I can't see the way his face contorts into something unrecognizable. But he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds and calls it poetry for you. Whats the difference between bleeding out of agony and bleeding out of love? Cut to: Us, sitting on the floor, and he's trying to wrap his arms around me so completely that I fade into the outline of his sweater. But it doesn't feel like comfort, it feels like choking. And I can't breathe in the space that is left in between us. Are you trying to close the gap, or are you trying to suffocate me So I stop making noise? The reviews are in: Girl Falls for the Same Trap Over and Over Again. A tragedy, they're saying. A real shame that its not what it could've been. I scribble out "my love" and write his name at the beginning of an apology note I don't finish. I don't have anything to be sorry for, But my love is laying open on the pavement. He's staring at it saying, "We can fix this." But he won't touch it. And I wonder what is so disgusting about me that makes him turn his head away, makes him flinch. I wonder if I can pinpoint the moment he decided I wasn't good enough, if I could go back and say my lines better. Give me another chance to be what you were projecting onto me. I can be a blank screen, you can use me to watch your own highlight reel. Its a good scene, so I cry the way that an audience is supposed to. I clasp my hands to my chest and try to will air into my lungs For days. I can't play this role, I can't fill these shoes for you. I don't even know who they belong to. "Is this how you see me?" He's asking, And I can't tell if the pain in his voice is recited from memory. The audience laughs, because its funny, the way The girl gave him a bird and watched it die in his palms. I was the bird, and I know that much. Everyone's eyes well with tears as the credits roll, Or maybe its just mine. Thank you for keeping up the act for so long.

70

What would you like to hear? If not to listen to the song of my voice, If not to watch the way my eyes dance over your face, Trying to memorize each piece as if I'll never see it again, Then what are all of these words for? I am breathlessly craving your touch, If you let me, I will inhale all of the smoke and exhale all of your secrets So we can watch them dance away like fog over water. I can tell by the callouses on your palms, You've been auctioning off your love like its a yard sale. Can you find some use for all of those old love poems? All of the times you thought you got it just right, How many trains stations did you have to sit in before you finally came home to my heart? And I'll admit, I am ardently confessing my wish of forever. I will hand pick you promises and tie them up in a bow, We can stick them in a glass jar and watch them grow. Can you bleed for me, if I water this love until it sprouts thorns? You told me, In love, there is no point in being anything but ravenous, No use in loving someone if it doesn't exist on the brink of tragedy, The edge of dangerous. Tell me, If we take one step too far, Will we become nothing but two bodies Haunted by the space that is left in between us? Will I be pricking my fingers on the stem of our forever Like a lesson to be learned? Leave the wild things where they are. Let love flourish in all directions, the raving thing it is. When you think of the future, is my hand still in your palm? Or am I across the sea somewhere? The sea, You are swimming there too, Are you looking for me in the waves that crash against the rocks? Does it always have to be so violent? And you laugh, Because if it isn't life or death, It isn't love at all.

0

Jan 25, 2020

Jan 25, 2020 at 9:01 PM UTC

scully

questions

What would you like to hear? If not to listen to the song of my voice, If not to watch the way my eyes dance over your face, Trying to memorize each piece as if I'll never see it again, Then what are all of these words for? I am breathlessly craving your touch, If you let me, I will inhale all of the smoke and exhale all of your secrets So we can watch them dance away like fog over water. I can tell by the callouses on your palms, You've been auctioning off your love like its a yard sale. Can you find some use for all of those old love poems? All of the times you thought you got it just right, How many trains stations did you have to sit in before you finally came home to my heart? And I'll admit, I am ardently confessing my wish of forever. I will hand pick you promises and tie them up in a bow, We can stick them in a glass jar and watch them grow. Can you bleed for me, if I water this love until it sprouts thorns? You told me, In love, there is no point in being anything but ravenous, No use in loving someone if it doesn't exist on the brink of tragedy, The edge of dangerous. Tell me, If we take one step too far, Will we become nothing but two bodies Haunted by the space that is left in between us? Will I be pricking my fingers on the stem of our forever Like a lesson to be learned? Leave the wild things where they are. Let love flourish in all directions, the raving thing it is. When you think of the future, is my hand still in your palm? Or am I across the sea somewhere? The sea, You are swimming there too, Are you looking for me in the waves that crash against the rocks? Does it always have to be so violent? And you laugh, Because if it isn't life or death, It isn't love at all.

40