Platinum capped peak-
the snow's sweet pheromones
linger on my nose-
you toy with my mind
You took me by surprise-
that first bump.
God. Help me.
I keep coming back.
I must form a sial,
for my curiosity of
your virtuosity
ails me.
My mind is on you island
while my body floats out to sea
You've opened up a
hole
new world.
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 8:20 PM UTC
*Are you a gangster or
a thief seeking attention
Are you an artist or
a voyager painting words
Are you a poet or
a plagiarist seeking love
Are you a Saint or
a sinner searching for salvation
Are you my heart or
a tattooed scar stuck on my chest
Are you a fisherman or
a sailor giving life a second chance
Are you the moon or
a lonely sun ravaging through your days
Are you moving forward or
dragging through tormenting memories*
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 9:09 AM UTC
She told me,
"You're just like the moon."
I said,
"Because I'm romantic?"
She said,
"No."
"Because I'm mysterious?"
"No."
I asked,
"Is it because I'm a lunatic?"
"Haha, no."
"Then," I said,
"it is because I am always
changing."
"No."
"Then, tell me, how am I
like the moon?"
She said,
"Because you're an *******
That's when I knew
she was my stars.
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
I am a realist
I hold onto facts
Tighter than I hold onto you
I toy with the idea
Of making you my world
But I am a realist
So I settle on the idea
That you're just toying with my heart
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
love is just a chemical reaction in the brain,
and *** dolls
are purely silicone.
humans are 90% water,
and 10% carbon.
scratch tickets usually yield bad results.
soda is bad for the kidneys.
exercise hurts the back after prolonged periods.
elderly men are going to die.
young men are going to die.
women are going to die.
this ant is going to die,
and he never knew love
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 2:46 PM UTC
I question everything I
Did that day.
I go back over everything I
Said to anyone else.
I return to all the insecurities
And worries that I've had so long.
Before I sleep I start to wonder
Do I even know
Who I am?
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 2:45 PM UTC
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because the last time I opened up to someone artistically they told me it was pretty dark and I should keep it to myself.
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because I was raised in a culture that was anti love and pro meaningless *** I saw endless commercials about movies that glamorize a lifestyle in which your body is fulfilled but your heart is ignored and at that impressionable age I learned my heart came second but my allure came first and the less I cared that happier I would be and I carried that belief around with me the way I used to carry around a Bible as a child.
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because of the time that I opened my father’s phone to reveal a family secret I would hold to this day against my own moral instincts unraveling miles of insecurities wondering if I’m not a good enough daughter or if he stopped loving my mother or if true love was never real and although I had been taught marriage was my purpose, it was what I believed would make me happy, maybe rings aren’t enough to stay in love and maybe people’s feelings change and maybe no one actually has a “one true love” and that this purpose I had been taught was really an endless wild goose chase that only lead to broken families and lost souls.
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because sometimes I still wonder why I fell into an abyss of toxicity at such a young age. And when I say wonder I don’t mean a trivial ponder, I mean I contemplate every possible reason why the person who I once believed held the universe in her eyes would lie to my face, why she never kissed me in public and our love was always a secret, why she valued girls with blue hair but my blonde hair was not good enough, why I had to hide bruises from my family when I was still in high school or more importantly, why at the time, I thought I deserved them. These thoughts, this lingering paranoia that I am undeserving of healthy love, they muddy my interpretations of real life and distort reality and effect my relationships. My doctor would call these intrusive thoughts, my best friend would tell me they’re symptoms of PTSD, but I have come to realize that I’ve been burned and I am damaged and I hope to god I can recover.
But you,
Oh god, you
You can write this poem. You can be my safety net while I’m free falling in love. You can be the one to listen to my mental tilt-a-whirls, you can be the one that introduces my body and my heart, you can be the one that calms the storms in my mind when I’m questioning the love I’m deserving of. You are the one who makes sure I fall asleep in my bed after drunk nights, you are the one that still sees my value after acknowledging my flaws.
You can write this poem.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 12:45 PM UTC
I am standing
at the mirror
loving every scarred
unruly thread unraveling
in this breathing tapestry
it wasn’t my fault
what happened to me
my patterns were scored
long before I knifed them in
over and over again
picking people and paths
to validate my false hypotheses
unworthy kept me from
letting you love every one
of these holy spastic molecules
until I loosed grip
on erroneous
self-loathing
and I am so sorry
I really needed you
but I couldn’t let you
be there for me
because I wasn’t
and now,
here I am…
scoping silver under glass
making silly faces for me
blowing kisses at myself
and giving a little wink
over my shoulder
as I walk out
able to embrace
the wild unknowns
that await me
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 2:39 PM UTC
But what is this chasm?
What is this place?
In between surreal and reality
This break between mind and space
This space barren and blank
This empty truth I cannot embrace
Its depths void of escape..
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 12:53 PM UTC
Goosebumps layer skin,
As wandering hands arouse
Your Inner secrets.
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 12:46 PM UTC