someone-else - Hello Poetry

I am so incredibly dissatisfied. With my family, my lover, my life, and myself. All things that used to sate the hunger, to feel something, have ceased to conjure any reaction. My heart, once erupting with passion and purpose now lays dormant at my feet. So I cater to these emotional addictions, like a ****** looking for their next fix. I need more. Hurt me **** me Use me then Make sure you leave me, you'll be doing both of us a favor. And I will put back all of the p i e c e s I always liked puzzles. Cutting up something beautiful for leisure.

0

Mar 24, 2014

Mar 24, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC

someone-else

Dissatisfied

I am so incredibly dissatisfied. With my family, my lover, my life, and myself. All things that used to sate the hunger, to feel something, have ceased to conjure any reaction. My heart, once erupting with passion and purpose now lays dormant at my feet. So I cater to these emotional addictions, like a ****** looking for their next fix. I need more. Hurt me **** me Use me then Make sure you leave me, you'll be doing both of us a favor. And I will put back all of the p i e c e s I always liked puzzles. Cutting up something beautiful for leisure.

24

Every time I stay up past 2am, I start thinking about my life. I always come to the same conclusion, I need: an extensive vocabulary and more sleep.

0

Mar 24, 2014

Mar 24, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC

someone-else

Late year's resolution?

Every time I stay up past 2am, I start thinking about my life. I always come to the same conclusion, I need: an extensive vocabulary and more sleep.

4

I wake up while the stars are still faintly sprinkling the dark colored blanket that covers the sun and quiets the people. There is so much silence that I can hear captivating harmonies that are usually obliterated in daytime's illumination and bustle. Like how wind runs its fingers through Mother Earth's hair. Comfort. How the river flow around the rocks, kissing every inch of her bumpy spine. Devotion. At night, as I observe, it always feels like I've walked into an intimate setting I was never meant to see. Interrupting, nature's gentle displays of affection. I wasn't made nocturnal, but nightfall evokes passion in the quiet. And twilight is for those who listen.

0

Mar 24, 2014

Mar 24, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC

someone-else

Nocturnal

I wake up while the stars are still faintly sprinkling the dark colored blanket that covers the sun and quiets the people. There is so much silence that I can hear captivating harmonies that are usually obliterated in daytime's illumination and bustle. Like how wind runs its fingers through Mother Earth's hair. Comfort. How the river flow around the rocks, kissing every inch of her bumpy spine. Devotion. At night, as I observe, it always feels like I've walked into an intimate setting I was never meant to see. Interrupting, nature's gentle displays of affection. I wasn't made nocturnal, but nightfall evokes passion in the quiet. And twilight is for those who listen.

27

Write it down Light it up Watch it transform into smoke Let it line someone else's lungs Because sometimes it needs to be tasted on another's tongue To discover it was beautiful all along

0

Mar 7, 2014

Mar 7, 2014 at 7:03 AM UTC

someone-else

burn it

Write it down Light it up Watch it transform into smoke Let it line someone else's lungs Because sometimes it needs to be tasted on another's tongue To discover it was beautiful all along

6

Carve the imperfections from my skin. "Is that a birth mark or a bruise?" Light myself on fire, and let the fat sizzle from my flesh. "You're fuckable, for a big girl." Slice open my veins and purge them of every unwelcome memory. "You are not capable." Wrap razor wire around my heart so no one may reach it; "I could never love you." So should my heart ever swell again, I will die.

0

Mar 4, 2014

Mar 4, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC

someone-else

I want to:

Carve the imperfections from my skin. "Is that a birth mark or a bruise?" Light myself on fire, and let the fat sizzle from my flesh. "You're fuckable, for a big girl." Slice open my veins and purge them of every unwelcome memory. "You are not capable." Wrap razor wire around my heart so no one may reach it; "I could never love you." So should my heart ever swell again, I will die.

10

She always looks up when she plays, searching for something. Her eyes are wide open, she says she sees music in colors. She says she hears god when her fingers roam across keys of ivory, but they speak in tongues of gold. Here everyone she loves shimmers, and he beckons her home.

0

Mar 3, 2014

Mar 3, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC

someone-else

Synesthesia

She always looks up when she plays, searching for something. Her eyes are wide open, she says she sees music in colors. She says she hears god when her fingers roam across keys of ivory, but they speak in tongues of gold. Here everyone she loves shimmers, and he beckons her home.

9

When I was little, I thought I'd hear god in the back of orchestras, with shining trombones and thundering timpani. Now I hear her in the sobs of broken mothers, and the rustle of the leaves. Things that aren't tangible but still matter most.

0

Mar 3, 2014

Mar 3, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC

someone-else

Divine Intervention

When I was little, I thought I'd hear god in the back of orchestras, with shining trombones and thundering timpani. Now I hear her in the sobs of broken mothers, and the rustle of the leaves. Things that aren't tangible but still matter most.

8

Some nights I play music in my bedroom full of mirrors and talk to myself. I have the same conversation each time. Like, if I hear all the different versions I might be able to piece myself together. But somehow the dialogue is always new. And every time the cut is in a different place. Tallying up the score I'm winning. I see symmetry in my face, but not in my values. I find the parallels on the palms of my hands, but not my interests. I see the lines running up my thigh in a neat little column but that's not how life is. These conversations did help me find out one thing though; I ******* hate mirrors.

0

Feb 17, 2014

Feb 17, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC

someone-else

Tuesday Nights

Some nights I play music in my bedroom full of mirrors and talk to myself. I have the same conversation each time. Like, if I hear all the different versions I might be able to piece myself together. But somehow the dialogue is always new. And every time the cut is in a different place. Tallying up the score I'm winning. I see symmetry in my face, but not in my values. I find the parallels on the palms of my hands, but not my interests. I see the lines running up my thigh in a neat little column but that's not how life is. These conversations did help me find out one thing though; I ******* hate mirrors.

22

Just like the mornings when you don't want the sun to peek through the curtain just yet. You recede back into the covers wrapped in your lover's limbs. This is the part where you exhale the imploding universes you have locked away inside you. Inhale her whispers in your neck. Just like the ones your mother shushed you to sleep with, when fever flushed your cheeks. The same shade of red that colors them now when she tells you "You're beautiful"

0

Feb 16, 2014

Feb 16, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC

someone-else

Comfort

Just like the mornings when you don't want the sun to peek through the curtain just yet. You recede back into the covers wrapped in your lover's limbs. This is the part where you exhale the imploding universes you have locked away inside you. Inhale her whispers in your neck. Just like the ones your mother shushed you to sleep with, when fever flushed your cheeks. The same shade of red that colors them now when she tells you "You're beautiful"

2

The only reason I know there is a higher power, is because I have a thirst to write. I am my own highest power and I will not be bound by what I do not understand. I crave to put the colors I feel in my soul on paper. I just can't seem to find the right shade of teal.

0

Jan 16, 2014

Jan 16, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC

someone-else

Thirsty

The only reason I know there is a higher power, is because I have a thirst to write. I am my own highest power and I will not be bound by what I do not understand. I crave to put the colors I feel in my soul on paper. I just can't seem to find the right shade of teal.

7