starg1rl - Hello Poetry

taping back the pieces of a letter that was meant for you crying to witch house and giving myself a stick and poke tattoo smoking some **** and petting my cats falling asleep and eating lots of snacks cutting up clothes to show more skin watching old movies and getting drunk again painting my nails a beautiful blue getting lost in the dark hue getting lost in thoughts of you i still love you

0

Apr 28, 2017

Apr 28, 2017 at 12:34 AM UTC

starg1rl

lately

taping back the pieces of a letter that was meant for you crying to witch house and giving myself a stick and poke tattoo smoking some **** and petting my cats falling asleep and eating lots of snacks cutting up clothes to show more skin watching old movies and getting drunk again painting my nails a beautiful blue getting lost in the dark hue getting lost in thoughts of you i still love you

10

you are a man of many colors; i am a woman of none. you shine bright; i am dull hue. you blend in with the sun; i fade into the background. i float down the river to the other seemingly grey bodies of despair. you stay on land, grouping with other rays of light and you all share stories of good times -- which are those times you aren't with us. we cannot blame you. we hardly even like each other. we're as different as night and day, black and white; hot and cold. i just wish our differences could have kept us at peace, instead of stripping us down until we were cracked and shattered bones trying to find the glue that held us together in the first place.

0

Apr 7, 2017

Apr 7, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC

starg1rl

opposites (don't) attract

you are a man of many colors; i am a woman of none. you shine bright; i am dull hue. you blend in with the sun; i fade into the background. i float down the river to the other seemingly grey bodies of despair. you stay on land, grouping with other rays of light and you all share stories of good times -- which are those times you aren't with us. we cannot blame you. we hardly even like each other. we're as different as night and day, black and white; hot and cold. i just wish our differences could have kept us at peace, instead of stripping us down until we were cracked and shattered bones trying to find the glue that held us together in the first place.

26

Right now, I believe I have no name. Right now, I could probably write a 351 page book on how I am nothing — on how we are all nothing — and pass as very intelligent, very entitled psychologist who knows so much more than you.

0

Mar 20, 2017

Mar 20, 2017 at 3:20 AM UTC

starg1rl

I like to pretend I'm someone else

Right now, I believe I have no name. Right now, I could probably write a 351 page book on how I am nothing — on how we are all nothing — and pass as very intelligent, very entitled psychologist who knows so much more than you.

8

We're from two different worlds, You and I. I desire to reach out, To touch you - But my hand is swallowed In the galaxies between us. Your eyes are cobalt planets - Deep emerald waves Crashing upon their shores. The smoke curling from your lips Is dark, dreary: The forsaken Milky Way. I watch you, And I know - I will never close that space. There is too much in the way, Too much noise, Too many opinions, Too many disapproving, shaking heads, And furrowed brows. Our asymmetries are miles deep, Coursing through Your bloodstream, Coursing through mine.

0

starg1rl

Mar 8, 2017

Mar 8, 2017 at 12:48 AM UTC

regan-collins

Galaxies

We're from two different worlds, You and I. I desire to reach out, To touch you - But my hand is swallowed In the galaxies between us. Your eyes are cobalt planets - Deep emerald waves Crashing upon their shores. The smoke curling from your lips Is dark, dreary: The forsaken Milky Way. I watch you, And I know - I will never close that space. There is too much in the way, Too much noise, Too many opinions, Too many disapproving, shaking heads, And furrowed brows. Our asymmetries are miles deep, Coursing through Your bloodstream, Coursing through mine.

24

She couldn't decide who she wanted to be, so she was everyone. She couldn't decide what she wanted to do, so she did everything. This was better than being no one; This was better than doing nothing, as many are, and many do... She was not them. She was different.

0

starg1rl

Mar 6, 2017

Mar 6, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC

samantha-rose-schaefer

d e c i s i o n s

She couldn't decide who she wanted to be, so she was everyone. She couldn't decide what she wanted to do, so she did everything. This was better than being no one; This was better than doing nothing, as many are, and many do... She was not them. She was different.

13

I am so tired of shining lights on my bedroom walls late at night to make shadow puppets so that I feel less alone.

0

Mar 3, 2017

Mar 3, 2017 at 2:15 AM UTC

starg1rl

Walls

I am so tired of shining lights on my bedroom walls late at night to make shadow puppets so that I feel less alone.

4

Maybe some day we will dance Holding hands in disbelief As tears of joy flow from our eyes While the field of flowers will cheer in salute Maybe our eternity will come to an end And our day will come to begin . . . just maybe Just maybe I hope beyond my dreams

0

starg1rl

Mar 3, 2017

Mar 3, 2017 at 1:59 AM UTC

South-by-Southwest

Maybes

Maybe some day we will dance Holding hands in disbelief As tears of joy flow from our eyes While the field of flowers will cheer in salute Maybe our eternity will come to an end And our day will come to begin . . . just maybe Just maybe I hope beyond my dreams

12

I broke up with God at our favorite eatery in our favorite booth. We settled into familiar creases and asked for the usual. My eyes lazily staring at fingers stirring the straw around the ice cubes, God cautiously spoke up: “Is something wrong?” “Nothing.” (Thinking about the dormant phone concealing behind the lock screen the open Facebook tab lingering over the relationship status section.) They silently mused over the laconic reply, til the waitress showed up with the food. “Thank you!” God blurted with agonizing alacrity. I received the sustenance lifelessly and aimlessly poked at the burgers and fries. The waitress eyed me with vague inquisition, popping a bubble in the gum between big teeth, refilled my water and pirouetted hastily. We ate in ostensible harmony, the silence gripping like a chokehold, the visible anxiety and subdued resolve settling like a stifling blanket over the child waking from a nightmare— Til we couldn’t breathe, and I ripped back the covers and looked into the eyes of my tormentor. “It’s not you, it’s me.” God, taken aback by the curt statement, dropped their burger with shaking hands, silently begging with wetting eyes a greater explanation. So I elaborated: “It’s not you, it’s me. For your immaculate conception was created by human hands, your adages rendered obsolete by human words, your purpose and plan for us distorted by human nature— I cannot hate myself any longer. I cannot pretend to know you at all. Who my mother and father say you are is not who my friends think you are, nor my teachers, my pastor, the president, Stephen Hawking, Muhammed, the KKK, Buddha, the Westboro Baptist Church, Walt Whitman, Derek Zanetti, ****** and Billy Graham. I am told you care who I bring into bed (and when), and what movies I watch, and what music I listen to— I have not heard what you say about child soldiers, the use of mosquitos, or the increased destruction of the earth which you proudly proclaimed your creation, or the poverty and disease and famine which has ridden so many of your children—” God interjected, “But you’re chosen!” I snorted, “You say I’m chosen to spend eternity with you— why me? Why’d you pick me among thousands, millions, billions? I’ve been told I’m ‘chosen’ since birth by others like me— those with fair complexion, blue eyes, blonde hair, a firm overt ****** attraction towards women, and a great big house with immaculate white fences delineating their Jericho. I’ve already fabricated eternity here among the other ‘chosen’ and there is a world of suffering right outside the fence and I see them through the window of my bedroom every day. Am I chosen, if I don’t vote Republican Am I chosen if I am Pro-Choice Am I chosen if I cohabitate with my girlfriend Am I chosen if I never have kids Am I chosen if I say ‘Happy Holidays’ Am I chosen if I don’t want public prayer in schools Am I chosen if I don’t want a Christian nation Am I chosen if I don’t repost you on my wall or retweet your adages? I’m tired being the ubermensch, for it has not brought me happiness and I blame you. I will not ignore the cries of the suffering believing it is I who is destined to live in bliss. I will not buy Joel Osteen’s autobiography(ies). I will not tithe you my money for a megachurch when another homeless shelter closes down. I will not tell a woman what to do with her body, or a man that he is a man if they say they are not. I am neither Jew nor Gentile, and I will stand with my brothers and sisters of Faith and Faithlessness, Gay and Straight, Black and White, and apart from these extremes free from absolutes the ambiguous, amorphous nature of Humankind which I praise. There is much pain and suffering in this world, potentially preventable, but hardly can I believe it’s part of your plan to save me. I will not be saved if we are not all saved— not one will burn for my divinity. The gates will be open to all— and perhaps you believe that too, but I’ve gotten you all wrong and that cannot change, as long as there is mortality, and corruption, and power, and lust, and greed.” God whined, growing bellicose, “It is through me that you will find eternity, I am the one true god! I am the God of your fallen ancestors, it is because you have fallen short that you need me!” I replied, growing in confidence, “We have all fallen short, yes, but we are also magnificent. We have evolved, we have created, we have adapted, we have survived. We have built empires, and we have destroyed them. We have cured diseases, and we have created them. We have done much in your name. We’ve done good, and we’ve done evil— And unfortunately it’s all about who you ask. Your name is a burden on the oppressed and a weapon of the oppressor. You are abusive, God. You tell me you are jealous. You tell me apart from you I will suffer for an eternity. I’m scared to die, yet want to die, because of you. You have made life a waiting room that is now my purgatory. It is Hell On Earth. So you see, it’s not you, it’s me— a mere mortal who has tried to put a face to eternity and it has left me empty. And also, it’s me, for I have learned to love me, as I have expelled your self-loathing imbibition, and the deleterious zeal I have proclaimed through ceaseless trepidation and self-flagellation— I have learned to love me by realizing I am not inherently evil, that my body is not evil, that my mind is not evil, and, ultimately, that there is no good and there is no evil. My body is beautiful, my mind is beautiful, this world is beautiful, and we are destroying it waiting for you to claim us. I leave you in hopes to see you again one day, and perhaps you will look different than I have perceived or imagined, and in fact I certainly hope so.” Just then the waitress strolled back up with a servile smile: “Dessert?” “No, thank you,” I smiled politely. And with that, I paid the check, and took a to-go box— walked out into the evening rain to my car, put on a secular song that meant something real to me and drove off into the night— feeling for the first time free and alive.

0

starg1rl

Feb 8, 2017

Feb 8, 2017 at 4:15 AM UTC

jarjarrhine

Breaking up with God

I broke up with God at our favorite eatery in our favorite booth. We settled into familiar creases and asked for the usual. My eyes lazily staring at fingers stirring the straw around the ice cubes, God cautiously spoke up: “Is something wrong?” “Nothing.” (Thinking about the dormant phone concealing behind the lock screen the open Facebook tab lingering over the relationship status section.) They silently mused over the laconic reply, til the waitress showed up with the food. “Thank you!” God blurted with agonizing alacrity. I received the sustenance lifelessly and aimlessly poked at the burgers and fries. The waitress eyed me with vague inquisition, popping a bubble in the gum between big teeth, refilled my water and pirouetted hastily. We ate in ostensible harmony, the silence gripping like a chokehold, the visible anxiety and subdued resolve settling like a stifling blanket over the child waking from a nightmare— Til we couldn’t breathe, and I ripped back the covers and looked into the eyes of my tormentor. “It’s not you, it’s me.” God, taken aback by the curt statement, dropped their burger with shaking hands, silently begging with wetting eyes a greater explanation. So I elaborated: “It’s not you, it’s me. For your immaculate conception was created by human hands, your adages rendered obsolete by human words, your purpose and plan for us distorted by human nature— I cannot hate myself any longer. I cannot pretend to know you at all. Who my mother and father say you are is not who my friends think you are, nor my teachers, my pastor, the president, Stephen Hawking, Muhammed, the KKK, Buddha, the Westboro Baptist Church, Walt Whitman, Derek Zanetti, ****** and Billy Graham. I am told you care who I bring into bed (and when), and what movies I watch, and what music I listen to— I have not heard what you say about child soldiers, the use of mosquitos, or the increased destruction of the earth which you proudly proclaimed your creation, or the poverty and disease and famine which has ridden so many of your children—” God interjected, “But you’re chosen!” I snorted, “You say I’m chosen to spend eternity with you— why me? Why’d you pick me among thousands, millions, billions? I’ve been told I’m ‘chosen’ since birth by others like me— those with fair complexion, blue eyes, blonde hair, a firm overt ****** attraction towards women, and a great big house with immaculate white fences delineating their Jericho. I’ve already fabricated eternity here among the other ‘chosen’ and there is a world of suffering right outside the fence and I see them through the window of my bedroom every day. Am I chosen, if I don’t vote Republican Am I chosen if I am Pro-Choice Am I chosen if I cohabitate with my girlfriend Am I chosen if I never have kids Am I chosen if I say ‘Happy Holidays’ Am I chosen if I don’t want public prayer in schools Am I chosen if I don’t want a Christian nation Am I chosen if I don’t repost you on my wall or retweet your adages? I’m tired being the ubermensch, for it has not brought me happiness and I blame you. I will not ignore the cries of the suffering believing it is I who is destined to live in bliss. I will not buy Joel Osteen’s autobiography(ies). I will not tithe you my money for a megachurch when another homeless shelter closes down. I will not tell a woman what to do with her body, or a man that he is a man if they say they are not. I am neither Jew nor Gentile, and I will stand with my brothers and sisters of Faith and Faithlessness, Gay and Straight, Black and White, and apart from these extremes free from absolutes the ambiguous, amorphous nature of Humankind which I praise. There is much pain and suffering in this world, potentially preventable, but hardly can I believe it’s part of your plan to save me. I will not be saved if we are not all saved— not one will burn for my divinity. The gates will be open to all— and perhaps you believe that too, but I’ve gotten you all wrong and that cannot change, as long as there is mortality, and corruption, and power, and lust, and greed.” God whined, growing bellicose, “It is through me that you will find eternity, I am the one true god! I am the God of your fallen ancestors, it is because you have fallen short that you need me!” I replied, growing in confidence, “We have all fallen short, yes, but we are also magnificent. We have evolved, we have created, we have adapted, we have survived. We have built empires, and we have destroyed them. We have cured diseases, and we have created them. We have done much in your name. We’ve done good, and we’ve done evil— And unfortunately it’s all about who you ask. Your name is a burden on the oppressed and a weapon of the oppressor. You are abusive, God. You tell me you are jealous. You tell me apart from you I will suffer for an eternity. I’m scared to die, yet want to die, because of you. You have made life a waiting room that is now my purgatory. It is Hell On Earth. So you see, it’s not you, it’s me— a mere mortal who has tried to put a face to eternity and it has left me empty. And also, it’s me, for I have learned to love me, as I have expelled your self-loathing imbibition, and the deleterious zeal I have proclaimed through ceaseless trepidation and self-flagellation— I have learned to love me by realizing I am not inherently evil, that my body is not evil, that my mind is not evil, and, ultimately, that there is no good and there is no evil. My body is beautiful, my mind is beautiful, this world is beautiful, and we are destroying it waiting for you to claim us. I leave you in hopes to see you again one day, and perhaps you will look different than I have perceived or imagined, and in fact I certainly hope so.” Just then the waitress strolled back up with a servile smile: “Dessert?” “No, thank you,” I smiled politely. And with that, I paid the check, and took a to-go box— walked out into the evening rain to my car, put on a secular song that meant something real to me and drove off into the night— feeling for the first time free and alive.

250

*She melts in between my lips With the urgency and beauty Of snowflakes on fingertips.*

0

starg1rl