night falls like eyelids
on the brink of sleep—
I lay on ***** sheets,
no fault but my own
there are 432 tiles
in my shower stall
I count them everyday,
twice a day,
three times,
four if it’s real bad
after the fith time there
is no more counting,
or singing, or crying,
just being.
water falls off my body,
into the drain,
and i go with it.
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 2:04 AM UTC
The scars on my wrist have faded but the intent remains the same, in theory, not in practice. I bury my body in handfuls of dirt that was never good for growing, that would never sustain life.
You always ask if I'm okay but it's earth that crumbles past my lips instead of words so I shake my head and climb out of my grave as if it never even happened, and still you remain under my nails, in every bump and bend of my body.
I showered for three hours yesterday, my wrinkled fingers wiped steam from the mirror to reveal a dirt stained face that will never be clean of you.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
and tonight i fell in love with the world
only after reaching my hand
inside my chest to find that
yes indeed!
my heart still beat,
and was never idle, not stuck
in one place like it most often is
to be living, rather than existing
is to be, for lack of a better term, happy
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
I've rewritten this five times
because it's so hard to put into words
so wrong to put to paper
you always knew what i was thinking
and i'm sure you still do
i'm not religious but i believe in the sun
and the moon
and that the stars aligned
to bring us together
and who is to say that we shouldn't be?
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
Remember
When we were kids
And a planetarium
Was a most wonderful place
Everyone simply obsessed
With outer space.
It was strange
And new
And beautiful
It was full of wonder
As was everything
A galaxy of stars
And empty space
We were flying through it all
To a new planet
For us to discover
Floating towards the future
It was like a dream
But as we grow up
We realize
Falling stars are chunks of ice and rock
Not wishes
And stars and the sun
Are ***** of flaming gas
The wonder fades
And you realize
Outer space
Would truly be a lonely place
Alone out there
But I guess it would still better
Than here
And you yearn
For that wonder to come back
But even if it would
Someone would take it away
They always do.
Growing up is sudden
And shocking
And changes you
Forever
And you wish you could go back
To planetariums
And outer space
But you can't.
We are all stars
***** of fire
That will eventually die out.
But some of us are falling
And hoping someone will catch us.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
the most frustrating thing
when it comes to a writer
is when everything
every word, every letter,
isn't enough to give justice to
the captivating picture of you
in the afternoon:
soaked in sweat,
grinning foolishly,
striking up a conversation
about coffee,
and how unhealthy it is
for me to drink
three cups straight,
to stay awake,
yet the bittersweet taste
stains my lips.
it spills down my throat,
covers my lungs,
and drowns them
with the addicting aroma
of coffee beans
and lazy dreams,
until i cannot seem
to breathe,
and the only thing
i can ever do
is to spill ink
for you.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 4:50 AM UTC
a smooth going has no challenges
you will forever be in the un-knowing without these bandages
a little death brings a strength and a purpose
more will to try
it is in heartbreaks good music is made
the best of poetry crafted in sorrow shade
bleeding hearts paint the brightest portrait
so i guess tears and screams in art are more vividly said
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 4:30 AM UTC
and then I asked you,
"What's your biggest fear?"
you gave me a quivering sigh,
looked at me straight in the eyes
and said,
"It's that eventually, you will see me
the way I see myself."
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 4:29 AM UTC
Everything is heavy
A blanket that feels like a sheet of granite
And eyelids embracing gravity like they were old friends
Or maybe I’m just weak
Frozen statuesque like
One I saw in a museum, all chicken wire and saran wrap
Nothing of real substance
The outline of a teenage girl
My head is a cotton ball full of angry hornets
Fuzzy and unfocused but full of unrelenting pain
That comes back again and again
Issues don’t disappear just because they’ve already
Made themselves known
Maybe real girls have to get up
Get dressed, brush their teeth
Go to school and raise their hands
Or their skirts
But I’m not a real girl
I’m Pinocchio in reverse
And my strings have been cut
So I’ll stay in my box,
If you don’t mind
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
you always had a way with words,
always knew when to quiver your voice or heighten your pitch to get me to fold in half
crooked seams
what horrid things you'd never say but didn't have to
cause that,
that was all in your face
your eyes
the way you'd never say my name
only ever in dark fields
or dim rooms,
always the next town over
and I always heard that secrets can't be kept
but you kept me in your pocket,
folded up to occupy the least amount of space
you so generously gave to me.
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 8:49 PM UTC