tamasine - Hello Poetry

I think about her fingers gripping your back I hear nails on a chalkboard You whispering to her in the dead of the night, move over, love, you’re hogging the blanket White noise in my ears my head hurts, your voice rattles inside and ricochets off the walls of my mind I stop hearing you after a while The walls are padded now You are only in my head these days I’d rather have you hurt than have you nothing It was worse than a screaming, breathless argument When I kissed and kissed and touched but you did not move I could not move you, could no longer make you feel No matter how tightly I closed my eyes I could still see how little you loved me No matter how hard I tried not to grip your fingers like I was falling from a cliff I still felt your hand cramping from the effort to stay in mine I will never say that you did not try You used to believe in things like magic and yourself Yet, here you are saying, ‘love doesn’t really matter at all, does it?’ and I made you this way My sharp edges cut you Someone someday standing where I once stood She’ll smile like it’s second-nature, and have a laugh that isn’t forced She’ll taste like me but less bitter, with hair far softer, her speech not course

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Oct 18, 2016

Oct 18, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC

tamasine

where I was once

I think about her fingers gripping your back I hear nails on a chalkboard You whispering to her in the dead of the night, move over, love, you’re hogging the blanket White noise in my ears my head hurts, your voice rattles inside and ricochets off the walls of my mind I stop hearing you after a while The walls are padded now You are only in my head these days I’d rather have you hurt than have you nothing It was worse than a screaming, breathless argument When I kissed and kissed and touched but you did not move I could not move you, could no longer make you feel No matter how tightly I closed my eyes I could still see how little you loved me No matter how hard I tried not to grip your fingers like I was falling from a cliff I still felt your hand cramping from the effort to stay in mine I will never say that you did not try You used to believe in things like magic and yourself Yet, here you are saying, ‘love doesn’t really matter at all, does it?’ and I made you this way My sharp edges cut you Someone someday standing where I once stood She’ll smile like it’s second-nature, and have a laugh that isn’t forced She’ll taste like me but less bitter, with hair far softer, her speech not course

26

For name's sake his name is Eden and Father, when he touches me I feel found He makes me feel maybe God is a writer who leaves answers in braille; the raised marks, the scars, the freckles on our skin. The lines where Eden's clavicles meet, they look like a crucifix. Father, well I've never seen a light whiter than I saw in a green pasture at midnight with Eden above me.

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Oct 18, 2016

Oct 18, 2016 at 6:29 AM UTC

tamasine

Awakening

For name's sake his name is Eden and Father, when he touches me I feel found He makes me feel maybe God is a writer who leaves answers in braille; the raised marks, the scars, the freckles on our skin. The lines where Eden's clavicles meet, they look like a crucifix. Father, well I've never seen a light whiter than I saw in a green pasture at midnight with Eden above me.

12

there is a crack running the length of Main Street; when it rains the crack fills and flows like a river. Tonight it is raining Oil slicks on the road reflect street lamps; artificial Northern Lights. He hadn’t paid his power bill, so he leads me through his apartment by the light on his phone. In his bedroom I see the mess even in the almost dark. His bed is a mattress on the floor; sheets barely cover it. He lets go of my hand, pulls his shirt over his head. The light flickers as the phone battery runs low; he puts the phone away. He undresses me. In the dark I stand, naked, in front of him. But then I reach for this zip along my side. The zip begins under my arm and runs the length of my torso. There is another along the length of either leg — hip to ankle. I step out of my skin. A river runs out of me like the one in the crack along the sidewalk. I’m much smaller now much more myself.

0

Oct 18, 2016

Oct 18, 2016 at 6:28 AM UTC

tamasine

I keep having this dream where

there is a crack running the length of Main Street; when it rains the crack fills and flows like a river. Tonight it is raining Oil slicks on the road reflect street lamps; artificial Northern Lights. He hadn’t paid his power bill, so he leads me through his apartment by the light on his phone. In his bedroom I see the mess even in the almost dark. His bed is a mattress on the floor; sheets barely cover it. He lets go of my hand, pulls his shirt over his head. The light flickers as the phone battery runs low; he puts the phone away. He undresses me. In the dark I stand, naked, in front of him. But then I reach for this zip along my side. The zip begins under my arm and runs the length of my torso. There is another along the length of either leg — hip to ankle. I step out of my skin. A river runs out of me like the one in the crack along the sidewalk. I’m much smaller now much more myself.

22