a word never truly ends
scrawled upon a piece of paper
the ink sinking inside
demanding a million more words to follow
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
lie in bed
strike a match
watch it burn
feel the flame devour my skin
blow it out
watch the smoke run free of pain
drop it in a jar
repeat
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
for whatever reason
i cannot move
i cannot breathe
i cannot think
for whatever reason
i am paralyzed
by the lack of movement
in my chest
for whatever reason
i am asphyxiated
by the lack of air
in my lungs
for whatever reason
i am disoriented
by the plethora of voices
in my head
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
i cried on the first day of summer
for no apparent reason.
the idea of this is troubling
because summer is my happiest season.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
you told me
every way you loved me
with every kiss
with every word
with every touch
exaggerating every act
in every way
you told me
i was beautiful
like a poem written
on a summer afternoon
with curly q's
and heart dotted i's
you told me i was beautiful
to which was my demise
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
i adore you
and you adorn me
the way you say my name
makes it harder to breathe
the way you drag your fingers
up and down my skin
makes it feel more beautiful
something like porcelain
which is fragile as hell
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
Give them to me.
All the pieces of your broken heart.
Give them to me.
I'll take them.
All the rough-hewn misshapen bits of your shattered dreams.
Give them to me.
I will take them.
Give them to me.
They are wanted here.
All the parts of your misspent childhood. All the regrets of ticking seconds behind you.
Give them to me.
And we will build a cathedral. A stained glass window of who we are as tall and as beautiful as it should be.
Let me have them.
And we will make a mosaic that stretches as wide as the sky. Showing every color your heart gained from the bits and pieces left on the ground.
I will take them.
And forge a sculpture of how beautiful the ideas are that we cast out in our failings and we will cast it in our failings.
Let me have them.
And we will ***** a monument of all the small things in the shape that you remember them.
Towering. Looming. Striking. Beautiful.
Let me have them so we might bind the words said and regretted, (or worse) left unsaid in leather and call it scripture.
Our Psalms. Our Proverbs:
*“The tip of my finger dangles like my tongue. Wanting to touch something beautiful.”
“If it were not for him, it would have been us.”
“You were all my brightest colors.”
“I wish I were more like you.”
“I wish I were less like me.”
“I am sped.”*
And we will read them at dawn like litany.
Stretching our voices to the corners of the universe. Asking for the wishes you make when you are scared. Or alone. Or both.
That we may take them.
And make a blanket.
A blanket to cover our childhood and let it rest at last.
I will take them.
All the parts you no longer want.
Give them to me.
Because they are what make us beautiful.
Give them to me.
That I may forge them into pitch and feathers and craft mighty wings.
That I may take flight from your worry. And soar on the updraft of your misconception.
Give them to me.
I will take them.
Because I would rather burn like Icarus than to have never dared to fly.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
an artist can love you
like no other could,
they feel what you feel
and see what you see
therefore
they understand
and hold no judgement
only adoration
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
the rise and fall
of his chest
like the ocean's waves
rocking me back and forth
back and forth
his long lashes
like the brush
sweeping across my skin
hypnotizing me
with every flutter
the warmth of his skin
radiating like the sun
leaving me saturated
with happiness
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC