More often than not I wake up in the morning wishing that I could shed this body like a second skin. If only it were that easy. As if I wear my shame like a jacket that I can unzip and toss over my chair when I get home. As if it were not a seed whose roots have grown deep in my skin, and crept their way into my veins. She touches me so gently, in every place I’ve been ashamed to claim as my own. And as she kisses my neck and reaches for my thigh, all I can seem to think of is how long it will take for her fingers to recoil. I wonder when she will realize that her hands don’t like the bumpy texture of my flesh. That my skin doesn’t hug my bones quite like it should. That I’ve got curves in all the wrong places. I wonder how long it will take for her to see me the way that I see myself. I know that I’m sick. It’s a disease without a cure. No matter how much you refuse to eat, it will always eat away at you. There is no running from this. You must lie down. And as she kisses your neck and reaches for your thigh, pull her closer. Let her know you trust her. Let her trace your bumpy flesh like hills and valleys, let her wander. She touches me so gently, in every place I’ve ben ashamed to claim as my own. And as she kisses my neck and reaches for my thigh, I let her. Because this is how we learn to love ourselves. This is how we heal.
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 9:20 AM UTC
there's so much bad ****
so much bad **** that I never had the courage to deal with.
so forgive me when I cling to the good things.
forgive me when I begin to cling to you.
for so long, I was so desperate to feel anything other than empty.
and from the day I met you, you've made me feel so full.
so full of every emotion that I told myself I didn't deserve.
so forgive me when I care a little more than I should.
i'm trying to be better.
i'm still learning to be whole.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 1:41 PM UTC
She has broken me about a thousand times since we first said hello, and every single time it hurts just a little bit more. She is better for me than any person I've ever met yet she is driving me mad. I am so terrified of being hurt again that I am hurting myself.
What is wrong with me?
It was so good. It always is at first. But then I break, and I break, and I break until the pieces are so small, and so many, that I'd be easier to replace than to put back together.
I am toxic.
I am volatile.
I have so many cracks, I'm not sure I will ever be whole again.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
Do not fall in love with a girl who reads
Because she’ll probably overanalyze everything
Because she’ll never understand
That people aren’t paperbacks
She’ll search for plot in your veins
And make metaphors of your broken heart
Do not fall in love with a girl who reads
Because she’ll fold your corners
And crumple your pages
She’ll make notes in your margins
And she’ll probably bend your spine back
Just a little too far
Do not fall in love with a girl who reads
Because she’ll get too excited for the ******
And she’ll skip some words (or pages)
When she’s sleepy she’ll skim
And lose her place
Do not fall in love with a girl who reads
Because she’ll fall in love with
Last chapters and final words
Do not fall in love with a girl who reads
Because the ending will always be her favorite part.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
Darling, I don't hate you,
not even a little.
To be honest, I never stopped caring for you.
I did resent you for a time.
I resented you for not loving me the way that I loved you.
And I know that's not fair.
But you were everything to me.
I was so absolutely infatuated with the idea of you, the idea of us,
That I let it consume me.
I let it change the person that I had worked so hard to become.
But let me make myself clear,
I don't blame you.
Not even a little.
But I don't blame myself either.
It's us that changed me.
Darling I don't hate you,
never did, never could.
But I can't love you either.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 10:05 PM UTC
I've never prayed, but I write about religion like I know what it means. I've never gone to church, but I have more faith than I know what to do with. I don't know if I believe in God, but I believe in this. I believe in everything we're doing here. I believe in mankind, our ability to do good. I don't believe that we were created for a reason. I believe that we were created to find one. And this right here, this is my reason.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
I went back to that bookstore last Friday
Because I told myself I missed it
I was always so fascinated by the secrets
hidden between splinters in the old wood bookshelves
And the fleeting thoughts scribbled hastily
onto the ripped pages of old romance novels
That bookstore always reminded me a lot of you
In the way that it went practically unnoticed its entire existence
Yet it was still so fascinating inside
The floorboards creaked with every step
As if trying to remind you that they exist
And all of the good books hid on the top shelves
Just out of reach
Those shelves seemed to hold more mystery
more love, more passion, more life
Than any human being could ever comprehend
The lights would flicker just as your eyes did when you woke up in the morning
and you could hear their soft hum
Filling these halls with life
It reminded me of your shallow breathing
As you used to lay asleep so gently beside me
And I used to come in everyday to read new books
But there were so many
And if it took the rest of my life
I was determined to read each and every last one
And I went back to that bookstore last Friday
Because I told myself I missed it
But maybe I just miss you
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
I saw you on the subway earlier today
You asked me how I’ve been, and I almost told you
I almost told you how just about every night
I curl up in that old sweater you left in the back corner of my closet
With your favorite book (the one I’ve never liked), on your side of the bed
And how I would sit there for hours reading
and rereading your favorite parts
I almost told you how the paint on my walls is beginning to look a lot like the color of your eyes
(Even though your eyes are about 3 shades lighter)
And I almost told you how I broke down last Saturday
How I shredded every single picture of us
As if it got rid of the memories
And how I tore apart every love letter you’d ever written me
(After I read them over and over and over and over)
I almost told you how how I smashed your favorite mug against the floor of my kitchen
And how the crack in the tile almost looked like your crooked smile
And how I can no longer bring myself to look in the mirror because all I see
Is your faded compliments that litter my cheeks
And I almost told you how the frayed edges of the carpet in my living room
Are beginning to look a lot like that piece of hair that stuck out right against your forehead
And how that stain by my bed from that time you got mad at me and spilled the wine
No longer reminded me of that fight we had
But of the same deep red color that matted your lips
When I used to stain them with my red plum lipstick
And when I saw you on the subway earlier today
You asked me how I’ve been, and I almost told you
Almost
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 1:03 AM UTC
Sometimes I get nervous to look at the sky in case he's looking back at me
Oh how frightening it'd be to look him in the eye
I've done it only once before: Louisiana, 2005
He called me Katrina
And oh my, what a fuss he made
And believe me when I say
There's nothing like a hurricane to put you in your place
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
I'm sorry I forgot to let you go but my heart feels a little bit like a clenched fist when I think about you leaving; your memory will never be beautiful. I miss the way you always smell a little bit like I always thought home should. I miss the way you laugh like a torrential downpour. Every time I look in the mirror I can't help but tilt my head a little to the right because thats what you do when you tell me I'm beautiful. I'm sorry I forgot to let you go. I miss you in the same way that you miss Summer in August, in a way that burns a whole lot hotter than a memory. I miss the way I used to burn in your arms, but when you hold me now we feel a little more like smoke and embers. You always hated how the sand slips so quickly through your fingers no matter how tightly you held on and I'm sorry I forgot to let you go but my memory will never be beautiful.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC