He’s got eyes that pop out of his head as if he's just seen a ghost. His hands are brittle and his finger nails are yellow. His skin is pale; his heart is pale. Every time we’re alone in a room together you can almost see the silence. It looks stiff, like the way that his body shifts away from me to avoid the awkward conversation or how our breath is being used to fill the silence. We look at each other hard and long. Almost as if we're connected through the matter between us and what used to matter between us. I wonder if he remembers how my body feels. I wonder if her body feels like mine.
His shoes are stained from the salt on the road and I can tell that he’s been walking over rusted wounds. I wonder if he's fixed the dent I made in his car. I wonder if his apartment is still the same desaturated shade of blue that made his eyes look grey. I wonder if he still lives on memory lane. We watch the snow fall from the corners of our eyes, being careful not to look up; being careful not to touch. I hear him mutter something under his breath and I’m not sure if he’s describing the weather or if he’s describing me. I was never quite sure of what he was saying. He was always hard to decipher. There was always a sense of mystery surrounding him that was too hard to unravel.
I fiddle with my ring as I try to imagine what she looks like. If her hair is as black as mine or if her skin glows the same way. There’s a part of my mind that wishes she’s the lesser version of me. I wonder if he’s told her about me. I wonder if she knows that he is my ghost.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
the silence is chasing you; you are neck-deep in humiliation.
your head is just slightly hovering over a body of water
and the men watching you are slyly enjoying a smoke
their ribs are sticking out through their well-sewn suits
as they caress the cigarette through their fingers,
while the feeling, you notice, is vibrating their brains
and the thought of their lungs collapsing
doesn't seem to tug at their heart strings.
this is all a vivid dream and you cannot pinch yourself out of this one.
there are women beneath you, pulling at your legs.
their skirts are slowly fly up as they reach for
what they only could've wished to become.
you notice the cigarette burns on their wrists
and the all-too-deep bite marks piercing their feminine limbs.
they drown you until the rebellion sheds off of you and
when you're gone, they'll find another to replicate.
you wake up; when did this dream become reality?
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
My father’s busy with the lady two streets down and my brother’s in the car with a bowl full of sadness evaporating into memories of the good ol’ days. My mother’s cleaned the house five times in the last minute or two and she won’t be satisfied until her fingers numb to the bone and her smile is sharp enough to pierce through diamonds.
I was born to even out the family but I cause more panic when I’m asleep than when I’m awake and I’m addicted to anything my little hands can get a hold of. I’ve been here for years, desiring for the walls that surround me to become more than just an address and I can’t help but wonder what’s been holding me back. A broken family, a lost home or the streets I never thought I’d leave?
How many hands have to melt like burning candles until I learn that shoving seeds down my throat won’t turn my veins into the roots that support me? How many layers of my skin need to be burned through before I realize my heart will always be cold? My body has always been warmer than my passion. My fingertips create fires underwater and even my tears sweat sometimes.
I often lose myself in familiar streets in hopes of finding somewhere to hide. This tunnel is the only true shelter I have. The heaviness of the lump in my throat drags me down and the soles of my feet glue themselves to the floor I shadow over. As the walls around me vanish, it tears apart the person I used to be.
I buried my identity in the ground and built my safety net out of pebbles and cement, but the cracks beneath the sidewalk ****** me in and I’ve been hidden here ever since. Sometimes home is somewhere you never thought you’d end up. Sometimes home is a word so foreign that the folds of your brain reject it. Sometimes home is nothing but a house.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 2:22 AM UTC
they read between the lines,
but they'll never understand what goes on beneath the ink.
they won't see how every word i write somehow
transfigures itself into the letters of your name.
it reminds me of how you used your lips to trace
the pattern of your initials on my skin
and how you were always so afraid of letting go of the past.
they'll overthink this as if it's a metaphor for something
of a deeper meaning, but i've never truly understood it myself.
i'm still trying to comprehend why you left without any warning
or why you threw me away as swiftly as you picked me up,
but i'm beginning to think
there is no underlying message.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
*my coffee was cold before my tongue even got a taste
i've been intoxicated since last week
my drunken thoughts will remain in the morning,
i want to get rid of this feeling
i will be hungover until you come back
if you ever come back*
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
I think you'll find me engraved in your bones
Carved on your skull
Dug into your icy skin
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
No, you're wrong.
Shut the **** up.
I want to hit you so badly.
Pick yourself up and deal with your **** problems.
Stop.
That's not funny.
Don't leave.
Please don't cut me off again.
Don't do it, I love you.
You keep trying to make me feel guilty.
Why?
Why does it seem you always put her first, before me?
All I did was try to please you, all you ever were was jealous.
There's something terribly beautiful about you.
I'm sorry for being an indecisive *******
I wish we could just restart.
I like you too.
I like you back.
I think I'm in love with you.
It's because I care about you more than anyone.
I care, I still care, never stopped. Always have and always freaking will.
We're drifting away and I don't know why.
I really hope you remember me.
Do you want to hang out sometime?
Will you go out with me?
**** me.
I really like you and I have feelings for you. I'm hoping maybe we could turn our friendship into more than just that.
You make me happy.
Thank you for everything.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
I've forgotten your touch
And the fabrication of your skin
The tired sarcasm in your jokes
Has somehow escaped my mind
I don't remember the structure of the jaw
I once was able to trace
In the middle of the night with tired eyes
The last time I looked at your picture
I could still pinpoint the raspy, dry tone of your voice
I've realized that the spark in your eyes
Was not ambition, or the stars
It was the lights of a town that will soon burn down
Your shy smile has stopped being a metaphor
For a knife in my chest or a bullet to my head
Is this what I'm supposed to call "recovery"
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
*I think you left a match burning
While you were dissecting me from your brain,
Creating flames from my hair
Which were ignited by my brittle bones
My fingers will soon become ashes
And I'm afraid of what I'll become*
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
I hate the letters that spell your name
And I wish they weren't spilled
On every page of poetry I've written
Since the day we met
I wish your smile wasn't engraved
Into my brain and on my skin
So that I wouldn't see it every **** night
In images I used to call "dreams"
I wish I didn't need to write about
him or you or (your initials)
Because I've always hated pronouns
And I know I'd never be able
To muster up enough courage to tell you
Every secret held by my pen
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC