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538 · Mar 2014
for once in my goddamn life
Sag Mar 2014
I will get what I want this time
because I can be selfish too.
What I lack in charm and eloquence
I make up for in bravery.
I'm putting my happiness first
and I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me.
I hope you find it in your heart to forgive yourself.
535 · Nov 2016
Creating Invincibility
Sag Nov 2016
And I just kept thinking, and repeating to myself,
"God we think we're all invincible.
God, we think we're invincible.
God we think we're invincible."
And if there really were a god, he surely would have made us so.
531 · Jul 2016
Shades Of Blue
Sag Jul 2016
Imagine this:
Crystal blue persuasion soundtracking cigarettes smoked in parking lots.

We spent the night crowded around a small table with glasses of wine and a variety of beers. One was blueberry, and they let me try it. It wasn't very good but I also don't have the same affinity for ales that they do.

We played Sorry and smoked cigarettes. We talked about our intimate stories and the things that we take pleasure in. We played scrabble until the sunrise and I lost and we all grabbed blankets and drunkenly stumbled to the front lawn.

We pondered on what color the sky was for some time. We even pulled up a chart of different shades of blue, but couldn't find a perfect match.
I still think it was pretty close to cauliflower blue though.
I ran inside, too tired to try to stay awake any longer and found myself in blankets of white and walls of grey.

I slept in the bed of a minimalist.
I rolled over and looked into the one pair of eyes I could never see the soul of.
Those eyes, like crystal waters, hold a world beneath them no one would dare to endure the pressure of on their shoulders to explore. There's something about them, an aerial view of large black pupils swimming in summer pools surrounded by snow.
They're mysterious, they're wise, they're a word I've been searching for, in that antique dictionary, in tiles of finished games on scrabble boards, that I just can't seem to find...

Like trying to match the exact shade of blue and having to choose cauliflower blue disappointedly.

Staring into them makes you feel vulnerable, like he can see straight through you, like he knows everything you're thinking and feeling and everything you've ever thought or felt, and it scared me.
So I adjusted my gaze to the light freckles on pale skin, the blonde strands lining his chin, full lashes lining his lids. And I fell asleep peacefully.
**
When I woke up, the sun from the blinds split into lines along your white sheets, your hair, your spine.
It looked lovely.
I stood up and took a step back to take it all in.
There was a stillness in the hourglass on your bedside table, piles of white sand lying silently at the bottom.
I smiled softly.
You woke up.
The tea kettle screamed.
You left for work and I left you a note.
Thank you for lending a pillow, and a contentment and appreciation for the softness in my life.
This poem is about a friend so dear to me, that I have learned so much from even though he doesn't know it.
This is an appreciation poem to him because I feel like there aren't enough of them.
Thank you
528 · Mar 2017
Untitled
Sag Mar 2017
I drink the quickest when I'm alone
Coincidentally that's also when I love the hardest
Wishing you were all here to listen to your hearts and
I still get waves of missing you
when I play songs on the guitar and
nostalgia makes me smile but in the morning my heart will harden
524 · Jun 2016
worry not
Sag Jun 2016
Don't worry;
no ones got palms like yours babe
I've only got eyes for you these days
I'm bleeding from my ankles
like the man in that story with thorns in his feet but I'd preach my belief in you anyway
You know I'd lie at your feet and wash them any day.
Just promise that you won't turn out to be Judas, that it's not in your blood to betray
Don't worry, even then I'd forgive you if you at least promised me you'd stay
522 · Jul 2015
get drunk and bake cake
Sag Jul 2015
FRIDAY NIGHTS WERE FOR
walmart runs and getting drunk and baking red velvet cake and another walmart run because we forgot to get chocolate icing the first time and flour on our eyelashes like snowflakes in Colorado and cranberry juice and ***** and twirling around the kitchen and heavy hearted kissing on the sofa and medicine for the people and forbidden touching and a few tears and endless loving.

SATURDAY NIGHTS WERE FOR
numbly staring at the tile above the faucet and soaking for hours in the tub with a book sitting on the ground and not being able to gather my thoughts and focus enough to pick it up and start reading it and laying in my mothers bed and watching sad films about writers and hitchhikers and thinking if this were 1947, that would be us;

but this isn't 1947,
this is sunday,

and SUNDAYS ARE FOR
sleeping until my body cannot take any more rest and willing myself to get dressed and singing on the 10th floor of parking garages over looking the city and looking for green lights at the end of all the tunnels because you're okay and I'm doing my best.
522 · Jul 2016
Rhythm
Sag Jul 2016
Perhaps I'm awful at keeping a steady rhythm because I'm terrified of what note the future holds - it's so unpredictable, constantly changing and shifting and shaping.
never knowing exactly what or when whatever "what" is, will happen makes me hesitate on how I will react.
Every time I think I'm on the upbeat I'm reminded that life is not always a perfectly composed song.
A random little thought I had last night that I thought I'd challenge my writers block with.
521 · Feb 2017
Update
Sag Feb 2017
Things have been feeling very off for me.
I wake up and stare at the light coming in my window and wish I could live in a timelapse and watch the sun set and rise and set again within seconds that I didn't have to be truly present for.
I'm searching for life's purpose and the little joys in between but I'm tired of looking so it's not very thorough.
I don't want to read books, or play piano, or paint flowers, or talk to friends (not that I have any, anyway) and I don't even have the desire to drink wine all night or try to impress you.
My heart feels heavy and my brain feels empty and really I think the problem is that I haven't been feeling anything lately.
The numbness has taken over and turned me into some sort of zombie that doesn't even have the energy to eat.
520 · Sep 2015
Maps
Sag Sep 2015
Cemetaries with graves more comforting than my own bed and bottles of wine in Parkinson's palms
Industrial factory lights at night that bewilder and leave wandering wants and wondering won'ts and wanderlust
Abandoned rodeos with the perfect pair of longitude and latitudinal lines for a sunset view and dance floors of dirt and footprints in spirals and you
And bowling alley parking lots and songs from my adolescence and secrets spilling from our mouths
And the fairground park swingset and sparklers and nostalgia looming just above the grassy horizon
The 10th floor of the casino parking garage and the water looks curious and inviting,
and it's a long way down.

And I'm a long way from home,
Until I'm in your arms.
516 · Oct 2015
Fuck Fight or Flight
Sag Oct 2015
I need you to **** the kind words out of me.

**** the passivity from behind.

****** your warmth into mine until our sweat leaves us cold and hard.

Wrap your hands around my throat until I no longer feel suffocated by the pressure to please those around me.

Pleasure me until "Be nice" and "I'm sorry" escape my mouth in moans and dissipate into the stagnant air around us.

I'll take you in until I stop taking ******* from everyone else
because **** the people who take advantage of me
and **** being quiet to avoid confrontation or because they might hear us down the hall.

**** them.
I'll dig my nails deep into the flesh between your shoulder blades until I've got talons to fight the ones who've ripped my back to shreds each time I shied away.

And this time I won't apologize for or even cry over the blood I've spilled.
515 · Jan 2014
palms and fingertips
Sag Jan 2014
I wanted to tell you that you have nice hands
but before the words could casually come out of my mouth,
they were stifled in my throat and my mind was consumed
with the thought of how they would feel upon my skin;  
lightly running them through my hair,
or firmly grabbing my hips and pulling me closer to you,
or gently and delicately caressing my scarred and
imperfect body with your soft touch.
I wish I could sculpt your hands,
every line on your palm, every vein in your wrist,
a smooth marble replication of my favorite part of you.
But art would still be incomparable to the real thing.
A sculpture could never capture the reality of the feeling I get
when tracing every indention and wrinkle and crease
with my nervous and trembling fingers.
I'd much rather the genuine and delicate warmth.
*They say palms tell stories, I hope one day yours will tell ours.
And I hope that the lines on your hands read that you belong with me.
512 · Oct 2014
abstract blues
Sag Oct 2014
aquamarine beard, lips tinted plum
he grows beside the knowledge tree
smoking a joe while sipping some,
as he fingers dissonance and harmonies,
composing as he hums.
far beyond his peripheral debris:
unearthed charm and wisdom.
ah, if only his eyes could see
the potential of what's to come.
I'm working on a different sort of writing, where the message is less straight forward and it sounds kind of funky, I'm not sure if I'm hitting it here, but I like it anyway.
Sag Mar 2014
I should melt every time I hear your laugh.
I should crave the gentle touch of your strong fingers.
I should swoon over your hazel eyes, your soft smile.
I should have held your hand, walking through the flowers.
I should have let you kiss me on my doorstep.
Because maybe you could be good for me.
Maybe I could learn to love you, if I tried hard enough.
Maybe I should try hard enough.
I've been looking for a simple solution
and I've finally found you,
so why don't I want you?
506 · Mar 2016
Reminiscing and rehashing
Sag Mar 2016
I don't want you to think of me when I'm gone if it hurts to reminisce.
File the details in the back of your mind and please don't pull them out in fear of forgetting them, for they will only feed the already heavy heart.
In a few weeks, or months, or whenever you're ready, really ready,  I'll have them here for you to read and recollect.

I always freaked out when you licked my face and nostrils and tried to kiss my armpits and toes, but secretly enjoyed the attention and slight aggravation because i knew one day all of it would end, so I tried not to overreact every time in case you decided to actually stop for good. I knew I'd miss it when it was gone.

I liked to shower with the lights off but you had to let me get in first.

I loved your shoulders and wrists and rubbing them softly through the night with my fingertips.

I tried to cuddle you every second i could but i think I put off so much body heat it was hard for you to sleep.

I watched all of the Kevin Gates and Logic interviews because i knew you wanted me to be interested in them because you were.

I wanted to take you to see the ocean and every sunset.

I didn't mind holding your hand and the steering while at the same time, although i wished sometimes i could nap in the passenger seat or be the one shoving fries into your mouth at midnight.

I drank every bottle of wine you bought for me and saw the conscious love in that simple gesture.

I wanted more than you could give, more than anyone could, more than i could give myself.

I wanted nothing more than to be able to love you and for you to love me back in the same way.

I was insecure and worried that I wouldnt ever live up to the first idea you had of me.

I love you. I don't want you to leave. But I will feel so pathetic if I fight for something I know you don't want anymore. I am trying to make this easy although it is killing me.

I wonder how long you've been waiting for an excuse to leave me..
I wonder if she is worth throwing it all away with me. I hope so. Genuinely.
I wonder if she is even the reason.
Maybe I was just too clingy, too needy, too crazy, too much to put up with.  
I hope that if she is the reason, there is longevity in your relationship.
It would hurt even worse if I let you go and you still were unhappy.

The thought of you not wanting me anymore breaks me.

Your kiss on my shoulder through my soft denim shattered me.
I ran away, like I always do, and I sliced my foot open and it still took everything in me not to turn around and run to you.
I even tried, I almost made it, but I turned around again.
I will not fight someone who won't fight back.
.
504 · Jan 2016
chainsmoking optimism
Sag Jan 2016
I can't remember the last time I frantically searched for a sharp object in my sentimental clutter, or the time that I drove out into the middle of nowhere, searching for trees that I knew would end everything.
I remember the feeling, of madness and chaos and desperation,
but sometimes it feels like a feeling I never really felt;
only read or heard about.
But I do remember it.
And sometimes, in moments of desperation and chaos and madness, I have the urge to drive back to those secluded woods, just to make sure there are no crosses with floral wreaths dug into the dirt.
But I don't.
I drive to the familiar home I've made my niche, decorated with sticky noted "I love you's" and laundry on leather sofas, with extravagant floral wreaths hung on the brightly lit porch instead, and I find comfort in the fact that this is the place where I can finally rest my head.
So do things get better?
Well, yes and no.
Yes, I still drink alcohol,
but these days I sip it rather than shoot it,
and some days I'll take a few short drags of the cigarette I've been smoking on for the last few weeks,
but I don't chain-smoke them like I used to,


and these days, I always wear my seatbelt and get back "I love you too."
504 · Jan 2014
fuz.
Sag Jan 2014
The constant voices inside of his head;
they are determined to drown him.
I hope he hears my affection instead;
encouraging him to swim.
...
*They are alive but he is dead;
hope is a phantom limb.
Sag Jan 2014
what happens when the boy who
plants kisses on your collar bones
is the same boy who
plucks the petals from your soul?
494 · Aug 2021
state magnet souvenirs
Sag Aug 2021
'Souvenir' comes from the french word meaning remembrance. It is an almost universal behavior to collect tiny mementos while traveling, some tangible object that holds all of the intangible memories and joy that came with the moment. Souvenirs are a quite lovely sentiment when you really think about it - before the plastic and mass-production and tourism industry come into the picture. In Japan, souvenirs are called omiyage, which travelers bring back home to loved ones and friends as a sort of apology for their absence, a way of saying "sorry you couldn't make it" or "wish you were here."
Today, the top ten most popular souvenirs are ornaments, t-shirts, postcards, shot glasses, tattoos, sand in a bottle, fridge magnets, tea towels, key rings, and random gifts. My mother has chosen to cherish the seventh most popular form of souvenir: fridge magnets. Manmade refrigerator magnets were popularized in the 1960's for educational and functional purposes but very quickly evolved into fun and inexpensive decor. She has so many state shaped magnets from all around the US, and a few from outside of it.
The thing with my mother though, is that she has always been a self-proclaimed homebody. I sometimes worry that she has agoraphobia but I think most of it is just that she never really had the opportunity to explore the world outside of the dead end street she grew up on (and still lives on to this day). She was raised by her grandfather who was a merchant marine and traveled often during her childhood, but she married and had kids at a young age and never really had the time or money to go on her own adventures. She was a stay-at-home mom to my four siblings and I, as well as to all of the neighborhood kids. Her door and arms and ears were always open for them. Now those neighborhood kids are all grown and so am I and they're off having their own kids and I'm off having my own adventures, but we all make a point to bring her back a magnet from the places we visit.

The wide variety of magnets you can find in a single gift shop in every city surprised me at first. There is now an art to choosing the perfect one for my mom - I went to four different shops in Portland, Oregon trying to find the perfect one. I never found the perfect one but still, that's dedication. I stray away from the boring traditional ones with the state name and shape (although this type is one of the less creative neighborhood kids go-to) and try to find ones that will make her laugh or show her some of the culture or sights from the city instead.
A green-eyed squirrel from North Carolina, a candy skull from Cancun, the mysterious Bigfoot from Washington, a sailboat from Maryland, a front porch with a lamppost from Puerto Rico, manatees from Central Florida, and entirely too many Los Angeles cityscapes and Smoky Mountain bottle openers adorn the kitchen. So many, in fact, that she ran out of room on the refrigerator and had my dad mount a magnetic board in the kitchen hallway to fit them all.

I know it makes her happy to see all of her children having these experiences and seeing the world but most of the time it just makes me sad that she couldn't be there with me. I hate to think that she ever looks at them and feels like she's missed out on too much or that we held her back in any way, though I know she would never admit that. We bring her souvenirs so she can live vicariously through us, so that she can cherish our memories in place of her own. Even now that I've moved away, I mail her magnets from Florida as an apology for my absence.  
I rate them three out of five stars.
490 · Jan 2021
kudzu
Sag Jan 2021
I have a habit of overthinking
hard as I try I cannot stop the growth of a thought
once the seed has been planted

(I remember driving to the city once
we wanted to take my niece and his nephew to the aquarium
the kids asked about the blanket of vines and leaves that formed wall-like structures on both sides of the interstate
we told them about how it was an invasive species from Asia, and that it spread all across the south and engulfed whatever plants and trees that originally stood there
the whole hour ride they sat in the backseat,
shouting "kudzu!" every time they spotted it out the window)

kudzu
kudzu
kudzu
kudzu
kudzu
kudzu
488 · Mar 2016
cracks
Sag Mar 2016
im not saying i need you but
my headaches get worse when you're not around and the creases in my chapped lips taste slightly bloodier than the cracks of my knuckles and my nails are rugged and angled from my crooked teeth gnawing at the chipped cerulean paint
and i know i always say cerulean wrong because i was never taught how to
and i know i'm clingy and i might love wrong but please forgive me

i was never taught how to
486 · Mar 2014
Genesis
Sag Mar 2014
I wanted to be happy for you,
and I wanted you to notice.
I tricked myself with words like
Sophrosyne and Halcyon
and deemed myself a Lotus:
capable of blossoming beautifully
despite the mud beneath me.
I threw my razors away,
out of sight and out of mind.
I tricked myself into thinking that
maybe it was finally time
to listen to my heart rather than my head
and maybe vulnerability wouldn't have to leave me dead.
But I knew choosing my heart was wrong
when I was enlightened that
she had loved you all along.
Because I am not a flower in comparison
to her cunning eyes or porcelain skin,
and I do not possess her efflorescence
that inspires you to sin.
My thoughts are frightening
and so is loving you
because now that I've opened up and let you in
I've begun to open my skin again.
This time I use needles and knives
because the razors, along with my mind, have departed.
And so will you, when her affection revives.

So I guess I'm back to where I started.
486 · Jun 2016
summer !!!!!
Sag Jun 2016
since when did Seasonal Depression decide that summertime sadness is the new thing
the sun stares down at me as i trudge around blindly and i feel my body melting like a snowball onto the concrete under my bare feet
i have no desire to do anything with the time off that she has given me
and my mother bothers me with questions because i spend so much time inside silently next to her
she spends every day plugged into the living room couch
and my niece is growing older and bolder and her attitude reflects mine most of the time
i want to scream
i want to rip your hair from your scalp
i want to sink my teeth into something
maybe sanity huh
ha
476 · Jul 2015
Contortionism
Sag Jul 2015
I'm always accused of some sort of voodoo or magic,
that I possess the ability to make people become
irrevocably infatuated and attached to my presence.

But I think it is those surrounding me that are the ones who are compelling and captivating and mesmerizing and I can't keep up.
I'm burning in thoughts surrounding the idea that I may be intriguing
but I'm never entertaining.

I feel as though I am a sideshow attraction in a ring of circus performers.
The bearded lady and the trapeze swingers;
the human dartboard and the fire dancing singers;
intrigue versus talent and disappointment versus awe.
I'll draw them in for a second,
a quick glimpse of what and who I really am is all
and they tilt their head in confusion and pity and dissatisfaction
when a giant teddy bear down the brightly lit and vividly colored lane catches their eye and they stroll away with wide excited eyes at popcorn and corn dogs and dogmatic persuaders with yellow balloons and the promise of a prize.
The only part I feel I can compare is the feeling that my brain is a contortionist, it twists and folds into itself until it's hardly recognizable.
I am made up of loose joints and a personality that is flexible enough to love any and every one and perhaps that is what is so lovable about me.
However, I'll never be the ring leader. I'll leave that up to the man coaching the nice lady in red parading around on the elephant's back.
475 · Jun 2015
Always Demanding Love
Sag Jun 2015
Love me when you meet me.
Love me when I tell you the time of day.
Love me when I'm uninterested.
And when you become interested,
don't forget me.
Love me when I ignore you.
Love me when I'm loving someone else.
Love me when I start to love you.
Love me when I spend three consecutive nights in your bed because I can't bear to be without you.
Love me when you see the smile you bring to my face.
Love me when I'm sad and don't want to talk to you for days.
Love me when I don't want you or your love anymore.
And then when you move on and make progress towards the direction of finally not being in love with me,
Love me.
Please.
Because even when I don't want you to love me, I want you to love me.
I'm a selfish human being. Whatever. Love me anyway.
Sag May 2016
I feel it building up in me
brick by maddened brick
I felt it breaking down in me
break by bothered break

Slow it down
Soften it up
Let vines grow and make their way through the cracks in the walls and shatter the confinements around you
Let the vines sprout violet soft velvet petaled petunias
Stop and find them
Stop and smell them
Stop and touch them
Stop and study them
Stop and learn how they got that way
Stop and get that way

Feel it growing inside of you
seed by watered seed
because I've been so hard and cold and angry lately and I miss the peace
474 · May 2015
Lotos-Eater Dreamer
Sag May 2015
Odysseys aren't always what they seem...
Traveling from a hazy state to wide awake,
reality was bursting at the seams.

I dreamed you didn't want me
but I woke up in your arms
and you told me that you loved me
and it was just a false alarm.
But I still felt unsettled and low and I wanted you to know
that it made me think
about the nightmare of a reality
you once had to endure
when you asked me if I loved you and I said I wasn't sure.
And numerous times
you must've woken alone
in sweat that was only your own
with Roses and incense and Christmas lights yet
you had no reassurance or kisses to make you forget
and I think that's the one thing I'll always regret:
only being there in your dreams
and not wanting you when you weren't asleep.
I find it hard to believe
the life you perceived without me was one of ease.
I hope that when I crawl into your sheets and we bump knees
you feel relieved
because when I'm finally with you after a long day away,
I feel like I can finally breathe.

How did you manage not to drown all those nights you spent out at sea?
How did you navigate through the storms so perfectly?
Surely the stars were there guiding you to me,
or perhaps a lighthouse or a cloud or the white caps on the beach?
Maybe it was just hope, or a dream that helped you float on all along.
Regardless, I hope you don't come to the conclusion
that your decision to land on the Island of the Lotus is wrong,
but you've never been the kind to turn down a bowl
so I shouldn't be worried you'd want to return home
unless Odysseus comes to save your soul.

I won't live to sing another sad shipwrecked sleeping song.
And I won't plant the seed,
but just know
that sometimes, trees grow weeds
and flowers don't bloom beneath
the weight of snow.
too many thoughts jumbled into one poem
too many thoughts jumbled into one brain
too many metaphors I'll never be able to explain
too many lyrics from the smiths floatin around up there
471 · Jul 2015
serotonin stains
Sag Jul 2015
when the nicotine from the black & mild
and the extra shots from the extra pina colada daiquiri downed
(because who can pass up two for one drinks on tuesdays)
and the taste of his bearded lips on mine
finally wear off and subside,
I'm forced to feel the ache I've been so desperately trying to numb and push away
Sometimes things don't work out just the way you thought they would
and not everything that appears to feel good feels good
and ending things seems sad then fine and freeing to teetering on the line
and tongues don't line up but single file is for preschoolers anyway
and happiness is an illusion and a concept I can't grasp
because the idea and the craving of having your hand in mine gets me through the night still but while I held it I felt like my father with arthritic joints and I couldn't ball my fists tight enough to show you how you caused them to lock up and then how you rubbed your thumbs across my skin like medicine traveling beneath it and how you released all of the tension and increased my levels of serotonin.


when the lights go off and my keys begin to click I am overwhelmed with the fear that that i'll never find another pair of hands like yours.
I don't want lipstick stains on the same page I wrote my thoughts down on.
470 · Sep 2014
Plagiarism
Sag Sep 2014
I can’t write anymore because the only word that comes to mind is “her” and that word is not mine anymore.
466 · Sep 2014
Honey
Sag Sep 2014
You're starving - not because our relationship is barely surviving-
but because you've been eating someone else's affection and now it's all gone,
and you blame it on being unlovable.
Maybe you should blame it on the fact that you already have honey, you've just lost the appetite for what's yours.
466 · Aug 2015
BARk
Sag Aug 2015
never forget who watered the soil your roots were planted in
or the rays that helped you grow emerald leaves and slanted limbs
and when it rains don't be afraid cause that's how flowers bloom
i promise not to runaway from the dark side of the moon
cause you were my sunset in disguise
all the gray clouds and tangerine skies
the introspective orb so bright
that even the blind wolf cries
you were all the songs I grew up on that thunder sang to me
and if I ever find myself gnawing and barking up at the wrong tree
I'll howl my loudest and wait for help to stand on my own two feet
464 · Jun 2016
Lacklusterland
Sag Jun 2016
a lackadaisical lifestyle is not ideal for a daisy
who desires to sing lullabies to dreaming lovers
who longs to grow taller and smaller with a sip of sincerity
instead of saccharine goodbyes
if only time travel were not impossible
to see if this rabbit-hole i am stuck in leads to a lavish garden in the end
then i could decide if waking up were the right direction
or if patience would be rewarded in this Lacklusterland
inspired by alices adventures in wonderland, which i read for the first time yesterday.
464 · Jan 2014
Seasons
Sag Jan 2014
I was just one autumn of many to come
Just a change and something new.
I was just one winter of your life,
Enjoyed only for a short while, and then wished away.
I was no more than spring to you,
Nice, but dull and simple and ordinary.
Just one summer,
A break that would soon come to an end.
Eventually, you yearned for
a new autumn,
           a new winter,
                      a new spring,
                                 a new summer.
Like seasons,
Love never lasts.
458 · Aug 2015
TIME MACHINE
Sag Aug 2015
no one ever tells you that:

• her lips are not his lips are not her lips

drunken minds still want sober kisses

• it's not disrespectful to be cuddled while sobbing on the vacant graves in the churchyard with just birth dates inscribed into the headstones if you need to

and if you feel as though you should dance on said graves, ******* dance, even if it's not empty, because who says ghosts don't like to waltz? that man was born in 1917 and he died in the mid thirties and he spent his glory days in a hospital bed rather than a ballroom so I'll spend mine twirling a girl in my arms in his honor and I'll tilt my head back and laugh the way he might have and I'm sure he'll get a kick out of that one

• timing is everything but it's also nothing in the grand scheme of chronologistics

sometimes you have to channel your inner new age Shakespeare and just make up your own words to express yourself in writing when you feel as though there are no adequate words in the dictionary to describe what's in your head

(sometimes the best way to get out of your head is to get lost in it and get really drunk on your own thoughts and drive straight first into a ditch on Summerfield Road and when you have the urge to look in a stranger's phone book to call someone for help, don't.)

• sometimes you need to listen to that boy repeat himself over the phone  for 9 minutes about how much he cares about your best friend and how he'd do anything for her and how he'd quit selling drugs and driving drunk because she makes him want to be a better person to realize what you have and what you want

sometimes the only songs that relate to your current situation and make your heart want to explode are the ones you used to listen to when you were 9 because that boy let it play on your oldest sister's voicemail and you hadn't yet experienced what it was like to love someone who made you feel like there were "twice as many stars in the sky" and sometimes you need to turn that song up all the way and just feel it with every ounce of your bike riding tree climbing porcelain childhood heart

• sometimes people are like the sunset for you, and you look up at them with the highest degree of awe, but sometimes you have to be your own sky and you have to gaze at yourself in amazement

sometimes you need to just go home and sleep in your own ******* bed for once and spend some time with the person you miss the most

when you feel like you're torn between the people you're in love with, because you're in love with everyone, you need to take a step back and realize the one you should be in love with is yourself.
Sag Jan 2017
I look back at those words and wonder if they meant anything, and convince myself they weren't ever written for me anyway.
It's not very hard to do that anyway because of the words later spoken that overshadow and contradict the previous ones.
I have always been in denial, despite the opinions of others, that they were ever there for me.
But after accepting that it's a possibilty, I wonder even more so how you could say such lovely things, then turn around and **** me.

I hope you can write that sweetly again one day and mean it.
EDIT: In the last line, I did not mean about me.
**** that, I don't want em.
But I want you to be nice to others again.
ya know?
458 · Jul 2016
Endearing
Sag Jul 2016
You were sitting at my counter, scribbling pages upon pages upon a little lined yellow notepad, passionate words about Christ and freedom and some bible verse from John, perhaps?
I didn't get to read much of it at all, and I'm not sure I really would have felt it as intensely as you did, but I did attempt to read you, from the corner of my eye while stirring cream into a cup of coffee. You were looking down at your words, his words, and had your headphones in, probably listening to either 90s r&b; or Bon Iver, (pronounced by you exactly how it's spelled), and you smiled as you slipped your fingers into the tiny bag of chocolate covered espresso beans I offered to share with you.

The shop was empty but the room felt full with laughter as we shared stories of our high school selves and embarrassing traits and things we thought we loved long ago.

You turned an exhausting evening into endearing emotions.
In case I don't see you before you leave for your "missionary opportunities,"
Thank you.
Good luck in Florida.
453 · Mar 2014
Luna, and a twin mattress
Sag Mar 2014
That night, the moon and stars were barely visible through the clouds. That night, you said you were glad that neither of us were in our own beds. The words came out slowly in broken fragments and your voice was raspy in hypnagogia, yet somehow it still sounded like a euphoric dream. That night, every inch of our bodies were touching and even when it was almost physically impossible, I somehow still had the intense yearning for you to be closer. Now it's 1:13 AM, and tonight, I am in my own bed, feeling empty and craving your arms around me. And you're in your bed with cloudy thoughts and constellations made of cravings I'm unsure of...
*Is it selfish of me to hope that we are seeing the same moon?
448 · Aug 2015
anxiety part II
Sag Aug 2015
I forgot what shivered bones felt like
I forgot about weak indexes and knees
I forgot how I sometimes used to forget how to breathe
I forgot about the blood pumping head crunching beats
But simultaneous yawns, constant blushing, and white teeth don't erase the past in me
I find warmth in your fingers and the sun shines from your mind,
but the snowflakes and ice cycles come back sometimes
Sag Oct 2016
• (1) pencil
• (1) laptop charger
• (1) small t-shirt
• (∞) dust bunnies
• (2) socks that did not make a matching pair
• (2) lighters, one with an eyeball and the other abstract colors that you said if the Bic lighter company had asked me to design a lighter it would look something like
• (1) fallen rose petal and
• (1) pair of pants with my
• (1) pair of underwear still tangled in them from the way you took them off.
idk if this is considered writing but i was cleaning my room and remembered an earlier conversation about the crazy things that probably hid in the crack between my bed and my wall and decided to check it out, seemed a little poetic to me lol
444 · Feb 2015
Dead end
Sag Feb 2015
The infatuation begins, one thousand five hundred seventy three miles away from my folded futon mattress on an unfinished floor in a sideways run down house with a gravel driveway and a wonky mailbox, across from a little green-grassed pasture with yellow flowers and "dead end" street signs lining the ditches.

Twenty three hours.
That's not that long when you really think about it.
Twenty three hours.
It's pretty far when you really think about it.

It's only the sand in my hourglass trickling down
over and over
and over and over and over.

(I was going to write the word "over" twenty three times,
but then I thought it might get a little annoying...
**** it; I'm going to do it anyway).

and over and over and over
and over and over and over
and over and over and over
and over and over and over
and over and over and over
and over and over and just
one more time.  

You probably haven't closed your eyes or slept even a grain of that sand. I wonder how many flipped figures found you wondering about me.
It's only the tap of a drumstick to an ongoing metronome left running overnight after the musicians were done with the fun of humming.
You probably daydreamed of me singing lullabies in snow covered trees while your professor went on about 3/4 and music theory.

How many paradiddles until we can finally dance to the beat?

An even better question:
How many more clever titled playlists,
how many more empty sheets,
can I accept before I accept that I could fall right on my feet?
How many grains of sand?
How many metronome beats?
443 · May 2015
Salt
Sag May 2015
I am not like the ocean in that I've got waves flowing down my back or the warmth of the sand in my hands or the voice of a hundred seagulls harmonizing in sync when they land.
I am not like the ocean in that I can wrap myself around you, engulf you, show you a world you've never dreamed of, full of life and mystery and depth.

I am the lost limbs and home-wrecking tsunamis.
I am the high tide that tickles toddler's toes and pulls them in with each giggle when their moms glance away for a tiny second.
I am unknown and anonymous and dangerous to explore,
not miraculous.
I sting, strangle, bite, drown, and rip with no remorse.
I am like the darkest parts of the ocean, full of creatures with teeth you've never seen and an intense lust, hunger, and greed.
Full of lost skeletons and deflated floaties and engines from submarines.
I am like the ocean in that once you're in too deep,
once you're too far out at sea,
if you don't have the breath or the energy
to somehow find your way back to the beach,
I am ruthless and I will pull you under and then it will be too late,
you know?
And you'll be just another abandoned snorkel on the jagged rocks below.

And as much as I want to be the exhilarating parts of the sea for you,
all I can offer is the salt in me.
434 · Jun 2018
Untitled
Sag Jun 2018
I'm not much of a woman anymore
sometimes just a corpse lying in the dark while the sound of video games drown out my thoughts
sometimes I laugh with my teeth showing
sometimes
I want to be whole for you
to remind you why you fell in love with those shoe laces in the first place
to remind you how pretty I can be dressed up in lace
but those were the days before we had to be quiet
before I lost the words to say and the will to speak
431 · Mar 2015
hollow-hearted
Sag Mar 2015
I had open heart surgery when I was nine months old
because I had a hole in my heart that never closed.
I know this for sure, because I still have the scar.
And after much deliberation
and careful examination,
I believe that either the flesh is still exposed,
or my ***** resides somewhere inside of a bell jar,
vacant and numbed by the cold.
* * *
There must have been an open window near my hospital bed
but I was much too young to remember.
Sometimes you can't stitch the arctic emptiness with thread.
What's the weather like in September?
429 · Sep 2014
bone rattling thoughts
Sag Sep 2014
I panic at the thought of you wanting someone else.
I tremble at the words you've written for her.
423 · Sep 2014
I'm right here.
Sag Sep 2014
"I'm back, I'm good, I'm right here."
"Wait no, dear god, dear Jesus, lord, I'm sorry."

You were very high.
You were floating in and out of reality and your head was not in the clouds but it was buried underground and you prayed to your god telling him you were not ready to die and you apologized for loving me and you didn't want to go to Hell and you sang your favorite song to lower you back down
but everytime your toes slightly tapped the earth your heart beat faster and your wings began to flutter and you cried and shook and you wanted to erase your whole life and I have never seen you so afraid,
But you were not ready to die.
You're not ready to die.
You will live because you want to.
And I will live because I want you.
419 · Mar 2015
disoriented
Sag Mar 2015
Screams from her throat came first
Water from my eyes second
Water from the washer third
Arms around my figure fourth
Shakes and trembling hands fifth
A half present brain
A half organized book shelf
A full hearted ******* the floor
Asking to be heard over the pounding
With the wrong words, wounding.
An unplugged record player
A childish knock on the door
A desperate "please, go play"
A desperate "please, don't go"
A desperate "please, stay"
A shaking hand
A shaking pack of tic tacs
A fight not unlike the others
A car door
An empty hearted ******* the floor
414 · May 2015
Counting Sheep
Sag May 2015
Let's count how many times
I have to try to trick myself into thinking I don't want to stay.
Let's count how many different ways
I can spell out that it probably wouldn't have worked out anyway.
Let's count how many words
it takes to convince myself that I should let you go.
Let's count how many whispered "I love you"'s
that you still didn't believe though.
Let's count how many smiles
were exchanged when I said that you were mine.

Let's count how many breaths she took each time you touched her thigh...

Then again, let's not.
I don't think I have the time.
I don't think I can count that high.
414 · Aug 2016
Wrackspurts
Sag Aug 2016
Somethings different in my head, somewhere along the road of growing up, something changed. I'm not sure when and I definitely don't know exactly what it was that switched and sent me into this intense spiraling, the strangest sensation in my cranium.
you know how when something is spinning so quickly it appears to be standing still?
it's not thoughts.
I wish I could still concentrate on or articulate those things.
Sometimes my head feels like a hive, thousands of swarming bees buzzing, worried only about their honey, when something comes along and shoves a fist inside, grabs a handful, and leaves the bees in a vehement and mettlesome rage. Exasperated and feeling defeated, but determined to please their queen, they never stop.
It never stops.
It never stops.

It grinds it's teeth. It yells "listen to me, do what I say," it yells.
It hardly ever sleeps, and when it does it only dreams of hands reaching - grabbing, jutting out from very direction,
desperately hoping to find something to hold on to.
413 · Sep 2014
please return by
Sag Sep 2014
Bliss was sitting close on the cerulean carpeted floors between colorful bookshelves at the library. As she skimmed and scanned for artistic advice and techniques, I was intrigued by the history and works of Michelangelo. We exchanged alluring glances and subtle smiles between the silent absorption of information. I carried her books for her from the checkout counter to her car.
Life was a fairy tale, a fantasy, a novel in the romance section.

Contentment was cuddled next to her on a mattress with one hand wrapped around my torso and the other gently playing with my hair. She told me not to let her forget that her library books were due soon. She excitedly exclaimed that we'd have to go back and search for more.  
Life was the occasional poem she allowed me to read and the words that spilled from her mouth in sweet songs.

Angst was asking her to come to the library with me to search for a good book because even in forced silence I enjoyed her company. I was nervous that her response of "maybe one day" was a premeditated broken promise and that her feelings had faded like the inspiration for my old stories that have been tucked away for years in the attic.
Life was a mystery novel with cliffhangers and hidden clues.

I traced patterns on her shoulder with my fingertips and studied her face as she stared silently at the ceiling for hours.
Finally, with a somber voice and blank expression, she spoke to me.

"my library books are overdue."

I'm beginning to think that her abandonment is as well.
Sag May 2015
I'm not a gardener, and you say you aren't either, but we both know,
because I'll always have a soft spot for soft hips and small fingertips.
Because I'll always get high on the harmony of lullabies.
Because my favorite hair tie was his but it's also the color of your skin.
Because I'll always be wrapped around your green thumb,
even when I love him.
Roses bloom soon enough so that the thorns can hide.
Bare limbs can still look lovely beneath an overcast sky.
But just because the leaves are green when they grow again,
I won't forget the branches once were bent with emptiness.
410 · Apr 2015
Let It Be Known
Sag Apr 2015
I'll drink wine in a different floral mug each night of the week to trick my kidneys into believing it is romantic rather than cataclysmic and I'll walk the graveyards like I don't have the dates and names memorized already and I'll call the moon a 'she' and watch her disappear and I'll never stop trying to impersonate the squeaks of your swings when my voice feels unsteady.
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