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Dori Sep 2017
i know you aren't mine to miss anymore but i haven't been able to stop thinking about you since i woke up this morning
2. my mother always said that the past should stay dead but you're the only thing that's keeping me alive and even in the face of death..i can't stop smiling
3. I told my father that my dead memories love me more at night so he knows that when i get drunk..i'm just trying to cope with the silence
4. the sunset is the prettiest thing i see everyday and the moon makes nighttime a little less violent...you are both to me. beauty and madness.
5. you act like i have gold buried beneath my ribcage and I'm foolish enough to let you dig up the dirt because nothing could hurt more than knowing you'd probably rather be planting kisses on her neck
6. usually i get drunk and say things that i end up regretting in the morning but with you i wake up and the only thing i regret is not being able to be drunk falling asleep in your arms
7. i managed to leave my bed for at least 26 hours and i was lucky enough to see parts of this country i really never thought I'd see and in that time all i could think about was when i'd be lucky enough to show up where you are and tell you all the places i want to see with you
8. some of this feels forced and incomplete, you know? like we're try to make up for lost time..but I don't give a **** because i just want you back.
9. loving you was the only thing i can honestly say i've been really good at, what does she have that i don't?
10. i want you to know that i'll be here. through the wind and the rain..while you wipe her tears and ease her pain.
11. will i ever be enough for you again?
12. if i have to keep loving you from afar, I just wanna know...are you ever coming home?
Dori Oct 2017
She’s the girl you call in the middle of the night just to hear the way her voice sounds because you love the way it rings in your ears for hours even after hanging up. It’s addicting because you can’t get over the way the sound runs down the back of your throat because you always believed that love and laughter were the best medicines. She reminds you of being sick and the tea your mother would make you to cure the aching in your teeth and the throbbing of your tongue. She’s the girl that makes a lemon taste like sugar.

She’s the girl you look at when there’s a ninety percent chance of rain. She doesn’t always smile but there’s a light in her eyes that somehow shines brighter than anything you’ve ever seen. You’ve never touched a cloud but the way her cheeks rise and her teeth glow, you know it’ll be the softest thing you’ve ever had the pleasure of kissing.

Kissing. ****. She’s the kind of girl who won’t lick her lips when she’s nervous. But if you were to tell her that you loved her, she’d look away and bite her bottom lip so hard you’d think it should start bleeding. But that doesn’t matter because when you see the lines on her lips and watch the way her teeth radiate even in the dullest light, nothing…and mean nothing could ever stop you from drowning in a sea of blood before you stopped promising to love her forever.

She’s the kind of girl you’d walk through a hundred fires for because nothing could burn more than not having her fingers intertwined in yours.


She’s the girl that makes you question the idea of love in general because she let you go once already without a chance to hear her voice or see her face one last time.
She’s the girl you stay up until 3am writing poems for because you love when she tells you your writing is painful but she understands that beauty comes in waves and sometimes you have to drown to find the surface again.

She’s the kind of girl you go back to and forgive because she’s the kind of girl you can’t stay away from because she’s the kind of girl that you marry.

She’s the kind of girl you hope loves you back
Dori Apr 2018
My heart is buried somewhere beneath my mattress and my mind is hung by a noose from the blades of my ceiling fan.

I’m tired of pressing my ears against my bed sheets only to hear the echo of your voice.

I hate the thought of confusing the scent of your perfume with the dead roses I have placed along my mantel

My room is a mausoleum
Housing the body of a girl
No one could love

You’re a murderer

And my room is a tomb
It’s a crypt for the broken soul
Of a martyr
Dori Sep 2017
It’s waking up in your t-shirt and having to acknowledge the sun while wishing for the night to come back.

It’s getting in the shower and balling my eyes out because I know that’s the only time no one will hear me.

It’s disguising myself with foundation and winging my eyeliner because maybe then nobody will notice the way my hands are shaking and how the circles under my eyes look a lot like black holes.

It’s driving to work at 65 miles an hour praying something will happen in the 10 minutes it takes me to get to work, so I don’t have to lie to myself and everyone else by smiling and telling everyone I’m okay.

It’s everything.
Everything hurts.
You used to care about that stuff until holding my bones together at night no longer meant anything in the morning.
written sometime in 2015
Art
Dori Sep 2017
Art
There are words buried in the marrow of my bones,
and I have love swimming through my veins.
Nobody understands that since I was 13,
I’ve been using razors as paint brushes and my body as the canvas.
So when they ask me about the scars on my arms, I don’t say much. But in my head, I tell them I was writing poetry.
Dori Sep 2017
I probably smoke entirely too many cigarettes and I know I laugh too hard at jokes that aren’t actually that funny.
My mother always told me I had a big heart though.
So maybe that’s why I do everything so intensely.
Maybe that’s why I have so much empathy flowing through my veins.
I love too hard,
I know that.
And maybe that’s why you stopped loving me.
You didn’t know how to put out such a big fire;
so you just left me to burn.
Dori Oct 2017
We make sense only after the sun has died and the moon begins to breathe and we’ve sought shelter underneath our blankets.

I’ve never been good at pretty metaphors or painting dreams onto pieces of paper but if I told you I wanted to write about it, you’d be the first to proof read the catastrophe.

I’ve bared witness to our secrets becoming our strengths and I’ve felt our tears become the ocean.

There are dead roses planted at the bottom of my rib cage and you...slow time down long enough for me to believe that I have it.

I promise I never meant to make a home out of your heart but somewhere along the way, I stopped fighting wars and started sinking cities.
Dori Apr 2018
Why does the sun still shine after it rains?
Why do the flowers grow after the seasons change?
Why does blood still flow through punctured veins?

I suppose when you ask someone why they let go of a life,
you’d have to first ask yourself..
why they fought death in the first place.

Growth. Beauty. Love.

These are the things we stay alive for.
Does a dead poets words still contribute to society?
Dori Oct 2017
We bathe in the blood of people who could not love us.
Dori Sep 2017
I've been having quite a few conversations with your ghost lately.

You're still alive, but it's your memory-
your essence of presence that still haunts me.

Last month we talked about the park we used to meet at during the summer of 2012. (I think I can't remember the dates of us anymore) I used to always get there first because I lived right down the road.
You've been telling me to go there but I can't bring myself to take the drive because I know I'll just end up sitting on the bench alone.

Last week, you told me you never meant to hurt me, but there was just too many factors plotting against us.
There was never enough time, my mother couldn't stand the sight of you, and we were just too different. I held my tongue as you said these things because you again failed to mention the truth.

You had fallen out of love with me way before I even realized it.

Last night was the most recent discussion we've had.
I reluctantly confessed to still having the note you had written me on our one year anniversary. We were in high school. The only reason I remember that is because I remember the notebook you used to write to me in. (I didn't tell you that part though).   I also told you I almost burned it the other day, but that I wasn't ready to face that flame yet.

Your response to that was something I didn't expect.

You told me that it should have been you cleaning up the shards of glass you used to pierce my heart with. You know, instead of forcing me to apologize once again for leaving blood stains on your clothes.

But I haven't said anything back to you yet.
Because you are a ghost and this isn't real.

The bottom line is that...we just don't know each other anymore.
Dori Sep 2017
I drank poison
and expected you to be the antidote.
I'm sorry.
Dori Sep 2017
You always got so annoyed when I didn’t let you run your fingers through my hair. It was very rare that I’d ever have my hair down in plain sight around you because I knew you’d tell me how beautiful my hair was naturally and then you’d want to kiss me and then I know I’d let you. That’s the problem. I let you. I let you touch my hair even though I know my hair is too close to my skull which is close to my brain, which is my mind and honestly I just didn’t want you running your fingers through the knots and tangles that grow so close to my brain because my mind is not a natural or beautiful place.

So why the **** did I let you touch me?
Dori Apr 2018
If you mix ***** and lies
With talk of
Broken promises
And cutting ties

You get silver tongues
Of angry drunks
Who boil blood
And **** the young
Dori Jan 2019
You can’t just light a fire in someone
And then get angry when it burns you
You promised you’d stay.
Dori Sep 2017
I have this bad habit of unintentionally giving people my consent, allowing them to walk all over my heart without ever asking them to take off their shoes before they step inside my soul.
2-20-15
Dori Oct 2017
Your Father isn't perfect.
Actually he's the complete opposite. He tells you he loves you but only after you watch him dig in the downstairs closet for the bottle of ***** hidden away because loving you was too ******* exhausting.

Your Mother is a strong woman though.
She'll hold back her tears and smile at you and tell you everything is going to be alright until you watch her go upstairs, realizing she's going to the medicine cabinet to try and swallow all of her lies.

So here you are.
17 years old and trying to figure out ways to drown out the voices in your head. Nobody tells you how lonely your bed becomes when you finally start realizing that you'll never be stable enough to have someone cry in it with you.
Dori Sep 2017
It’s always a lie that causes the most pain, you know?
It’s not the veins you opened up, or the nights you spent with your head buried in the toilet throwing up the ***** you tried to fill the hole in your chest with.
Or the way you smile through the tears.

It’s the fact that you’re completely aware that you weren’t worth the ******* truth.
Dori Sep 2017
Wolves eat sheep
and we sleep just fine.
Dori Sep 2017
When they ask me what happened I’ll have to tell them that my arms weren’t strong enough to keep digging graves for people I should have buried a long time ago.
I’ll have to find a new favorite shade of green because green is the color of seasons changing and grass growing and my life has been nothing but false promises that even I couldn’t keep. Not to mention constant heart-break that I couldn’t keep up with.
The worst part about it though, is that I’d have to apologize for battles I’ve lost and relationships I could have fought for.
I’m terrified of being alone but one day someone’s going to ask me if I’m seeing anyone and I’m going to have be honest…

I’m going to have to tell them that the last song I listened to was a goodbye letter dedicated to he
If anyone could think of a better way to end this some critiques would be great!
H
Dori Sep 2017
H
You were always a different type of warmth to me. The first time we talked, I can remember not knowing what the sound of your voice sounded like..and the first time we talked on the phone I remember feeling tears running down my face because when you said "hello" it was everything I had ever imagined. Your voice resonated in my ears, my brain, and my ribcage. It shook me to my core. You have the softest and most sweetest melody to your voice.
And that's something I will never be able to get out of my head.
I've always loved music.
And we used to sing ballads together.
Dori Jan 2019
I always leave hoping someone will run after me. I’m not good at goodbyes and I hate letting go.
It’s been that way for years.
For a while, my demons left me alone and I met a few angels along the way.
The peace of having a hand to hold kept my sanity in tact.
I slept fine underneath the blankets of affection and dreamt of dreams that I knew would come true.

For a while I believed that I was happy.
I have never needed to be saved.
I can do that myself.

I just want to be loved.
Dori Nov 2017
She cried gently into the phone
“This happens every time...you get drunk and you decide that you don’t love me anymore”.
There was a silence so loud that for a second I thought that’s the only sound I’d ever hear again.
I wanted so badly to tell her that she was wrong..but instead I hung up the phone all together.
I sat my phone down and crawled into bed.
I pressed my face against my pillow and I whispered so quietly that I don’t even know if I actually even said it out loud.




“I don’t”.
Dori Apr 2018
She’s not my type
But  then again
She also isn’t you

So maybe I’m wrong
Again
Dori Sep 2017
I'm so tired of reading signs as more than they are.
I don't think I will ever be able to fully comprehend the concept of "falling out of love" with someone because
every single person I've ever held on to has not only left me
but has also given me multiple-
and I say multiple
The way I spit apologies I don't mean out of my mouth

"Multiple"
reasons to leave..
•to abandon my safe haven
•to be evicted from a heart that I once called home
•to grieve a soul that isn't buried six feet under

And yet I'm up at midnight looking at the moon  
(God she's so beautiful)
Trying to make sense of the oxygen Im lacking in each moment as I try to breathe.

Maybe it's because my mother never forced religion on me
And that's why I'm biased when I say that the most beautiful girl in the world has not only broken me in half
but has deliberately lit a match in front my face and set my life on fire.
I don't know.
I guess I'm just tired of burning in solitary for people who will never be brave enough to melt in harmony with me.
Dori Sep 2017
I’m not someone you fall in love with. 

I’m the girl you find in the Fall and get sick of by winter. I’m the girl you make empty promises to. I’m the girl who holds onto those promises. I’m the girl who wakes up every morning missing you not knowing if you miss her instead. I’m the girl you stay up until 3am talking to and then the same girl who doesn’t get a good morning text. I’m the girl who gives you second chances because I believe we can make this work. I’m the girl who’s not brave enough to tell you that I’ve loved you since November and still loved you in February…even after you told me you had feelings for him. I’m the girl you use. I’m the experiment. I’m the trial and also the error. I am the girl who breaks her bones while crying into a pillow. I’m the girl who smiles at strangers because they might have it worse than me.
But I’m the girl you ******* leave.
Dori Sep 2017
If I shed a tear into the ocean,
I’d love you until I found it.
Dori Sep 2017
You get sunshine and hot coffee.
While I'm stuck with cloudy skies and an empty stomach.
My mother never taught me anything about falling in love or how to water a dying plant, but growing up in the dark made me realize that crying into your pillow at two in the morning doesn't make you weak. And laughing so hard that your bones ache, doesn't make you whole.
But sometimes I find myself crying or laughing while hoping that you miss me.
Sometimes I even convince myself that you do.
Even if I know that you don't.
1/20/2016
Dori Sep 2017
I’m going to write you letters. A letter for everyday I’ve been without you. A letter for every day I felt hurt. A letter for every day I’ve missed you. I’m going to write you birthday letters, Christmas letters, New Year’s Eve letters. I’m going to write you sad letters, angry letters, and forgiving letters. I’m going to write to you. I’m going to write until my hand breaks. I’m going to spill every single drop of emotion my heart has spilled for you and has yet to. I’m going to write down every single thought I’ve ever thought and emotion I’ve ever felt, for and with you. I’m going to write you. Letters I’ll never send you. But I will still write you. I’ve always loved writing, and you always said I was a great writer. And I also love you. So I’ll get to put the two things I love most in one place. If you ever want to feel my heart again, if you ever for some reason want to see if I still care.. Take these letters. I’m badly bruised, almost paralyzed. I no longer want to speak, or even feel. So I will write to you, all that is real.
it's been 4 years since we broke up and I still haven't stopped writing to you
Dori Apr 2018
When I realized that I didn’t want to love you anymore, I realized that I probably never did.
Stop looking for me. You’ll never find me again.
Dori Apr 2018
I’ll keep your memory in the closet
Right next to all my other skeletons
Dori Jan 2019
I don’t think I’d say hello even if I found the right words to
However you can have this
You can have this night
You can kiss this morning
I’m very tired
I’m tired of this mourning
Your memories don’t burn
Not like they used to
But I’m twirling my thumbs
And I’m swallowing dead corpses

You left
You left twice actually
Idk
I’m tired
I’m tired of this mourning
Do you think soul mates die like stars do?
Dori Sep 2017
I'd rather **** on a cigarette than kiss your lips ever again.
It'll take nicotine at least twenty years to **** me.
It took you two weeks.

A cigarette is dedication.
You were just a bad habit.
Dori Sep 2017
Maybe I started to write songs for other girls because I had to find a way to stop making excuses for singing you love songs that you didn’t really know the words to.
But it doesn’t matter anymore.
I had to stop writing because I got tired of having to pretend that I cared about lyrics that didn’t mean a ******* thing to me.
Because when you left, I think rib cage turned into curtains.
But when they’re pulled back all they expose is the empty stage where my heart is supposed to preform on.
So now every time someone tries to sing love songs back to me, I can’t help but untie the rope holding my curtains open…to fall.

Because why would I sing about love if I know you’ll forget the words?
Dori Apr 2018
I used to write poems for a girl who couldn’t understand the concept of depth
I meant death
Because seven years ago
I used my blood as ink
And my skin as the paper
But today I write poems for one girl
And for the empire I have built
With my blood
With my flesh

But sweetheart, this isn’t about me.

You like poetry now because
You understand what it feels like
To be ripped apart
From the inside out

Let me ask you this:

Depression doesn’t seem so funny
When you experience a broken heart first hand
Does it?
Dying instead of living without the one you love
Doesn’t seem so dramatic when she finds someone else
2 months later to kiss goodnight
Does it?

Realizing that your past lovers weren’t the ones with the problem
But the reflection looking back at you
Every day makes a little more sense


Doesn’t it?
Dori Sep 2017
You sit there on the edge of your bed at seventeen wondering where the hell it all went wrong.
Growing up didn’t seem so awful until you realized that eventually you’re going to fall in love with a beautiful girl, and she’s going to tell you she loves you back but not until she loads her gun.
So you keep sitting there, at the edge of your bed, praying that she loves the color of your eyes more than she loves the smell of the flowers she’s going to place at your grave.
But she doesn’t.
She never did.
So at seventeen, you decide to jump.
You jump off your bed and the fall seems to go on forever.
But your bed was never a bed, it was the pedestal she had you on for fifteen months and you finally had the courage to take that leap of faith and free yourself.
Except freedom isn’t freedom if you’re still shackled up and chained at the bottom of the oceans in her eyes and helplessly addicted to the satin feel of her skin. You scream and scream, but nothing can break the silence.

That’s when you realize she pulled the trigger and didn’t even kiss you goodbye.
12-15-14
Dori Apr 2018
Just tell them I died a famous poet
An architect of the ******
A designer of catastrophe

Tell them I fell asleep
And never woke up
Because the words I wrote
Were never enough
Dori Jun 2018
There’s really no poetic way to write about someone who didn’t love you

I don’t think there’s a beautiful way of saying
“She didn’t love me”

I don’t know, I guess maybe I’ve been writing these words in hope of finding a way to tell everyone that she didn’t love me


She doesn’t love me.
I don’t really know how to make that sound beautiful.

Has anyone found a poetic way of writing
“She doesn’t love me” without breaking down and screaming first?

She never loved me.
It’s summertime.

It’s summertime now,
And we fell in love when the snow was falling.
Do you think dying in the cold makes more sense
Than blooming underneath the sun?
She never loved me.
She just tried to plant a seed in the wrong season.

You planted your seed in the snow covered hills.
Well the suns out now and all you can do is destroy any hopes of a garden this year.

All these words,
And still nothing hurts more than
To hear
“She never loved you”

She never loved you.
She didn’t love you.
No one loves you.
She didn’t love me.
Semantic satiation (also semantic saturation) is a psychological phenomenon in which repetition causes a word or phrase to temporarily lose meaning for the listener, who then perceives the speech as repeated meaningless sounds.
Dori Sep 2017
I think I'm supposed to say yes she's the one for me because there's no chance of you coming back, right?

Even if I spent the rest of my life bruising my knees on the ground as I beg you to cut my chest open and hold my heart again?
I don't really know what the notes part of this is for but I would just like everyone to know that I'm really not as sad as I lead on. I love my girlfriend and I love my past because it gives me a way to continuously cope with the mistakes I've made.
Dori Sep 2017
Because no one tells you that killing yourself is possible without actually dying. So you stay where you are, at 17, barely treading water and eventually you sink. And the only thing you can do at that point is drown. Nobody knows how hard you've been fighting and you're just so tired. See, everyone is too busy focusing on why you did it and questioning how you could be so selfish that nobody realizes you've been fighting a war against things that can't be seen. You were so young. The worst part is that nobody bothers to look for your body because everyone is too afraid of what might be at the bottom of your ocean.
Dori Apr 2018
I just hope you’ll never be cruel enough
To place me in a box
And throw me in with all of the other misfortunes you’ve stored away

Because
I never touched your skin
And made you flinch
I never kissed your lips
with false intentions
I never held your hand
Thinking I’d ever have to let it go
I would have never left you
In the dirt
On your knees
Begging for you to stay

I never did anything other than love you, and you know it.
So please
Don’t ever place me in a box
And tell people that
“We just didn’t work out”.
Dori Apr 2018
I’m going to die one day.
And I’m not going to have any words for the people I left living.

I try to say them in the moments
The words..
And all I hope is that everyone will remember them.
The way I remember things.

But my Mother always told me,
That my heart isn’t for everybody
And that I have an over active imagination.

So maybe I’ll go.
Maybe I’ll go,
And leave everyone with a moment.
Because if that’s my purpose
I will use this life has a sheet of paper
And I will scribble down
Every second that has ever meant more
than just a moment to me
Dori Oct 2017
It’s 4 in the morning on a Saturday and you haven’t slept in 3 days because you don’t know how to sleep without hearing those three words that you've always so foolishly believed. So you just lay there flat on your stomach with your ear against the mattress, drowning in silence and choking back ***** your stomach is too empty to throw up. At this point the sound of your heart beating at all makes you anxious and confused because how does a guitar make music without any strings? You’re rocking back and forth, tossing and turning trying to escape, but you won’t sleep because yesterday she promised to love you through anything and now you know that when Sunday comes around you will have lost everything.
Dori Sep 2017
I just want to know if you remember... 


That night I got high for the first time and we sat on cloud nine together. We were sitting in the back seat of your best friends car and you leaned in and kissed me. You kissed me with a vengeance. It was like all the passion you were trying to feel left your heart the minute our lips touched. I felt like I was flying, but the only problem was that you pulled away first. I was in the air and your feet were planted on the ground. I think you stopped loving me that night, and I think I became addicted to the clouds because you always said I looked prettier than any sunset you’ve ever seen.

But I think you stopped loving me that night because I think you saw the moon and pictured stars on your skin. Getting high used to take me to your world but I think you stopped loving me that night because I’m not sure where my home is anymore.

I just wanna know if you remember when I love you stopped meaning something to you.
First love..
Dori Sep 2017
I think what people don’t understand about what I’m going through is that it’s not a connection I’m able to bond with someone over. It’s not like asking about the weather.
I ******* hate the weather.
I mean I love the weather.
But how do you talk about the rush of swallowing rain drops like honey, sitting at the bottom of your tea…to someone who’s protecting their eyes from the sun?

See, my anxiety isn’t cool.
Or beautiful.
Or poetic.
It’s my boss asking how I’m doing and me telling her “I’m tired, but I’m doing good”. It’s her asking if I’ve ever tried melatonin at night to help me sleep.
It’s me saying “Yeah, once or twice” and meaning “I’ve been taking narcotics since I was 16, but I had to ween myself off of them because I’m too nervous to call the pharmacy back”.
It’s not that I don’t sleep. 

It’s that I won’t sleep.

Because I can’t sleep.

Because these voices plant seeds in the dark patches of soil underneath my eyes and I have to let them grow or else I might die. 

It’s not that I haven’t tried sleeping, it’s just that sleeping is hard when you know you have to wake up the next morning.

People don’t understand that wearing the same hoodie for 4 days and not leaving my room for 3, isn’t because I’m lazy or unorganized.
It’s because I haven’t found the motivation to look for the keys that unlock the chains around my ankles that have me shackled to my bed.

Please don’t ask me to go to lunch with you, I won’t be able to sit and have a conversation with you for longer than 10 minutes before I say “I have to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back”, and that isn’t me using the toilet for anything other than bowing my head in shame, as I throw up the poison and acid in my stomach that I pretended was food.
You’ll ask me “Is that all you’re going to eat? You barely ate anything” and I’ll smile and say “Yeah I wasn’t really that hungry. I had a big breakfast….3 days ago”.

My arms are not an optical illusion.
But if you look at them long enough, I’m sure you’ll see the words to my poems written between the lines.
Don’t ask me about them because I’ll want to tell you about how I never listened to my mom when she told me not to run with scissors.
But I won’t.
I’ll butter it up and tell you that The Lion King is my favorite movie and that my cats name is Scar.
But you’ll tell me you never really liked cats, you’re more of a dog person.

I’m not quiet.
It’s just that most of the time I don’t have anything “socially acceptable” to talk about.
I’m not quiet, I’m not tired…well I am tired.
Jesus **** I’m always so ******* tired. But I’m aware.

I think that’s what a lot of people don’t understand. 


My story isn’t written in ink on pretty piece of stationary. 
It’s not squeezing a stress ball because I have an exam at 8 in the morning. 
It’s not wearing all black.
It’s not eating almonds for dinner.
It’s not heartbreak. 
It’s not falling leaves or stars in the sky.
It’s summer, spring, fall and winter all ******* in a nest of knots, sewn together with every vein in my body.
It’s 7 journals, in 6 months with 27 suicide notes, 4 hospitalizations and a dozen different letters I’ve written to the voices inside my head.
It’s 13 pills a day kissed by bottle of wine every night.
It’s not a symbol of beauty, it’s a form of torture.
And that’s what people don’t understand.
But my job isn't to make you understand it..my job is to make sure I survive it
Dori Oct 2017
You didn’t want to leave, I felt it.
Now here you are, 8 months later with a canyon sized hole replacing the spot where heart is supposed to be.
You’re probably chugging down fifths of ***** and making meaningless conversations with people who have absolutely no interest in getting to know the madness that’s going on inside your head.
You call your Mother but she tells you the same ******* thing over and over again, and all you hear is that she doesn’t support you.
Your Father has always been there for you though, even if you didn’t think he was a one point.
Sunflowers aren’t your favorite flower anymore because too many people knew that about you.
You’re spending thousands of dollars on a school that doesn’t teach you a ******* thing about how to put the smallest pieces of shattered glass back together.
Because that’s what your heart was.
It was expensive China, and you trusted clumsy people with your fragile heart.
How stupid could you be right? To think that anyone has the capacity to take care of something so delicate.
But there was one girl, at one time.
Remember her? The insecure girl who ironically didn’t care about anyone but herself? But she loved you, didn’t she? Oh God, she loved you. She fought through your ******* and stayed committed to you even after you gave her so many reasons not to be.
Do you know what happened to that girl? She died. She was buried next to the promises you broke along with her own heart. Just when everyone thought she was gone forever, a year passed, and she was reincarnated into someone you don’t recognize. I hear she still thinks about you from time to time. Wondering if you’re eating okay, taking care of yourself and wishing you the best. But the girl now, writing this ******* poem, is the girl you will never have the pleasure of ever meeting again.
You didn’t want to leave, but you did.
Dori Sep 2017
I can’t think of the words to describe how the vacancy in my chest is crawling up my spine and ringing in my ears. No one’s going to understand that I’ve made a home by stacking my broken bones, glued together with my blood because you don’t get recognized for trying. People notice your smile and the light in your eyes only after you’ve swam through the deepest depths of hell.
Dori Apr 2018
Don’t be surprised when you come back, knocking on the door,
only to find some dust,
your clothes,
And pieces of a broken heart scattered on the floor.
I told you I was leaving.
Dori Jan 2019
I tried to love you one last time
I promise I did
I caressed your memory in the back of my throat
And puked up everything I wanted to tell you

Maybe this last time
Will make more sense
Than the beginning we never had

I remember sweaty bodies
Pressed against each other
Under fluorescence lights
Chasing after
Stripped clothing on hotel room floors

Do you remember?
The night we telepathically chose love?
Because I do
I remember everything
Dori Sep 2017
Swallowing all those pills and burning your throat taking seven shots of whiskey never once cured the emptiness that sat in the hole that filled your chest.
It only made you sick and hungover.
Your Mother tried to hold you in her arms and rub your back until you were better but even in that daze, while you’re trying to drown yourself in your tears and spitting up blood, you never forget how numb you feel and you never forgot her name.
12-19-14
Dori Sep 2017
I call it writers block
because nothing else comes to mind other than the night you left me in my dorm room with nothing but a blood stained towel and a half empty bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

I call it writers block
because there are voices in my head fighting a war against each other and they're using my blood as a weapon.

I call it writers block because..
let's be honest,
nobody wants to keep hearing about a break up after an entire ******* year.

I call it writers block
because you are falling asleep to the sound of her voice, while I stay up until 3 o'clock in the morning, listening to cars passing by.
Always hoping one day, it will be your headlights I see shining through my bedroom window, pulling into my driveway.

I mostly call it writers block though..
.because nobody gives a **** if i miss you or not.
I wrote this poem 3 years ago. And it's one of my favorites. I can't explain this enough. This was my life..for so long.

— The End —