I want to tell you something,
But before I start I want to make one thing very clear;
This isn't a confession.

There was a time when I started helping others
Because I had learned how to help myself first.
There was a time when I stole the sun
Not knowing that something so beautiful could burn me.
There was a time when I pretended I was sick with poetry.
I heaved and convulsed ink out onto countless pages,
And to this day I blame other people for my pain.

But in truth…
I never learned how to help myself.
And it wasn't the sun I stole,
But with the way her eyes shined
It was easy to get the two confused,
And my God did she burn me.
I’m not really sick with poetry either.
These poems are just my muse,
And even if I know it’s not true,
I still blame others for all of my pain.

There are times when I help others
even though I can’t help myself.
There are times when the sun is the last thing I want to see,
Even on my darkest days.
There are times that I get so sick with the idea of poetry.
It’s hard to write something and not fall victim to it.
And there are times that I blame others for my pain,
Even if I’m the one who chose to get hurt by them.

And I want to make one thing very clear,
That even if all of my suffering is my fault,
Even if I’m the one who did this to myself,
I’m the one who picked up the pen.
But this isn't a confession.

I am surrounded by
glass walls,
covered in smudges from
where I tried to wipe
my fingerprints
away

The morning is coming, the hour is late.
Soon we will go to our separate fates.
The weight of this moment, like a feather.
The morning light ends our time together.

But before you go, I must ask you a favor.
If my mind is one that you ever do savor;
Though I know, as it is, this will never be,
But just this once, would you lie to me?

Press to me close, and close your eyes,
Soothe me so gently with your silk skin lies.
Press your lips now and whisper it clear,
Those saving deceptions I long to hear.

I don’t crave the physical, I crave the thought.
And those around me think me distraught.
But as one who knows that the physical dies,
All I want to hear tonight are comforting lies.

Tell me tomorrow will never come,
Our hearts won’t wither, my mind won’t numb.
Tell me now, that I’m just beginning my run.
That what was broken can be undone.

Lie to me! Just one more time.
As surely the sun makes its climb,
Tell me now that I will find a lover.
Kiss me softly and give me cover.

Most of all, tell me my pain was real.
Make me believe that I still do feel.
Remind me please, that I’m not done.
Even if we depart with the rising sun.

Deceive me now and I promise you,
With all of my heart I’ll believe it’s true.
For when the light shines clear and through,
We’ll see just what the sun can do.

lightning sparked my brain
to life
when you touched me
and it was then you realized
you were afraid
of thunderstorms.



Copyright ©  2015 Alyssa Packard
All Rights Reserved

Have you ever been afraid to write?
Almost like you don't want to feel what you would write about?
Yet at the same time you're craving it?

I want to write,

I want to write about the offset piece of sidewalk outside her house
     that I always managed to trip over no matter how many times I had
     before promising I would never trip again.
I want to write about how I would drive the long way to get to where I
     was going for months after we broke up just so I could pass the road
     leading to her house just to have a chance of seeing her, even if she
     never noticed me.
I want to write about how I'm afraid I'll never feel the static race down
     my spine when I kiss someone ever again because after she left no
     kiss has ever managed to spark anything inside of me.
I want to write about how I sat for hours on the ledge where we first
     kissed because I could let my tears fall down off the cliff like rain
     that I hoped would water the ground enough for a flower to grow so
     if she ever came back she would have something almost as beautiful
     as her to see there waiting.                                    
I want to write about how I now understand how Jesus could die for
     people who hated him because even though she hates me,
     I begged God to forgive her, because she knew not what she did to
     me.

But I don't write any of it,
Because I’m afraid to feel like that again,
Because It's pathetic,
Because I'm afraid she will see it,
Because it's not love,
It's poetry.

And no matter what her reply was,
it's still poetry.
And even though I don't love her anymore,
she’s still my stanza,
And I'm trying to find a new poem to write.

Lay flat on your back and staple yourself to a falling star, make yourself look like a wish burning out of the sky to save the person desperate enough to wish upon you.

2. Nail rose petals to your hands and offer them as the apology you won’t give them after you've left, but they don’t know that yet because you said you were different and they trust you.

3. When things start to fit together make sure you cut the silence with lies sharper than the razors that tear through skin cleaner than a blank page.

4. Tell them to take a breath of fresh water because rivers will fill their lungs better than any summer breeze ever could.

5. Tie yourself to a lightning bolt and hold it down. Keep its light to yourself. Make sure you convince them that you’re not as lost and hopeless as you seem because no one wants to love someone as broken as you.

6. I've heard it said that human ashes make great fertilizer so turn yourself into stardust and pollute the galaxy with your remains. Make your debris cloud the night skies. Grow false hope in everything you touch.

7. Find someone extremely flammable, make them trust you, then strike matches across their weary smile. Even if they don’t deserve to burn in your wake.

8. Make your touch feel like a gun in their hands, heavy with the weight of black steel promises to never leave, and then once they take the safety off…

9. Misfire straight into their chest. Let the impact of your leaving tear through where their heart used to be and mistake the throb of ripping skin and the dull snapping of bone as a heartbeat.

10 .Reload.

So… you want to be remembered? It’s easy really…

1. Make someone love you, and hurt them.

I want her to know that:
I just want to tell her off...
I want to get mad at her because I never did.
I want to be harsh with her and tell her the truth,
     not love her and protect her the way that I did.
I want to tell her how lucky she is that she's beautiful,
     because without her beauty she would have nothing.
I want to tell her how sick and manipulative she is.
I want to rip apart my ribs and show her my ruined heart,
     she ruined love for me.
I want to take back all the times I told her I loved her
     and all the things we did together.
I want every breath back that I spent complimenting her.
I want pain and I want solace.
I want her to know I don't miss her.
I want her to know I hope she fails at everything she does in life
     just to watch me succeed.
I want to show her how successful I can be without her.
I want to achieve everything she ever wanted in life,
     and disregard it.
I want to brag and make her sick every time she sees my writing
    quoted and shared online.
I want her to feel the uselessness and abandoned feeling she gave me.
I want her to cry and stay up every night because
     she can't sleep anymore.
I want revenge and I want bliss.
I want her to know how worthless she is to me
     because I loved her once.
And I know I won't ever have any of this,
But if she's worth anything at all...
      she's worth my one wish to have it all.