i am 13 years old and in a brand new
yellow two piece swim suit when
your gaze flickers up then down
you are 21 and it is okay because
i “look old enough to be 18”
but my mother doesn’t think so
she snaps at you to “keep your
eyes in your head boy before you
lose ‘em i promise you that”
i am embarrassed for all the wrong
reasons but it doesn’t click
until years later when i realize it
i wanted my mother to keep it down
let him look but don’t let him touch
it’s okay mom it’s flattering to me
but it is not okay
i was not embarrassed because my
mother had every right
i was ashamed from the way his
male gaze swept across my body
as if he were searching for a meal
i was ashamed because i thought
that’s how women got complimented
how girls were suppose to behave
i was ashamed because “am i
not **** enough for him mom
should no man look at me?”
i was ashamed because i
was 13 and it was the first time
i was introduced to sexuality
but now i am not ashamed
i am angry because
i am not the only one
and yet he begs
my hands are covered
in blood that is not mine.
he reaches into my chest
for a heart he can't find.
let him know it's not him.
let him know it's not love.
it's a temporary feeling
that i no longer dream of.
being unable to love *****
I use to want perfection
in my reflection,
and thought I was just
in a collection,
and wanted to be a part
of the selection
that obtained affection
for their complexion,
that passed the
and did not fear rejection,
because they knew
they were headed
in the right direction
of self resurrection,
but now I want to
be an art collection
that exudes a projection
instead of false infection
and natural selection,
whether it has
You're across the room.
With eyes that spread fire
throughout my body
and hands that devour
my eternal bliss
in a series of fingers,
clashing and tangling
like the jungle that once held
the most ferocious of beasts,
but is now corrupt with the
subjects he once ruled.
*and I don't know if I'm running to
or from you
We'd both seen this coming for awhile now
Yet we'd managed to neglect it somehow.
Through the looking glass of tears and stained tiles
Through the cracked and shattered fake smiles.
Through washed blood from opened scars
When I found you emptied out in hometown bars.
Passed blurried eyes and foggy car windows
Into alcohol filled veins and tear soaked pillows.
Instead of you embracing me I cradled you
Passing down dreamless hallways inable to get through.
The war hasn't begun it's been going on for ages
You've set up your defences but I'm not in those stages.
I don't want to fight I want you better
But this letter, I won't regret her.
Please tell me you understand my pain and sorrow
Please get better, I'll see you tomorrow.
i wrote this to my mother hoping she would understand
i will not like you
i promise i won’t
with shaking hands
i’ll confess that i don’t
i may like your eyes
and i may like your talk
i really like your voice
and how you use it to mock
you sing even though you can’t
and you’re funny even when you’re not
you’re quiet and reserved
at least that’s what i thought
i do not like you
even though i could
i’m just a little broken
but i know that i would
we’re a lot alike
which is good for a friendship
that’s all i can think about
we’re not ready for a relationship
the more i write though i realize
that maybe i like you a little
you’re easy to talk to and
it doesn’t feel like a riddle
okay so maybe it’s a lot
but that doesn’t matter
you’d be a great companion
but you should really be the latter
i do like you
it’s unfortunately so
but it’s not meant to be
i wish it were though
i’ve got a crush
A name is a name
to which someone is giving
for how they act
or how they look
for what they do
or what they say
But the name you have given
me is none of the above
for I did not act how you say
I do not look how you think
I did not do what you whispered
I did not say what you spread
I am not fake
and I am not a loner
Because to be fake
is to act like someone you are not
And to be a loner
I would have to want to be alone
But I do not know who I am
so I cannot act like someone else
And I cannot leave this ****** house
because of the scars etched across my skin where your words inflicted them
I am not what you say I am
I do not what you say I do
I just try to be the best possible me there is
Without knowing me at all
This one's kinda confusing, I was a little confused when I wrote this myself. Decipher it however you want.
there's a passion in my veins
burning through me like liquid fire.
I rise to the top
so close I can taste the sweet taste of stars,
but then the taste turns bitter,
and I am second best.
and **** I'm so tired of feeling like I'm not a first
do poems only flourish when they are rooted in the soil of emotions?
shall i water them with my tears?
do they sprout from the anger that weeds itself through my soul?
are they the seeds that i planted in my garden and only grow when the sky flashes and thunder sounds?
will you pluck them and use them as decoration for your dinner table?
do they bloom in the moonlight?
are they the trees that sway in the wind yet stand tall in the face of a hurricane?
are poems only full of emotion when we are?
or can i truly write whatever i want?
what is poetry?
Some days my head is high
My chin is raised
My eyes are bright
And I sing self praise
Other days my head is low
My chin is tucked
My eyes are sad
I'm out of luck
My soul is joyful
I feel no fear
I can't stop smiling
I'm happy I'm here
I go outside
I grin at the sun
I smell the roses
It's good to be someone
But then I'm down
And everything crashes
A tear slowly slides
The pain comes in flashes
It hurts to breathe
Yet I cry and cry
Sometimes I wish
That I could just die
But then I remember
I was made for something
And I lift my head
And walk with a spring
I move on to the good days
I pass the hurt
Because even the best days
Outshine the worst
they tell you not to revolve your life around money
it costs at least $2000 a day for life support
way to go america
i am a flower.
i will grow in the sunlight
and bloom under the moon.
i will be plucked by fingers
too greedy to nourish me after.
but i am a flower
and i refuse to wilt in your vase.
i wasn’t born to create
tear stains in my pillow at night.
i was born to draw
blood from bone
i will protect
my body as if
it were a blade of
grass in a
i will not bend to your winds.
why oh why mother must you call me a *****
i am a misunderstanding
i am misinterpreted
i am the second to the first
and then i am cast away
singing the melody of a song
that is never heard
i am the one they turn to
when no one is there
or when everyone leaves
and then I am the one
being left though you know
what loneliness feels like
i am held to a standard
and talked to with love
but my friends are only
the lonely lilacs
sitting on the side of the road
waiting to be picked up
only to be hung upside down
i am everything you ever
wanted and nothing all at
the same time and when
you are through with me
you will wonder why I left
but you left me first
“i am a god!”
with shaking fists
and a beat-red face.
his knees scabbed
and his blood flowing freely
onto the cemented ground.
she stared down at him,
and a hint of a smile.
and ready for battle.
“you may be a god,
but i am hades.
and i bow to no one.”
her hair falls down her back and
glistens as she flaunts passed me
she has new jeans and heels that click down the hallways announcing her
she smiles at everyone and it is so
clean and beautiful that you can't help
her skin is smooth like the girls'
in the commercials that flash on your
if i am compared to a daisy in a field
of roses then she is the earth
in which they sprout from
she is the definition of lady like
while I am the elbows on the table
at dinner time
she is the girl next door
the one you marry and have at least
2.5 children with
i am the one who has whispered
curses and disappointing stares to
she is not sugar and honey but instead
is the combination of lavender and pine
relaxing and natural
i am hours in the mirror
staring at my reflection wondering
when will it start answering back
she doesn't own a mirror for fear
that she will behave selfishly
because looking at yourself is vain
i think looking at myself
is punishment that i was so wrongly
but my paroles aren't short lived
it's a constant voice in my head
saying i'll never be like her
she is everything i am not
because i am not like her
but i want to be
i want to be someone i'm not, but what else is new
Head is pounding
Heart is sounding
I can feel it
in my bones,
the enmity within.
Skin is pulsing
My thoughts wander
violent and empty.
Fists are shaking
Knees are breaking
Yet I pretend
that I am
Lies are spoken
My heart broken
But this time my
words will be
And my anger
into it's submission,
Like the rest of me.
If diamonds are one in a million,
then you must be the one
who hides the eyes of hurt
and tears of sorrow.
If crystals are used for beauty,
then you must be the one
who injects it into your veins
to stop the pain of tomorrow.
If pearls were to be a necklace,
then yours must look like
charred rope that wraps around
your neck in the middle of the night.
When all of the guilt,
And all of the shame,
When all of the hurt,
And all of the pain,
Undulates through your body
like the harshest of oceans
in the middle of a hurricane.
Like the vortex of a tornado
that swallows houses and families,
that destroys the earth's being.
You will see me.
And I will smile.
Because no matter how hurt I am,
I will always forgive you.
Even if you don't say sorry.
To my wrecked and broken sister, I see you. You're not alone.
I can't breathe.
The air is extricated from
my lungs by their
stares and their obscene
words litter my skin
like the paint
that splattered my pink flesh
as I tried to paint you
a picture of what
this feels like.
No amount of water
could cleanse the feeling
of the tense atmosphere that
clouds my vision
as if I were a wingless airplane
flying on a foggy night, but
I'm not a flight you want
to take home tonight.
And I know you see
my straightened back
as another entity proceeds
2 feet too close into my
Pretend you don't see anything.
For acknowledging my
social anxiety doesn't
It causes me to be
more anxious than before.
waiting waiting waiting
at your front door
call me sweetheart
i’ve heard it before
wondering wondering wondering
if you’ll answer or not
but a blank stare
was all that i got
hoping hoping hoping
this was just a bad day
“i just don’t feel well”
is all you would say
knowing knowing knowing
that this is the end
your eyes are saying everything
that you could not send
but i’m done waiting
and i’m done wondering
and i’m done hoping
because i know
that nothing i could do
and nothing i could say
would stop you from leaving
when you didn’t want to stay
what have i done wrong
the thing about heartbreak
is that it doesn’t really stop
you feel it when you
see their face in the
you feel it when you
find a new lover who treats you
but they don’t text the same
but they don’t talk the same
but they don’t feel the
same thing happens
when you see them for the first
it’s outside your favorite coffee shop.
they’re walking towards you and you keep
now the coffee is cold
and it’s bitter and you can’t drink
don’t make eye contact
don’t make eye contact
i sometimes see his face on the
empty milk cartons with “missing”
i sometimes hear his voice
singing the lines to my favorite *******
i sometimes feel his touch
though i only felt it once against my
warm and light
warm and light
light only seeps into my cold
heart again when i finally
my eyes shut and my
breath goes steady like a spring
my body and brain
relax and forget about the cruel
you are the forgotten
you are the forgotten
the thing about heartbreak
is that it doesn’t really stop
i’m a step latter.
i’m kept between your fridge and the wall and barely make appearances.
you only take me out when you need to reach the cereal from the top cupboard.
you only use me when you’re in need.
i guess i can say you rely on me...
in a way.
but you won’t let anyone else use me for fear of them getting hurt.
then you’d have to shave out some money for their hospital bill to fix what i did.
so after you’ve gotten your cereal, and the box is back in place, you shove me back between your fridge and the wall.
you forget i’m there completely.
you’ll use the counter instead to hoist up and grab a bag of chips.
and when you fall from trying to get down , you’ll run back to me,
“i should’ve come to you,” you’ll say.
but i know you’ll reclimb that counter when you don’t wanna use me.
you don’t have to flatter me.
i know you’re tired of me.
you need the space between your fridge and the wall for your new step latter.
it’s a better step latter, i’ll admit.
it doesn’t wobble when it unfolds.
it’s made of strong, shiny metal as opposed to my cracked plastic.
and when i’m hiding between the tree and a trash outside, i realize you didn’t want me.
you just needed something to stand on.
my description of my toxic friendship
Fire Isn't Always Physical.
it's the day when i first saw you
it's my cheeks when you first talked to me
it's my skin when you run your fingers across it
it's my heart when you say you love me
it's my entire being as you hold me
Fire Isn't Always Present.
it's the day when you said you didn't need me
it's my cheeks as my tears stream down them recklessly
it's my skin as your words tear it apart violently
it's my heart when you refuse to look back
it's my entire being as you walk away
Fire Isn't Always Precious.
it's the day i see you with another
it's my cheeks when they beat red with anger
it's my skin when the image of you and her shreds it to pieces
it's my heart when it shatters and breaks in two
it's my entire being as i never get over you
Fire Isn't Always Petty.
it's the day that i stop thinking of you
it's my cheeks when they're no longer wet with sadness
it's my skin when it no longer yearns for your touch like it did
it's my heart when it stops crying for you to come back
it's my entire being as i finally get over you
and she stood with
and held out her
they were quivering
and her cheeks were
but she felt her
beat to life
and she knew she would
as long as he got
there is an insistent pressure on
my back as i take
then for as long as i can
remember it is my thighs that
give away, it is not the
breathless touch of a hesitant
lover but it is the teeth
marks from left over
bottle caps at the foot of the
bed in my room.
then it is my toes,
they flex and dance
and sometimes they whisper
on the blinding white
tiles on my bathroom floor
it is 4am
and i am awake.
i haven’t slept in a week and i am tired
i wear my religion like i wear my makeup.
i put it on when i’m suppose to.
my face shines with the highlight
of the Holy Spirit on my cheekbones.
lipstick stains a bible verse which
i use for every circumstance
“God” throws at me.
i line my eyes with the blackness
of my heart and i let “God” flick it
out into a wing at the end.
after awhile though my skin
grows weary and itchy.
i can feel every pound of makeup
that cakes my face.
a single wet wipe no longer
works to dislodge the
in my pores.
i bathe in rose-scented oils
and steam my face
everything is off.
my flaws are showing.
makeup use to be fun
when i wasn’t wearing it
for other people.
now social media lets me know
that i must contour my cheeks
with a prayer that starts with,
“dear lord,” and ends
in order to be in my family’s good
graces i must have faith in
mustn’t be prideful.
you must not use a mirror to put your makeup on.
your eyebrows should be
arched and ready to
when you find a boy
who says he likes makeup
you must not pursue him.
he is not worthy of your highlighted face.
love yourself but
also put your
sculpt the nose
define the face
overline the lips.
do all that you can
to hide your real face.
make your skin scream
to be let free.
and when you take
your makeup off,
make sure to
because your skin
has to look great when
it is drowning in
take care of your skin
but it also doesn’t matter
so paint your face once more.
bat your eyes.
pout your lips.
but don’t be lustful.
because your religion is like your makeup...
so cake it on like a fake facade.
religion is dumb.
this feels different from the others.
my chest hurts
it physically pains me to breathe
it physically pains me to talk
it physically pains me to move
it physically pains me to do anything
it just physically hurts
everything just physically hurts.
she holds you like it’s the first and the last time.
her arms are wrapped around you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go for even a second.
you feel her heartbeat thump, your head pressed against her chest as her pulse races.
a sigh escapes as you push closer, imbedding your body into hers like it’s the first and the last time.
“i’ll never let you go,” you say.
she breathes deeply, as if she knew you were going to say that.
she cups your face and her fingers glide along your jaw.
her hands are shaking as the tips of her fingers dance across your cheek, like it’s the first and the last time.
she looks so solemn, her eyes filled with a gentle sadness.
but still, her hands caress your face and she whispers quietly.
like it’s the first and the last time.
“you already have.”
i stood outside in the rain
and felt the water collide with my face wondering if i was the only one
who had felt like this or if it was
just the cold from my wet clothes
slowly creeping in
was the feeling my empty chest
which carried the echoed thumps
of my heart or was it just the chilling
of my bones from landing in one
too many puddles
i read poetry until the dawn broke the sky
and like the sun waking up
i kissed the darkness goodbye
and welcomed the blue bird’s song
greeting the warm rays of a new day
but like the day it was only temporary
and i felt the cool pull from the moon’s glow
tugging me back into my empty bed
writing poetry until the light from the morning
shown brighter than my phone screen
sadness only settles into my skin
after i am done tearing at it with guilty teeth
remembering what it felt like to sink into
that special spot at the
junction point of your shoulders
i spend countless hours biting my nails
to short stubs because i don’t want
to remember them tracing
the freckles on your back as if i
were painting constellations on your flesh
i look at photos in my phone
only deleting them when the substance in
my lungs is strong enough to subdue
the aching in my chest as i remember
the happiness and the love that we held
i make hot tea once it hits 4
with the salted tears that fall down
my cheeks because i can’t get up
without falling to my knees in a silent
prayer that you’ll come back to me
and when the sun comes back up
and awakes the restless city
i welcome it with open arms in hopes
that today will actually be a new day
and that it’ll end when it leaves
i didn’t want to write this.
not when you’re no longer laying next to me.
the warmth from your skin no longer seeping into mine.
i didn’t want to write this.
not without your hand intertwined with mine.
fingers wrapped so delicately around each other.
i didn’t want to write this.
not because it doesn’t hurt anymore.
i’m reminded of you every single day.
i really didn’t want to write this.
but i did.
because it still hurts that i wasn’t good enough for you.
it kills me that it seemed easy for you to leave so suddenly.
it pains me that you probably never looked back once.
but that pain is still there.
i promise you that.
so i guess i wrote this to remind you.
(or remind myself of you)
i wrote this to remind you that even 3 months, numerous attempts to say your name without the bitter aftertaste, and several poems later, it’s still hard to pretend that i was never close with you.
laying next to you.
my body warmth seeping into yours.
fingers wrapped delicately.
you feel that?
it’s the pain,
as the rain pelted my face i felt an odd sensation of satisfaction.
the water had cleansed my body like it was the holy water used at morning mass.
the catholics’ silence could be heard as i bathed in God’s tears.
the deafening echo of a wordless cathedral spinning into chaos.
as peace consumes me and
my body is laid to rest
i realize why God had flooded the earth the first time.
Your name was Snowball to begin with and everyone thought you were a husky. You aren't-weren't.
You were suppose to reach the table, but instead were tiny with legs that carried you for miles. Those legs got me in trouble so many times.
You could jump up to my shoulder, and on the best days when you missed me you would make me catch you.
I knew you liked to run. You would run in circles around the couch mutltiple times and it never failed to make me laugh.
You were just like me. Sassy and argumentative, even for a pet. You wouldn't do what you were told but when you did on those special occasions you would whine, just like me.
I hope that you're running around every couch you see and chasing every squirrel that climbs a tree.
I hope God is taking care of you.
You were a good dog, and I'll always remember you.
you have to feel it at the bottom of your chest
pushing and pulling and molding itself into a ball of gnashing teeth and chipped fingernails.
it sits there and meshes itself together to create
a web of endless nothingness that starts and ends in the same ****** place
like a never ending cycle of decay
it resides at the bottom of my chest and waits and waits and waits
until i feel like i’m good.
until i feel like i’m okay.
and then i remember that you have to remember the barren graveyard in your chest where flowerless headstones mark the heart that use to live and breathe and flourish its own garden.
i’ll claw at this desolate orchard and i’ll scream in anguish because i wasn’t always this hollow.
i wasn’t always this ****** hollow.
but when you come into my life and you leave flowers on a perfect grave and then walk away leaving them to wither away into ash
you can’t expect me to not engrave your name on the slab of stone i lay under.
even after all this time, the pain is still there
the first five days i remembered the door you kissed me on.
i remembered your favorite songs, your favorite foods, and i remembered the rain.
the first five days i remembered the glasses perched on your nose and i remembered the taste of your lips after you had drank a bottle of wine.
how sweet they tasted.
sweeter than the drawl of your words and the fingertips that traced the lines of ink on my arm.
the first five days i remembered our promised plans that we made.
the trips we hadn’t taken and the movies we hadn’t watched.
i remembered how it felt to hear you say the words ‘i’ and ‘adore’ and ‘you’ all in the same sentence.
i remembered how it felt when i left.
i remembered why i left.
on the sixth day i remembered that the door you kissed me on was just a door before i left
and would continue to be a door after.
what was it like when you left me behind?
with a bottle of jack clasped in your greedy palm,
did you ever look over your shoulder?
did you ever turn back?
independency never looked more like a cage
when you realize it came with
losing a childhood to a parent
dependent on *****
and lost in her liquor.
maturity is a sculpture that people
chip and mold to fit their own reality
when they forget that the
broken pieces surrounding the perfect sculpture
are really what maturity is made of.
when you left me behind
i reveled in my independency
and clutched my broken pieces in my hands,
glued them back together
and called it armor.
but i still wonder from time to time,
if you ever looked down to see your own
broken jack bottle
glass pieces by your feet,
because you finally remembered
that you left your daughter behind.
i want to die.
i want to stop living.
i want the breath to leave my lungs as if it were pulled straight from my body by harsh hands that destroy everything they hold.
but i know that i can change the world.
and i know that there are people that need me.
that need the breath in my lungs to inflate their own in order for them to keep surviving.
for them to keep living another day.
so i’ll wait.
i’ll wait for their weakened knees to straighten out and walk the miles to find their future and live the life they were always meant to live.
but i still want to die.
it’s unfair that you get to be okay.
because i’m standing here with my heart in my hands
and my legs shaking every time i move
and my knuckles bloodied from the hole in the wall that matches the hole in my chest
that you left because you left
and it’s unfair
it is so ******* unfair that you’re okay
when i have to pretend to be
you left when you promised you wouldn’t and now i have to pick up all the ******* pieces
— The End —