Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Aug 2016 SteffyWeffy
Stephan
.

Minutes fail to move
as I sit here at my desk,
dress shirt and tie, wondering
why am I here,
when everything I want
is somewhere else

Watching the rain
through city streaked windows
dampening the day
Knowing in another place
sunshine dressed borders
glow in summer sleeves

And a cool north wind
cries along with me,
teardrops falling,
attempting to escape
this that is here
in a different fashion

Wanting to be there,
where you are,
wrapping my arms around you
like a warm shirt on a chair
holding onto you,
never letting go
 Aug 2016 SteffyWeffy
s
growing up
 Aug 2016 SteffyWeffy
s
6 years old
loves barbies
plays outside
learning to ride a bike
shes getting taller

9 years old
loves chapstick flavors
walks outside
rides her bike everywhere
she is the tallest in her class

14 years old
loves mascara
runs outside to burn off the cupcake
bike sits alone
she is the biggest in her class

16 years old
loves black
runs lines down her arms, she doesnt see the sun
she drives around for hours thinking about everything but nothing
she is shrinking

18 years old
loves loneliness
runs and runs and runs from herself
she drives around hoping that she will be strong enough to make it home
she is breaking
slowly

20 years old
loves skipping meals
goes running until she feels like she's going to pass out, then runs another mile
she drives around thinking about her suicide attempt and thinks about heading home
she doesn't even know if home is a place or a feeling or if its real
lines going up her thigh now because she found out that wrists make people worry

people don't understand the process of self destruction
it started a long time ago
and it will never end
until she does.
sloppy
 Aug 2016 SteffyWeffy
elizabeth
Today is the day
I stop worrying.
Today is the day
I win.
Today is the day
I love myself.
Today is the day
I...
*Keep telling myself lies.
April 21, 2016
I imagine us
collecting affections
like loose change

bits hidden everywhere

in couch cushions,
in strong, stitched
seams

pennies hoarded
in an old sweet
jar

cluttered coppers
at the bottom of
coffee cups

we count,
meaningless amounts

building neat piles
of insignificant coins

until they become
our fortune
Next page