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Amanda Oct 2015
I've got to fall in love again
like my whole house is not a home
when I pretend it's empty.
I have to fess up to this glutinous weather
using my hiding places to expose me
until there is no where left to hide
no rivers
no puddles.
This water is cramming itself next to me
a stranger on the bus with his hands between your knees
swimming up to my chest
a fetus awaiting its abortion
as a mother whispers that she is just fine
the sound wave first dripping through windows
until vulnerable enough to burst
then leaping at the chance to degrade it to its insecure shards
devastation scattered across my carpet floor,
this water is the second guest occupying a room for one
beneath these covers is where hope resides:
invisibility and the falsity of survival
this deluge is kissing every surface of my habitat
elevating me to the very top of what is my home no longer
an opaque angel
or a suffocating hell I cannot decide
its riptides part nature part me
as my lungs warn me of heaven on the other side of this roof.
My clothes are soaked but I am still trying to keep my feet dry
as I pull the blanket tangled around me closer
cover my face, condemn the light from coming in
in fear that there is none.
I don't remove my eyes from my indifference
splashing blindly to find the hand of calm amidst the thick liquid demise
a sadistic game of Marco Polo,
I do not hold my breath
like I did as a child;
I just let all of the small dams in my body break
and ignore the flood in my mouth.
Amanda May 2015
"Thank you."

Matched a crisp white shirt
as if she knew.
Even a red dress was dull next to her
absolutely beaming
illuminating the night with just her laugh
and one simple sentence
"You look gorgeous."

"Thank you."

The most important thank you I would ever give.
I flashed her a smile that did not attempt to compare,
that happily strayed from the limelight
to let hers take the stage
the way it naturally did
with a humble glow
though it was an outright shooting star
a comet that would impact.
My smile did not shine like hers,
but instead radiated gratitude
a contentedness only obtainable in her presence.
She gave me the best accessory to a prom dress
ever imagined.

“Thank you,”

the second time
was a heavyweight in my exhausted mouth
that I let drop to the floor.
Apologies for a loss that is not mine
but is the world’s
was not enough
for cars that still drove to slam their breaks
for people who still laughed to mourn
for the Earth to halt its rotation
to a complete stillness
as if the sky was not guilty for being so vivid
as if the sun was not ludicrous for shining so brightly
when they should have looked broken
waiting for her return
on a brilliant day
tarnished much too soon.

Every shadow that reflects against the hospital floor
Before materializing in front of the grand jury
as a hundred and so pounds of grief
is suddenly so heavy
breathing becomes a sport
resisting tears composed of, “This is all a nightmare,”
becomes reality.
Each body that steps foot into the room,
the longest walk of your life,
is another tally of unwanted confirmation
another sentence in the eulogy
another flower to be laid at her grave.
The only verdict the jury can pronounce
is to remember
and to forget at the same time.

“Thank you.”

Although this aching has made itself a home beneath my skin
although it has been 4 days and everyone’s faces have frozen in time
since the exact moment we heard
as if we left with the hospital chained to our backs
protruding from our veins that it runs cold through
although I wish you could live in places other than the purple bags beneath my eyes,
if I look hard enough,
I find you alive in my heart.

Thank you
For being the smiles on our faces,
the laughter deep in our chests
hidden like treasures buried in the depths of the sea.

Thank you
For being the thin crease of sunlight that melts through my blinds
when I am tucked away in the darkness of my bed.

Thank you
For being our continuation,
for letting those two words pour from us eternally
in hopes that a lifetime of “thank yous”
will fly the distance to your ears
so that you may echo with
“You’re welcome”
Loudly enough that the words may etch themselves permanently
into our hearts.
It has been exactly 2 weeks since the death of my friend, Katie Carter, who was a writer too. Thank you were the last words I ever said to her. I didn't want to post this for a while. I love you Katie. This is for you.
Amanda Apr 2015
Pain is a little misunderstood
wanting so desperately to be love
disguising itself in death
heart ache
blood shed
within wars
your dining room
your happy place.
It just wants to be noticed somehow
a kiss and a gushing pulse throughout necks and lips and wrists
or the same limbs being reduced to pieces
slowly
behind your dark window curtains
underneath your sheets
at your empty breakfast table.
If pain wasn't human
it would be a ****** bruise
in a constant apology
to new packs of band-aids.
Amanda Apr 2015
Curling up next to an existence that is teetering on a tight rope
cheek to cheek and chest to chest with a tombstone that wants to show you how to ballroom dance
a blind date with your last breath
intimacy with death if you're brave enough to let it remove your clothes
it shakes you with an awakening jolt.
This is when everything should come to a slow motion slide show
of faces and revelations that have made you who you are
flashing before you like lightning in a rush for work
too blurry and inefficient to satisfy your last moments
like those snowflakes you'll miss savoring on the tip of your tongue
and everything else worth taking your time.
The seat belt tries to save itself tightly between your rib cage
it doesn't hesitate to invite death to your speed of light funeral.
Oxygen has given up at this point
choosing flight over fight
you are one millisecond overdue
there is no time to choke out your last word
or at least think your last thought
when one strong leap of faith
jerks you to the right of the one way road
leaving the 18-wheeled demon behind you
screeching to a spark inducing halt
tires hot for your blood
breathing fire to warm your deathbed
your body stills the world.
Slamming into the front seat
18 years as your airbag
did not hurt as badly
as wishing that lightning quick luck
would have struck out.
#death #neardeathexperiences #life #suicidal
Amanda Feb 2015
When I was seven my mother broke a glass cup against the ground by accident
my bare feet taking the plunge.
I cried for an hour when the blood continued to gush the way it does
as my mother bandaged my wound
that is what it meant to me

until I discovered that my hot breath on a cold day
would encourage me to write words
invisible to the air
until it was against glass
until my fingers carved into the condensation
"I love you", punctuated with an off-centered smiley face
that too soon descended to frowns
when he would ask

"Where'd you get those scars?"
"Got mad. Threw a glass."
all up and down my arms
using my worst enemy
and my best friend
to get by with the skin of my teeth

parted slightly
paired with a not-quite-there expression
imagining better days materializing
under the roots of grass
personifying trees
executing what I could only dream of:
Sweet peppermint lips
rough stubble corrupting soft peach fuzz
branches restoring their shape
only with interruption
when a teacher would drag claw marks down my desk
"Do you agree?"

she spoke, on your first day back from winter break
but honestly you did not know
you were thinking of me
200 miles away

behind glass again
the same concept
of being so close
but so far away
of our palms pressed against each other
with only a sliver of clear distance between us
just enough
that we couldn't feel each others skin.
That's probably what hurts most
more than any amount of seeping blood
accident or not
piercing cold
nostalgia out a window.
Whispering good-nights
accompanied by glitches and lags
just wanting to be a part of our sweet conversation
a crack in the system
never so large as now
feeling the warmth of my laptop
wishing it was you.
I try to decide differently
find an angle that will bring me closer to you

your eyes have always engaged mine
through somewhat of a double framed looking-glass
taking them off so I could see you more clearly
so that there was nothing stopping us
even if my face would blur together
in strange triangles and squares
hazy colors and faded motions
you were still seeing me
much better.

Until I reach the big red "X" on my calendar again
I have to fight through 2 layers of glass
to really find you
without ever touching you
the best way
the worst way
I've always remembered.
Amanda Feb 2015
Face to face
gritting teeth
where sleep is my enemy
death is my best friend
my body is stripped
bare
naked
on your bed
cold like an operating table
and sticking to my skin enough
that it just might be.
I can't pull it away
without wishing it was off
I can't sit in a white room
without puking up last night's breakfast
and I might let you split me open
minus your doctors degree
******* insides
banana-strawberry smoothie
with a dash of something evil
a flavor that has always made your taste buds tremble
with disgusting delight.
Tell me again
with a scalpel in your hand
why you're giving up now?
Amanda Feb 2015
You're falling in love
just out of high school
visualising pedestrians full of life
of memories
in your local grocery store's small-town parking lot
dreary day and grey sky
only because he left you empty
in this lonely world
too petite for two people
whose souls have always been too large for this type of crowd
manifested by people always staring
when we burst with color
at the flick of our fingers on cheeks
or warming cold hands
and when you stopped cramming into this space
when you stopped trying to fit
you made it your destiny to absorb
to fill rather than to squeeze
finding solace in places most unusual
because every ******* thing
still reminds me of you
even when the clouds don't want me to see
the sun fights for it's moment of fame
screaming
"Please see his face one last time,"
and I do
I obey
leaving me worse off
but better than I was before
because you can cut the string around my index finger
with your knee quivering smile
but I'll remember
I'll still keep your promise safe in my palm
in the center of my lungs
and I don't care if you trash it
as long as you keep mine.
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