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 Dec 2012 Amanda Edens
DM Pierce
Drifters, sick with Now,
Swell and crowd the Elm Streets.
We, the self-anointed secretaries of culture war,
Parallel-parked car poets trapped in suburbia,
We claw our generation forward.

We seep from shifting city to evergreen forest, to
Seek answers from the grave-stone gods before us,
Learn of what they knew of man--
His vacuous constructions and his ash fortunes,
How to be martyrs and what makes us worth it.
 Dec 2012 Amanda Edens
DM Pierce
He sees the world as her backdrop,
And loves her wholly.
She knows that and wants to love him back, but
All she can feel is lonely.

As he sleeps she cries in
Tight, silent heaves in rhythm
With his chest as he breathes.
His face is lit from neon light,
Slipping through a slit on the strung-up sheet--
An eye to the street,
And to everything that's beyond this life that she leads.
But she needs him and
Please, she begs, Have him
Hate me, at least.  I'm weak--
I'll linger until he throws me away,
Because at least then I can say
That it wasn't my choice, but
Everything must fade.


She goes on a walk every night now,
Riddled with complexes and smoking,
Eyes roving with 2AM mascara,
Wearing a spring dress in dead winter.
Head down in a crowd, aware
Of herself existing only when men stare.
They crave for her, she craves for him,
Her sadness, a narcotic magnetism.

She drowned off the coast
Of the island in her kitchen.
She weighed herself down with
Her faults like mountains and
Yellowed ambition.
 Dec 2012 Amanda Edens
Montana
Lips
 Dec 2012 Amanda Edens
Montana
Your lips
Were the first thing I noticed
Gently parted
Breathing in and out

Oh to be your words
Conceived within your mind
Born upon your lips

Poetry.

Your lips are ******* poetry.
5/25/12
 Dec 2012 Amanda Edens
Cali
days like this, gray sky
over coastal grandeur,
I sit and look out across
the rubble of a city,
the rubble of our souls;
what a ******* mess
we have made.

the gulls loop and dive,
screaming, into the
winter lake, and all
the classical music
in the world couldn't compare
to the dull sorrow
of this moment;
such a beautiful contrast
of trash and gold.

we are all, every one,
searching for something
beautiful, something
to hold that won't turn
to stone.
Most women do not
cook and and clean house
in preparation
for violent invasion.
But you did,
the countertops ache for lack of dust,
the appliances self-conscious in their sterility.
More than sufficient-
for anybody but the figure on the doorstep;
who, using only a key
has already torn through
your first, only, and tastefully painted
line of defense;
has pulled pins from verbal grenades to throw upon
bursting into the kitchen,
where you waited
white tablecloth of surrender and
tea like a peace offering.
Not quite finished. Playing with punctuation and word choice.
Domesticity, Betty Friedan-era housewives, abuse and the silence that feeds it.
 Dec 2012 Amanda Edens
JL
Untitled
 Dec 2012 Amanda Edens
JL
I will not think of you in the sunlight
and when night comes you are not on my mind
But
I dream and my soul aches
Because I have not yet learned how to stop loving you

*I walk with you through a field I once knew
Where the wheat has grown knee-high
You speak the silent language of dreams
We walk past the ancient walls broken by time
Ivy grows between the cracked stones
I don't think I'll ever be close enough
to you. Like so close
that I can feel your heartbeat
in every part of myself.
It seems weird to want to
open you up and check out your soul
but that's exactly what I want.
I need to see what you know
and what you've felt
and who you are.
Because right now you're just a name
and a pair of ever-moving hands
that just won't settle
on my body.
They ask me if I still love you.

I blush, grin and say;

of course.

Why?

Because your eyes are of the most utter ocean blue,

but other days they're the currents of the stormy grey sea.

I see a current of salty water, deep, once blue, but now a faded grey.

I see a bundle of darkened grey clouds in the distance,

and the thunder rumbles from your irises,

and I hear it pound in the back of my mind.

I wonder if you knew.

I see a spark of lightening flash, only once in a while,

while you look at her.

My throat corrodes with bile.


She says she sees green demons lurking in the depth of my own ocean currents,

and I shrug.

What am I supposed to say?

I know you think about her.

Night and day.


The hardest part,

is a generic, old saying.

If you love them,

you let them go.

If they love you enough to stay,

or to come back,

you never let go.





But you haven't come back.
EDIT: Wow. Never expected this to blow up as big as it did. I thank you all so much!
EDIT: 2/15/14
i would say i never loved you, but that is a lie.
they say that your *first* love makes *you realize*, your first *love* wasnt really your first.
i pray for the day this happens.
*getting over you was the best thing i ever did.
and i did it for myself.*
so, one last:
*******.
you.***
EDIT: 9/14/14
i still hate you.
and you don't deserve her.
EDIT:   12/01/14
im sorry. you still arent
the same person
and neither is she.
but we all grow up.

EDIT
10/14/20
I was going through my bookmarks
on my old computer and found my old writings.
I just wanted to update this one last time to say things are better,
things are good. Thanks again for all the likes and comments.

— The End —