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amanda cooper Apr 2011
steady yourself,
you have to stop drinking.
aren't you sick of getting dizzy?
being short of breath?
aren't you sick of sleeping on floors?
steady yourself,
you have to stop crying.
aren't you sick of wiping tears?
listening to the same pathetic ****?
aren't you sick of flipping your pillow?
steady yourself.
4/7/11.
it's a lot of repetition but i don't care today.
poem number one-hundred.
took me a year and three months, give or take.
amanda cooper Apr 2011
one day you'll learn how to place your fingertips in all the right places.
to be able to smile and whisper to them and say words
that maybe your heart doesn't mean,
but it just rolls off the tongue.
you'll learn to hurt others, rather than them hurting you.
or worse, you hurting yourself.
you'll learn to touch up the bleeding mascara before
applying the lipstick you'll stain him with.
you'll learn, dear.
you'll learn.
4/4/11.
amanda cooper Mar 2011
i swear i'll give you everything
i can and hold nothing back.
not anymore, not ever again.
i'll make you the happiest
you'll ever be, or
i'll die trying.
this is to loving,
blindly, even after your
eyes have been opened.
this is to being silly and
laughing your stomach sore
for days, with you by my side.
this is to me giving you my hand,
switching ring for ring
until we find the right fit.
this is me, and you,
and living and loving to the fullest.
being everything we can be,
together.
3/21/11.
"and i know that i had sworn i'd never trust anyone again, but i didn't have to."
amanda cooper Mar 2011
she's the kind of girl that reminds you
of summer in all the wrong ways -
of the pain in the sunburn,
or saying goodbye to what you love.
she's the kind of girl that you
need alcohol to love,
because only you know just how much
you want to forget her.
she's the kind of girl that makes you
choke back words like "****" and "failure"
for fear that one day
she might stop proving you right.
she's the kind of girl that makes you
punch your knuckles ****** against tile,
tear at hangnails,
or turn off your favorite songs.
she's the kind of girl that you have to
learn to let go of, because she sinks her teeth
so far under your skin
that it's hard to **** the poison out.
i don't know when i'll ever be over this, but god knows i'm trying.
baby steps, or learning to breathe again on your own.
steps in hatred are still progression.
3/12/11.
when the only thing that's on my mind is all the things you tried to ruin.


ps: i ******* hate the new hellopoetry. i wrote this once and it was really good, and i accidentally hit "see guidelines" rather than the "explicit" box and it deleted it all.
amanda cooper Mar 2011
i'd give you my heart,
but i'm afraid you'd break it.
heart breakers break hearts, they say,
and you play your cards right.
see you took my heart off
that silver platter,
cut it in slivers and
as the rain pattered
against the windowsill
you handed it back,
with a note that simply read, "*******."
3/12/11.
amanda cooper Feb 2011
i could taste the hesitation on her lips.
i held her so soft,
kissed her so quietly.
the silence was heavy,
save for the shifting of our bodies
and the moans that slipped past our lips.
sometimes we're in so far over our heads
that we'll never find which is the real way out.
"the past is destined to repeat itself,"
i tell her.
"that only means that the leaves will die,
and you will leave again."
i shake my head,
but how can you promise someone forever
when it's just for tonight?
i tell her i love her
but we both know it isn't true.
anything to increase the body heat,
anything to melt the icy walls.
she'd never understand my
parasitic need for her.
just to hold her, just for tonight.
to taste something more than bland food
and smell more than the insides
of the four walls i see
every ******* morning.
i know she wonders why i come and go,
and i know she wonders why i chose her.
even those questions i can't answer.
whether it's those green eyes
or that crooked smile,
or just because i know she'll come back.
either way i'm sweating above her,
wondering if i should kiss her or
choke her.
poor pitiful thing,
sometimes i just want to put her out of her misery.
but for now,
we share the night
and the sighs
and the misery.
2/16/11.
amanda cooper Feb 2011
the church bell rang.
and that's when she saw it.
her tree was gone.
it rang again.
her loss was accompanied by a rush of silence.
only distant sounds of traffic.
a train.
accompanied again by a rush of memories.
one kiss, another's laugh.
fitting perfectly into the trunk,
feeling more comfort than ever before.
her heart inside of the tree's.

and she was left with nothing.
2/2/11.
it's **** but so is losing your home.
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