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Dec 2021 · 38
for better or for worse
amanda cooper Dec 2021
you were confused by the difference
between ****** and heroine
but you loved to do them both,
hoping that one of them would
finally take you away
i really tried to save you, but i failed at playing god

december 17, 2021
inspired by "929" by halsey:
"lost the love of my life to an ivory powder, but then i realize that i'm no higher power. that i wasn't in love then, and i'm still not now, and i'm so happy i figured that out."
Nov 2021 · 58
appalachia and alaska.
amanda cooper Nov 2021
you know, it's funny; tonight i was driving back to an empty apartment and one of your songs for me came through the speakers a bit too loud, just the way you liked it. the one about the girl who fled virginia for the west coast and the desperation to keep her close, mentioning the kempsville back roads and the boardwalk that we used to drive around ourselves. you said it was going to happen, i was going to leave virginia and you with it and flee to the pacific. and it's funny; you were right. i did exactly that, no matter how many times i tried to laugh at your vision of my future. you were always right.

and what's even more funny: you live further west than i ever have, surrounded by the mountains i am desperate to see, and i'll be returning to that commonwealth i was desperate to get away from. and it's almost a poetic justice. that i'm going back and you're the one half a world away. but this time, i won't be climbing through the windows of houses on indian river road anymore, or packing bongs in the snow in a greenbrier backyard, or watching the curls that would spill over that gentle curve of your lip in that house off of lynnhaven where we first met. no, i'll get to see the gentle curves of the east coast mountains, perhaps softer than yours ever were. i'll watch cherry blossoms fall soft and sweet, better than the way i fell for you. and you'll be in some spotlight in anchorage, making her laugh harder than i ever did. and that's okay with me.
full title: you were the one all moonshine and drawl, but i get appalachia and you get alaska.

i still have the notebook you gave me when you told me to never stop writing. signed, your babygirl.
well here i am, writing to you, my most special muse. i hope you're happy out there; i really do.

inspired by "california gold rush" by audiostrobelight and the poetic prose i used to write.
11/11/2021. (make a wish.)
Oct 2021 · 51
wannabe cityslicker
amanda cooper Oct 2021
i used to see signs of your
indiscretions and always read
them as directions of where i
should run, and it always said
that i should run away from you

i learned the taste of blood from
the way that i would bite my
tongue to stop from speaking my mind,
and it always tasted like metal
giving way and folding under pressure
09/24/2021
Oct 2021 · 46
cleaning on sundays
amanda cooper Oct 2021
i am your favorite little **** up
your favorite mess to clean up
the dirt you sweep under your rug
09/26/2021.
Sep 2021 · 57
on repeat.
amanda cooper Sep 2021
there's something tragic,
something poetic,
something nostalgic
about the way i still hang
onto every word you said

onto the way that you would
bury your face into my hair

onto the time that you bought
me a drink from across the
room at her art show


there's something tragic,
something poetic,
something nostalgic
about my visceral reaction
every time i hear your name

every time i drink tea in the
afternoon on a chilly day

every time i walk down the
road where you carried me
home when i had too much


there's something tragic,
something poetic,
something nostalgic
about you
playing it on repeat.
09/06/2021.

"Have you no idea that you're in deep? I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week. How many secrets can you keep? 'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat until I fall asleep, spillin' drinks on my settee.

Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways? Sad to see you go; was sorta hopin' that you'd stay. Baby, we both know that the nights were mainly made for sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day.

Crawlin' back to you; ever thought of callin' when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do. Maybe I'm too busy bein' yours to fall for somebody new. Now, I've thought it through, crawlin' back to you."
Aug 2021 · 43
haunted.
amanda cooper Aug 2021
you're just a ghost roaming these halls
that i don't walk down anymore
my favorite crypt keeper in a vacant mausoleum
they'd call it haunted if it was ever anything at all

maybe you're in the dust that
shakes from the old books,
coating these lungs of mine and
staying with me after i leave
or maybe you're the wax on old candles
waiting for the flame to reignite
so you can melt into a puddle all over my floor
"i don't care what you think just as long as it's about me"
08/13/2021.
May 2021 · 1.2k
runaway.
amanda cooper May 2021
you loved to buy me a bottle of wine
to drink within a night so you could
taste the chemicals on my lips
i asked you to call me in the morning
but you only ever called me broken
then wondered how i ever came to be that way
you used me to cut yourself along my jagged edges,
push me away when i would try to stop the bleeding
but you loved to hurt you and me and everyone else

you only write words across checks that your heart can't cash
05/10/2021.
May 2021 · 449
the month of may.
amanda cooper May 2021
they told me that i am deficient of attention,
but how can that be when i have memorized
every freckle dotted on your cheekbones and
every white-tipped scar mapped across your skin?
maybe it's because my mind can't make room for
anything else, because you are all i see when i close
my eyes and the first thing i see when i open them

they told me that my depression is in remission,
like a cancer that has spread throughout my body
only to go dormant, to lay quiet just beneath the
surface, waiting to try to drag us down yet again.
they told me that this was good news, i can be happy,
but all i could hear was the sound of the tide
always waiting for its turn to take me out to sea

they told me that i sit on the borderline of two states
of existence, subject to the shift between love and hate
and passion and wrath and infatuation and heartbreak,
always trying to ask you which person i should be.
like the flower i used to pluck the petals from
in my youth, constantly whispering to myself,
"i love you, i love you not, i love you, i love you not."

they told me that this means that i can get better now,
that putting names to the faces of the skeletons in my
closet will allow me to bury them in their rightful place,
that i can finally learn to ease my grip and let things go.
but it has taken almost two decades to find my way here,
to finally answer the question of what is wrong with me,
and the journey to get here was long, and i am tired.
may is mental health awareness month, for those that don't know.
i had my first therapy session at the age of 11, and i'm now 29.
i was finally diagnosed just a couple of weeks ago.
adhd, major depressive disorder (recurrent),
and possibly also borderline personality disorder.
it feels strange for someone to finally answer a question that
i've been asking for so long.
i'm not really sure where to go from here.
but i do know that i feel a sense of relief, and that it
feels like i can loosen my chokehold on life a little bit.
i don't wanna be the person who tells you that it gets better,
because i'm still working on how to get there myself,
but i do wanna suggest that you always hold onto hope that it can.
wishing you all the best.
may 4, 2021.
amanda cooper May 2021
it takes a village to raise a child
but only takes one person to force
the little girl into a loss of innocence
and you did it with such nonchalance
that it took seventeen years for me to
realize the gravity of what happened

i wonder if it keeps you up at night, knowing what you did
or maybe it was just easier for us both to forget
i bet i could track you down if i wanted to.
i wonder what it'd be like to see your face again, instead of the monster from my nightmares standing over my bed.
may 1, 2021.
amanda cooper Mar 2021
there's this song called "wooden heart" and it's written by this spoken word poetry band that you'd never be caught dead listening to. it's not really your thing; i get it. but the song has always meant a lot to me because it carries a theme of being imperfect but being together, this tepid optimism about how broken hearts are still capable of beating and the wood is just driftwood from shipwrecks brought back to form something new and beautiful.

i've never had the strongest heart. it lets go of things too easily when they get just a little too difficult. it runs and it hides and it speaks real low and quiet. it's never been one to stand up to battle and fight for victory; sometimes it's just easier to bathe yourself in the white flag of surrender to be reborn anew.

maybe that's how you manage to work your way inside. you ran your silver tongue along the weakest points of my walls and eventually they caved in, and maybe i should've known better when you stood in the dust like a conqueror instead of waiting to be invited in.

but in you came, and that wooden heart of mine started letting in too much water until it became the shipwreck it always tried to avoid becoming again. the wood began to rot; your silver tongue, tarnished. and there isn't a carpenter or a jeweler who can right what's wrong.
03/18/2021
blah blah blah same **** different day

inspired by "wooden heart" by listener, particularly here:
"My dreams are sails that I point towards my true north, stretched thin over my rib bones, and pray that it gets better. But it won’t, at least I don’t believe it will... So I've built a wooden heart inside this iron ship to sail these blood red seas and find your coasts. Don’t let these waves wash away your hopes. This war-ship is sinking, and I still believe in anchors, pulling fistfuls of rotten wood from my heart. I still believe in saviors. Because we are all made out of shipwrecks, every single board, washed and bound like crooked teeth on these rocky shores.

But my fear is this prison that I keep locked below the main deck; I keep a key under my pillow, it’s quiet and it’s hidden. And my hopes are weapons that I’m still learning how to use right, but they’re heavy and I’m awkward and I'm always running out of fight. So I’ve carved a wooden heart, put it in this sinking ship, hoping it would help me float for just a few more weeks. But I am all made out of shipwrecks, every twisted beam; lost and found like you and me, all scattered out on the seas."
amanda cooper Oct 2020
you play your old song for me when you're with her and
put your cigarette between her smiling lips just like you'd always do
it was foolish to believe that you loved me like that
but sometimes it was just nice to pretend

i know that she loves you how you should be loved and
she loves the way coffee makes you sing and she doesn't mind when
you come home with knuckles caked in blood from
exorcising (i mean, exercising) every night

she's not scared of you or scared to let go when my palms
are blistered from holding on but i guess we'll always have the cold
winter nights when you'd sleep in my car because
you were too drunk to drive yourself home

and i know that she ***** you how you want to be ******
when i could never begin to hold you close or break you like that but
she gets the mornings i can only dream of having:
waking to cigarettes and coffee beside her bed
alternative title: "the story of you and me."

inspired by brand new's "sink."
wrote the bones on 06/25/2020 but finished 10/01/2020.
it's one of the only things left unfinished that i ever went back to.
take that as you will.
Mar 2020 · 96
i'm begging you.
amanda cooper Mar 2020
don't pick up the phone,
tell me that my voice is the
nails digging into your back
on a lonely saturday night
and you can't bear the pain anymore

don't hold my hand,
tell me that my iron grip
has crushed your heart for what
feels like the last time and
you can't wait to find out if it's true

don't answer the door,
tell me that the sight of me
spilling my guts on your porch
is a mess that you just can't
bring yourself to clean up this time
02/25/2020.
inspired by:
joji - "don't follow me, you'll end up in my arms"
old gray - "i will let you go if you want me to"
Feb 2020 · 96
richmond.
amanda cooper Feb 2020
the rain poured down around us
as your hand gripped my face
and your hungry eyes
and your hungry hands
just kept asking me for more
but i was in a sorry state,
three pills deep and a
bottle of wine to wash it down
and it was only tuesday night
you never did know when to quit
brick against my back
will never feel the same
02/25/2020.
Feb 2020 · 96
letdown, let go.
amanda cooper Feb 2020
you said my love tastes like
secret dinnertime texts and sweet red wine,
the reckless beginning of a new year,
and the gentle swell of hope
at the promise of something more

but your love tastes like
the burn of whiskey and the ash of cigarettes,
bitter disappointment and regret,
and birthday kisses gifted on
the mouth of someone else

they say that poison tastes so sweet;
tell me, why don't you?
2/25/2020 but i started it like 01/13/2020
saw your picture yesterday and found my inspiration again
Feb 2020 · 198
distance.
amanda cooper Feb 2020
you left me terrified,
wondering if the
distance between
you and her
will ever mean less
than the distance between
your side of the bed and mine
12/08/2014.
Feb 2020 · 89
a sparrow or a swallow.
amanda cooper Feb 2020
it's been thirteen years since the first time i ever considered holding onto that hollow feeling in my stomach instead of holding you
and i still admire the way my ribs peek out between hyperventilation pulses whenever i see someone that resembles your face
when faced with how it felt to swallow your lies, even now, i'd rather be empty
01/27/2020.
caught a glimpse of who i used to be in the mirror and had to bring her back for a second; hello, i've missed you
Jan 2020 · 71
part five.
amanda cooper Jan 2020
you said my love tastes like
dinnertime texts and sweet red wine,
the beginning of a new year,
and the gentle swell of hope at the
promise of something more

but your love, it tastes like
the burn of whiskey and cigarettes,
disappointment and regret,
and your sweetest birthday kisses on
the mouth of someone else

and you, you could never get enough but
i much prefer the taste of being alone
Dec 2019 · 410
sorry.
amanda cooper Dec 2019
i still remember the way that
i felt when i realized you were
just another name on a long list
of those that came before you,
the ones that meant more to me
than you ever could
12/27/2019.
Dec 2019 · 425
tulips.
amanda cooper Dec 2019
you rushed in like
the cold winter air
and left me there alone,
naked and shivering and
wishing only for spring
12/18/19
ha i finished this at 12:18am on 12/18, imagine that
Dec 2019 · 611
as if i don't already know.
amanda cooper Dec 2019
one question
that i want to know:
who hurt you?
12/13/2019.
Dec 2019 · 3.5k
oh well.
amanda cooper Dec 2019
mental illness is the
most expensive thing
i've ever owned but
never wanted
05/30/2016
Dec 2019 · 133
hands.
amanda cooper Dec 2019
i've forgotten the way that you sound,
forgotten the way you chuckle
when you say my name.
i don't remember the way your smile
drips off of your words.
but i do remember your hands,
and the way they looked when they let me go.
04/07/2013.
forever missing my old poetry and my old voice and when i spent all my time reading sierra demulder and kelsey rakes and pete wentz's poems
Dec 2019 · 116
betrayal.
amanda cooper Dec 2019
i guess all the nights you
****** me from behind were
spent mapping out where
you would stab me in the back
09/10/2015.
Dec 2019 · 259
old.
amanda cooper Dec 2019
i want to be excited but i have
sixty days of skeletons in my
closets to keep me up at night
and i wanna say your company
will fight the dark but then
you'd have to be my light
a poem i found digging through my old blog that spanned over six years of my life. i think this one is from sometime in 2015, maybe april?
Dec 2019 · 150
o captain, my captain.
amanda cooper Dec 2019
the March air was cold as
the rain washed away the sins
we committed in the corner of your bed.
hungry mouths met desperate for satisfaction,
desperate for the sanctuary the other provided.
between crushed lips,
your drunken tongue would
form the words to your favorite songs,
the ones that reminded you of me,
confessions of heartbreak that
spanned across the years.
honey colored eyes searched
my face for a sign that
this time would be different,
and your hands gripped my wrists
like ironclad handcuffs above my head,
like you could prevent my escape this time.
my heart was racing for the door but
you held me there as you
pressed yourself into me,
and my mind screamed for you to stop
but my mouth begged you for more.
when it was over,
you cupped my chin in your hand and
pressed your lips to my ear,
asking if i would stay for the night
but i knew you wanted more.
but all i could give you was a smile
and a promise, "next time."
i haven't seen you since.
" 'Everything I know about breaking hearts, I learned from you.' Isn't that what they said?"
"That's ******* and you know it, Manda."

“I do love you, by the way. As much as I’m capable of loving someone. Which is never enough. I’m sorry.”

You've always been my favorite person to write about.

12/05/2019.
Nov 2019 · 137
i'm afraid of older men.
amanda cooper Nov 2019
the only men that i speak to on a daily basis
are all younger than me by years.
because six and a half years ago.
i went to a party at a best friend's house,
a man i had known for five years.
i met a girl who made my head spin -
or maybe it was just the drinks she had poured.
i'm still not sure which.
everyone got a little too drunk
and had a little too much fun.
i've always had trouble falling
asleep around strangers.
it started when a boy three years my senior
decided to take the innocence
of an eleven year old girl.
but that's a story for another time.
see, i nestled myself between this angel of a girl
and my older best friend expecting to be
safe, needing to be safe.
but in the morning,
when the sleep had burned
the alcohol off of his tongue,
i woke up to his hand inside me.
it's taken me six and a half years
to acknowledge that he heard my
panicked breathing and tears and
mistook it for passionate gasping
and didn't realize what he'd
done until i'd grabbed my things
and ran out the front door,
heaving air through my lungs
and choking on the bile
forcing its way out of my stomach.
i still tell myself that i was
just being dramatic.
that i am still just dramatic.
that if he had hurt me, he would apologize.
and when he didn't...
well, maybe there was nothing to apologize for.
two days ago, i wouldn't close my
eyes on an airplane because a man
sat next to me and if i
can't trust someone that i held
so dear to not hurt me,
why would a stranger be any different?
****** assault.
it's the first time i've allowed myself
to consider that maybe, just once, i was a victim.
and i realized that nearly every man
that has held seniority over me has
coerced me or hurt me or violated me,
touched me without my permission.
and with strangers and new acquaintances
and even with new friends,
i keep looking for the sadism in their smile,
the betrayal in their movements,
the lurking deceit in their words.
i can't ever let go and just trust,
i can't let my guard down,
not for a moment.
i'm afraid of older men,
and i finally know why.
11/04-05/2019.
it's not a good poem but i needed to put it down somewhere because i don't see my therapist for another three weeks.
sometimes i still feel like the girl standing in the front yard in pajamas,
the next day's clothes in my hand,
because i ran before i could face what happened.
Nov 2019 · 80
wellbutrin
amanda cooper Nov 2019
taking antidepressants is like
taking a blind shot in the dark
and hoping it'll fix everything

waiting six weeks to find out if
the want to take the entire bottle
will go away or if i'll lose control

they said it would help but so far
i mostly feel like a light has gone
out in my eyes and in my head

one week in and i've doubled the
dose in desperation because i
need this to work, i need it

since i took that first pill i've
lost the will to speak to anyone
about much of anything at all

i'm running out of patience and
i'm running out of hope and i'm
left desperately holding on
it is what it is
11/03/2019
Oct 2019 · 640
alone
amanda cooper Oct 2019
it's been a year since i lost you






i still love you
10/14/2019
Oct 2019 · 100
a love letter to my friends
amanda cooper Oct 2019
do you remember getting drunk on the shore of lake baryessa?
the way we drank three bottles of wine and
waxed poetic about the meaning of life before we
took turns ******* on the rocks and laughing until we cried
how you carried me, piggy back style, through the mud
because i'm the ******* that wore heels and ended up hiking
and how much my head was spinning as we screamed the words
to songs from ten years ago as you took those curves a little too fast

do you remember when you got off your flight?
**** drunk with a present just for me,
an airplane bottle of ***** that i drank a little too fast
as he threw cherry bombs at passing cars and you told us about
the ******* staining the remaining dollar bills in your wallet
and the way you hadn't slept or ate in days until you
came to my home and i gave you just what you needed
and you finally got the rest you deserve

do you remember the conversation we had?
sitting on the trunk of my car in my work's parking lot and
how you convinced him to come back home
when both of our heads were spiraling too much to
process the emotions coursing through our veins
barely more than a child yourself but
somehow bearing more wisdom
than the whole lot of us put together


do you remember?
i do
wouldn't have survived without you
10/04/2019
Oct 2019 · 83
"feel something."
amanda cooper Oct 2019
everything is dark
suddenly my eyes are open and
i'm stumbling in the bathroom
listening to the girls next door
giggle as they powder their noses
and i pull the pill out of my bag
taste the bitterness on my tongue

everything is dark
i've managed to walk fifteen feet
my hands are trailing down the wall
giggling as i try to stay upright but
i'm scared and alone and just trying to find
my way back to the room and to the
people who don't care where i am

everything is dark
and then i see her face and i feel
her arms around my shoulders and i
feel her forehead against mine
the music is impossibly loud and
there are smiles on our faces as
we drift there together endlessly

everything is dark
i'm sitting on some curb that smells
like **** and garbage and regret
and i'm just another piece of trash
left littered on the sidewalk
they're asking me who i am and how
i'm getting home and all i can say is

i'm just trying, just trying to...
just a blackout story from older days.
10/02/2019.
inspired by:
"forever" - labrinth
Mar 2019 · 393
part two.
amanda cooper Mar 2019
You were my first love, full of innocence and rookie mistakes.
We spent our days walking miles in that Southern summer heat,
climbing magnolia trees and drinking your dad's sweet tea.
Your skin, it tasted like sunshine and smelled like fresh cut grass
when we lost track of time in his hammock by the lake.
We spent our nights hiding in your bedroom, and you played
Spanish songs on your guitar while I laid on the rug on your floor.
It was there that I asked you to touch me, the windows dripping with humidity.
You taught me about passion, love so fierce that it keeps you up at night fighting.
How bodies dripping with sweat can leave you feeling burned.
How it can all end in a blaze of fire, with nothing but the taste of ash in your mouth.
We did that dance for six years, coming back and falling apart once again.
On one of the last nights, you sang songs against my lips while I
swam in the amber pools of your eyes, eyes so deep I nearly drowned in them.
When we met again, the tension was so thick, you could choke on it.
And you took your shot one last time but I couldn't stand to be your target anymore.
03/18/2019.

Part one is here:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/980212/part-one/
amanda cooper Feb 2019
the cigarette in my hand shook
with tremors and my tears dripped
onto the concrete when i told her
what happened in that bed
blood soaked and no longer white

see i can tell you the when
and the where and discuss the why
but i'd never told anyone how
it all felt in the play by play recap
of the worst night of my life

and she held my hand as i
held myself together as best as
i could and held the lighter to the
next cigarette because chain smoking
is what i do best on nights like this night

and afterwards she helped pick up
all of the little pieces of me scattered
with the ashes on the floor
and she told me she loved me because
that is what being my best friend looks like
She can always tell what I need before I do. Grateful for our short trip together and the long years we've had by each other's sides, near or far.
02/21/2019.
Feb 2019 · 260
yesteryear.
amanda cooper Feb 2019
The first time you
slipped your fingers
into me, I bled on your
mattress. Afterwards, you took
me into the shower and
I ****** you there (on the floor),
letting the water rinse off
our sins and transgressions.
I've known from the beginning
that you may hurt me, but you
will always help to clean
up the mess afterwards.
You will wash off your guilt,
and I will wash off my shame.
11/26/2018.
Feb 2019 · 297
backroads.
amanda cooper Feb 2019
our conversation
was punctuated by
the screech of my
windshield wiper blades
and we talked about
how if you were
the thunder, then I
was the rain
Inspired by Looking for Alaska
02/15/2019.
Feb 2019 · 175
ravens.
amanda cooper Feb 2019
the clink of bullets hit the floor.
you adjust my stance, tell me,
"here, hold it this way instead."
tell me to steady my breathing,
stop my shaking, take aim,
and pull the trigger.
its the eve of one of the
biggest days of my life,
and you're there by my side,
like you always have been.
you've been through this before.
you've seen the best and worst
this has to offer and you're telling
me it'll be okay if i take that step.
i couldn't do it without you.
so the next day, i steadied my
breathing, stopped my shaking,
took aim, and pulled the trigger,
just the way you taught me.
02/14/2019.
amanda cooper Feb 2019
You are my biggest inspiration and
my sense of motivation and
I wouldn't be who I am without your hand
to guide me through all these years.
You taught me everything that I know and
you've helped me through all of the new
challenges thrown my way.
Do you remember when we sat on the steps
by the door upstairs and stared at the moon?
It felt like closure for both of us and it's
one of my favorite memories.
Do you remember running away to the beach
for ****** pina coladas and to sit in the
sand for stolen lunch breaks?
I'll never forget stuffing your trunk with bags of
clothes with that secret smile and knowing that
I won't tell if you won't.
I've never had more comfort than knowing I
had you beside me during my worst moments,
even an entire country apart.
When the time comes, I hope I can be
half the mother that you are to me.
Title is a quote my mom said about me five years ago today that still cracks me up. Some things never change, like my undying love for her.
02/13/2019.
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