falling in love

laughing for real full minutes and it doesn’t stop being funny every time i think about it

music loud windows down driving fast alone

jealousy

rage with hitting and screaming

physically too hot

guilt

being almost home

smiling or crying at a painting

right after finishing a really good movie late at night wide awake

having to fight another person physically to stay alive

seeing the person you love the most get really hurt or die

finding out a favorite Facebook friend died from RIP posts

not being able to leave

right after finally being done being mad and crying for hours

high on ******

*** that makes you cry

kissing someone special for the first time

I am so alone that I am choking on it
so many people love me and nobody knows me;

fading tattoos on my body like an epitaph for my heart.

Littered in bruises from people I don't know
but
they might as well be from me.

It's still a better day than yesterday.

for two years
every day had a purpose:
get more ******.
weeks became punctuated with
Narcan in mcdonalds bathrooms
and breaking your ribs
trying to make you breathe again-
when my hands come down on your chest
i go back to the seventh grade
someone is explaining that birds' bones are hollow because they were born to fly-

why is there such sick pleasure in this?
it was never as simple as wanting to get high-
first day: i can't think of the baby that died I need to get high
second day: I can't think about the boy that ***** me I need to get high
over and over and over
we would make love on the ******,
forgive our faults as soon as we found a vein
sharing a needle, you've been deeper inside of me than anyone-

i'm sober now. moved thirty miles north.
they took you away from me and the ******
my days aren't marked with purpose anymore
it's been fourteen days since I finally thought of the child I'm still scared to mourn
and the boy whose name I am too scared to whisper when I am alone

I have not left my house in fourteen days
and i can't breathe deeply;
I broke my rib on day one

it feels like the skin is at war with itself,
fingernails as artillery,
and i hear them whispering like these pinprick bullet wounds
aren't critical until i can feel the pain-
but there is a bomb that will go off inside of me

i can feel the clock ticking down inside of me so loud i am vibrating,
it's so loud you can see my hands shaking

and bruises bloom like flowers on the cemetery my body is becoming
and i can feel my blood being replaced with embalming fluid

"stop this" i moan,
and she says back, "just stop yourself"

its late afternoon in the winter and the sun is dripping into the horizon,
the creams golds crimsons making love to each other in the reflections in the snow. the air is frigid and whistles as i push further and further down on the accelerator.
60. 70. 80. 90. 100. 110. the steering wheel is practically vibrating and i have to grip it with both hands to keep it steady, my fingers are turning blue. there are fields and farmers' markets nearly hidden by the walls of snow plowed away earlier today. my knuckles are white, the pool of my ***** in the passenger seat on top looks like it's freezing over on the edges.
my phone is ringing, i know it's not him, i can't look at it anyway. the sun hasn't stopped dripping below the horizon, the glow of my phone lights up the whole car. the radio is playing a song i don't know, it's so loud that i can feel the beat in my heart, but not even my pulse has a sense of rhythm beating ten beats between 1 and 3, my phone is still ringing, i know it's him but i know it's not. the ***** has developed a film, this car is putrid and i am inside of it.

i know i should pull over but i can't get far enough away.

i slow back to 80 and throw up outside of the window, i don't stop.

my words foam up and come out in squeaks and stutters
and i always say all the wrong words
and embarrass you in front of your friends
my words are spat, not spoken when we're fighting and i'll say
anything anything anything
even if it is so cold and so acidic that my chest hurts
after it's left my throat
my words are too loud, too harsh, too demanding
empty promises snorted away
over and over again

your fingers tracing my thigh
and you look at me like you want to memorize every part

what a difference a year makes

you sneer at me from across the room
the only way people know we're together is when someone else tells them

i can't blame you for giving up on me
i can't blame you for falling out of love
i can't blame you for seeking comfort in someone else

i'm still here
and i'd do anything to be what you want again

my words don't mean
much of anything
anymore

what scared me the most
is that those few moments before i could tell for sure
when i couldn't tell if the problem was inability to find
a pulse or a vein-
the weak, venomous veins-
were the only few moments that were still quiet
because nothing has seemed to stop since then
the screaming hasn't stopped since then
the screaming hasn't stopped since i started it

it could've been her

her skin is a shade of white not natural
her lips were blue in the morning
she refuses to tell the doctors about
the ******
the blow
the pills
but i tell her that it's okay because
every time i look at her for more than
a few seconds my face gets hot
and not in the way it used to
but in the way that makes you itch

the sunset is hazy through sheer curtains
she hasn't woken up for a few hours
the sunset is hazy
her eyes don't open all the way
the sunset is hazy
and falling away like a broken yolk

you cut the brown boy
into two lines while i roll a dollar bill
you're telling me about how i should let you shoot up
just once
so you can know what it's like.
i loved the way ****** tasted, the way it felt sitting in my nose.
unlike blow or pills, you don't let it drain into your throat
it just sits there
and pushes into you.
you cut the brown boy
and when we snort it it tastes like sugar
sweeter than the coke cut with B12 that had me up all night
and i can taste it all over my body
like the sour sweet is pacing through my body to the beating of my heart
i feel it in my arms
i feel it in my nose
i feel it between my legs.
i felt so warm, and then i was on top of you.
kissing on your neck and grinding on your lap, i can feel your heartbeat and it is so
s
l
o
w.
the sun is setting outside
and your skin is ignited with the orange flame.
you taste like cherries and cucumbers and ******.
the warmth is even brighter when you are inside of me,
i am holding you so close that i'm scared if we go still we will just
melt into each other.
"i love you
i love you
i love you" we whisper back and forth;
you grip my hands while i ***

we're outside for a cigarette in your car
we're going to go buy some molly in a city far away
your eyelids are still sagging
and everything is still so slow
i can see the yellow of the nicotine in the smoke.

i am overcome with grief and guilt every time i wash my hands
because i do not know how much of you is left in the fine lines of my palms

7:06
bringing a new weight to the words "high and dry,"
she crushes ten 0.5 milligram pills of xanax with the **** end of a spoon,
puts half of it up her nose, mixes the rest into a bottle of water along with a koolaid packet.

8:47
bringing a new weight to the words "high and dry,"
she pulls three more pills from an empty lipstick tube in her bag,
chases them with her koolaid xanax cocktail and checks her email:
for every day that she doesn't change her underwear, she makes twenty dollars,
mrsympatico@gmail.com tells her.

9:32
bringing a new weight to the words "high and dry,"
she snorts three more fat discolored lines in a public bathroom with her best friend.
her friend crushed the pills with a pen that clicked every time she pressed down;
breathe in fast and hold your ******* breath.

10:15
bringing a new weight to the words "high and dry,"
she takes her last pill of the day.
today has cost her at least thirty dollars
as she makes a career out of killing herself.

you don't believe in god
neither do i, most of the time
but neither of us would ever touch a ouija board
and we talk about gas station karma and
you rap your beaten knuckles on wood

and maybe it was just the right place and the right time
and maybe we were just both ****** up at the right times

but i met you
and you met me
and all i wanted to do was meet you over and over again

now when i wake up at night your arms are around me
and i believe in magic

"don't let anyone you wouldn't want to be
inside you"
stuffy grandmothers whisper after bar mitzfahs
or quinceaneras or senior proms
while they are whisked away by the rough hands of boys.

protecting the inches between her legs
will always be more important than anything else.

ankles crossed sitting on the washing machine
until her mom slaps her across the face.

spent virginity:
what if the blood never stops
running

her eyes are brown
but when they meet mine
i swear, it's like staring into a kaleidoscope

an empty bottle of barefoot wine
lies,
crucified,
in the middle of the sea of plush carpet
you watch her reach slender shaking fingers out
to the thick,
cheap
green glass
and the bottle spins
oh god,
does the bottle spin
to the saccharine nervous laughter of girls still barely children
and before you know it, the battered cork is facing you,
confronting
you.
thin pink lips let out whispers about how "is she gonna kiss a girl?
that's kind of
gross."
and suddenly you're meeting her hazy eyes
and then watching her lips,
wet
from thirty dollar lip gloss and wine stolen from target.
she licks them.
your palms are pressing into the plush beige
leaving stains
when you lift them
to let your fingertips hover around her waist
and then your eyes are closed and
your lips are pressed against hers,
hard.
before you could remember how she tastes,
you're both crouched back down on your
respective spots in the circle
and she laughs
and she says
"i can't believe i did that!

i'm so drunk!"

how do i mourn a concept?
how did i lose something
that was never really there?

****** knuckles ****** knuckles ****** knuckles

it's four am and my head is all tweezers in sockets and
fingers in throats and
never enough sleep

****** mary ****** mary ****** mary

come and take my eyes from their sockets
with a melon baller
and hold me till i'm not screaming anymore

****** nose ****** nose ****** nose

it's almost tolerable
that my bed is empty when my nostrils burn
and everything tastes like pills

red to the core;
the always bleeding girl.

yeah, but you're not.

waking up next to a girl you don't love feels like
howling
waking up next to a girl you don't love feels like
hoping she doesn't leave her smell on your sheets
waking up next to a girl you don't love feels like
scrambling for your clothes the second you notice sunlight peeking through the blinds
waking up next to a girl you don't love feels like
washing your hands of the smell of her ****
waking up next to a girl you don't love feels like
brushing your teeth before you kiss her
waking up next to a girl you don't love feels like
******* in the morning is just as ***** as it was at night
waking up next to a girl you don't love feels like
howling
waking up next to a girl you don't love feels like
howling until your voice is hoarse and your mouth forgets how to form words

"it'd probably be really nice to be in love with you"

sure, but i'm not

if you're reading this really in the morning
im your ex girlfriend probably
and youre trying to see whats up
im in love and im a lot happier than i was with you
but im still not totally happy, i hope thats satisfying
being an ex girlfriend is such a minor part of my identity, wow
my poetry about other stuff still *****
but my love poems are a lot better now bc i mean them, lol.

if you're reading this at maybe five thirty pm
and you just got off work
and you follow me on hellopoetry.com because you liked a poem
i wrote in 2013 and thought you'd stick around
i'm just gonna spoil the ending for you now:
i'm only gonna get worse

if you're reading this when you should be sleeping
and you're middle name's elizabeth and you lie
about hating shoplifting
i love you too

one time
i was in the third grade
mrs. jernigan's class
i answered a question on the board
i dont remember the question but the answer was he'll
and i wrote it on the board w a smelly blue expo marker
and smiled so big when i walked back to my seat
trusting every person who told me i was smart
and everyone who said i was pretty
and then everyone
in mrs. jernigan's third grade class laughed
because instead of he'll,
the contraction that would grant me power and status
in mrs. jernigan's third grade class,
i had written
hell

and then the smelly little dude in front of me, keith,
turned around and said
"your ***** are too big
for your shirt"

pink striations bloom on my neck,
curving and running like rivers
or the creek behind your childhood home
because when faced with the thought of living
in a skin void of your touch,
what am i supposed to do
but scratch?

would you still love me if i wasn't soft and beautiful?

i hate feeling like i can't move my own mountains,
like i am waiting to hand someone else the shovel
or whatever the **** people use to move mountains.
i hate how much i hate my sweat,
i want it to pour, i want to drown in my stick and my stink
but instead i will smell like baby powder and cocoa butter kiss and va va vanilla.

my nails are short and a little bit yellow
i wear baseball tees and flannel and i can drink like a man

but my doors are still being opened,
old men still love me,
my mountains
are all still being moved
without me

i almost never have dreams, just nightmares and nightmares and on luckier nights, just blackness.

on the luckiest nights, it's just her

memories of her doe eyes peering up at me through thick naked lashes
skin soft as satin
and i get to watch her mouth "i love you" over and over and over again

and when she falls asleep beside me
i'm not so scared
of the nightmares and the nightmares and the nightmares
or the
blackness

because falling asleep with her
means waking up with her
and she is hazy and soft and on fire in the sunshine
and all sorts of messy hair and boxer briefs and sticky spit
and then i can't even remember
what i was so afraid of

i love the way it feels to throw up,
all burning and hoarse throats and saliva and stench;
an ephemeral reminder that you have insides and that they work.

and trust me, when you tell someone you have to puke
they get out of your ******* way

and your body
will do it's best
to get all the bad out
because no matter how hard you try it just keeps finding its way in
when your voice isn't loud enough and words like no
or stop
or please
start feeling like using an umbrella made of newspaper in a thunderstorm.

wastebaskets full of bile and half-digested bits of whatever you had for breakfast
are your nauseous little body's final declaration of
yeah,
**what is happening to me is definitely not ******* okay

Wow... she may not be innocent, but he is an absolute *******.
DON'T BURN ME!!! (continues grabbing at a burning cigarette)
pure ****** ***** !
I would've slapped the **** out of that ****
Burning someone with cigarettes is a terrible thing to do.
I'm glad there's a great big ******* ocean between me and these *******
you can't really expect anything less from such low-class people.
very classy.
Will they just have *** already?
close your legs....*****
he is just upset that she doesn't want to **** him

should i shave my head female
symptoms of a psychotic break
amber rose twerks to *** drop
hot bald women
how to will your hallucinations away
should i shave my head quiz
what does it mean if i can't feel anything again
borderline personality disorder and psychotic breaks
bipolar disorder and psychotic breaks
ptsd and psychotic breaks
jeremih down on me
facebook
overcoming bitterness ptsd
how to force yourself to stick to the goals you set
malaria
tegan and sara walking with a ghost
sad people smoking cigarettes youtube
******* myself and not make anyone sad

you go to bed believing everything will be different
but then you wake up
and nothing
ever
is

9:23 i threw a piece of cake at my dad
9:40 i am trying to climb up the wall to the beat of *** drop by wiz khalifa
9:52 my girlfriend is asleep so im just ******* to ****
9:54 i can't get off so i start singing *** drop by wiz khalifa very loudly
9:56 my dad yelled at me for singing
10:15 the whole kitchen is clean now and i run back upstairs
10:19 exchange with my mom goes really bad we are mad at each other now
10:21 slamming my door shut three times because the wall shook really hard the first time
10:45 and no one is awake and no one is talking to me and i am alone


3:45 i am watching intervention and sobbing because the alcoholic socialite is more beautiful than i will ever be
3:58 google search: ptsd flashback racing thoughts grounding skills creative
4:00 surprise surprise the internet has disappointed me i can't breathe
4:12 i'm writing a poem about bipolar disorder because at least maybe it'll get me some attention

when you touch me i want my whole body to
slide into the ridges of your fingerprints
so i can leave parts of me
on everything you love

and i love it when the sun rises now
because
when the light hits the side of your face in that way that it does
i can feel the blood moving through every part of my body

and being alone isn't so bad
when i'm alone with you

and before i could say that i loved you
i wanted so badly to only want you once
(okay twice)
(okay three times)
because i can't
get
enough
and i will always be terrified
you can

and now i get to tell you i love you
whenever
i want
and you're mine
and i am yours
(keep me)

(please keep me)

she comes back into the room
completely naked
and she doesn't say anything
and neither do i
she just sort of

stands there

for a minute

i feel like such an inconvenience to you
and i love it

i'd **** myself
if i wasn't so sure
you'd use her pain
to get to her

again

utopia lives in the space between never and again
and it screams to me louder than
cicadas at dusk
(nymphs
leaving
the chrysalis)

like ******* on her **** and letting it dry
or scrubbing the leaves on a fern
i can't tell if our meeting was
unintentional
or
unnecessary

either way,
your loss.

I will always decide which parts of me you are allowed to love.
Are you braver for hurting me or am I braver for letting you?
How many of my thoughts are free of muse; why can't I convince myself that my pain is profound?

All punching bags, blue razors, sports, meat;
men are fascinating when they gather.

What must it feel like to gain acceptance through *******?
Why do you wanna *** on my face?

There is no tenderness here,
there is no failure.

I love God, because She will always be soft lips,
wide hips and breast tissue,
She kisses me on the mouth after.

Your perfume is Diesel Brave Tattoo, the bottle is shaped like a fist,
and I saw your jaw clench when I called it perfume.


DON'T RELAX.
DON'T BE POLITE TO ME.
DON'T TOUCH ME.
DON'T TOUCH ME.
DON'T TOUCH ME.

EAT MY *****.

i wish you would ******* die
so i would have an excuse
to miss you

cut me a line, tell me it's gonna be okay

hold me until i stop shaking
remind me to eat

cut me a line, lie to me and tell me you'll stay

pull your fingers through my hair
shake me awake, **** me to sleep

cut me a line, tell me i'm going to die

once my teeth have all fallen out,
i will line them up like little bone tombstones,
and love my dentures more than
i will ever mourn my
flesh.

maybe it was your brooding eyes
maybe it was your veins
maybe it was the fact that i can't stop imagining you with
your hands scraping at my back
because when i'm with you,
i can't help but feel like i'm radiating


visions of you running your lips down my back
keep me awake
and i can't ******* sit still
let me taste your ivory skin
let me feel your eyelashes under my lips
because, ****, without you i suffer

and i'm greedy with my touch
because i can't seem to get enough of you
no matter how much i grab
bite
kiss
lick

even thinking about this makes me shiver
**** me with no regret

you're the only one
who's ever made the space between my legs feel so anxious

i just wanna submit to your touch
because your gaze just can't satiate this
need
anymore

you make my jaw tense
and my hands
grasp
at anything i can reach

these unfamiliar feelings
are the only things keeping me
hazy

sift through me

make me quake

x rated thoughts invade my mind when i see you
but instead of thinking **** me
i want you to love me
i want you to make love to me
i want to hold you and tell you you're beautiful until you believe it
i am aching to kiss the small of your back
breathe words trying to express my feelings for you onto your bare skin
and i want you to know that every time you touch me
i'm giving you a piece of myself
take care of it
you're pulling me apart and i love it


i guess you make me emotionally *****

slurred words of "**** me"
and "that feels nice"
blurry visions of your eyes 
getting a view of the back 
of your head 

people ask why it happened
"I don't know. 
I was high."

is it still an excuse if staying high
was only to feel normal?

over-sexed middle aged housewife
parisian waif extinguisher 
net kid superstar 
lover of latino boys and tall girls

the first night we kissed
I was keeping track of how many people i tasted 
and I always said you counted
as a lot more than just one

1) you're going to need to know how to stop slurring and how to walk straight. be able to say the alphabet backwards when you're even close to unconsciousness, know when to stop ******* driving.
2) sleep will be either the most evasive or clinging lover. when you are awake for six days, write. when you are about to sleep for two, make sure you are on your side.
3) when the money is gone, you need to learn how to leave your body when they enter it. eventually you won't be able to feel a thing. but know that when you're sober she touches you a year later, you won't be able to feel it.
4) ******* won't be as good as getting high. don't feel like a genius when you wake up and have that idea.
5) your lovers and friends will all be addicted. drugs will become the only **** or interesting thing to you. years later, you'll still crave the taste of opiates on her tongue.
6) some of them will die. you won't be able to cry.
7) instead, you will be completely numb for weeks and you won't be able to tell the difference between the dope and the pain.
8) the dope will eventually become the pain.
9) it will never **** the pain.
10) lose all self respect now. lose all timidness.
11) don't forget you will lose all freedom in your search for it.

i wish i was brave enough
to write a poem for every person i kissed, ******,
loved.
i wish i could've loved her the way she wanted,
could've made things
easier.
i wish i could stay high for three weeks, three months,
the rest of my life.

thank you
for the wishes
genie.

i find you slipping out of the ugliest parts of me
a scar on my thigh everyone thinks is from my dog but was really from your teeth (a different
kind
of beast)
how i can't explain to my parents why i can't go to the airport or the zoo anymore
the hot water that turns my skin pink (i can't feel a thing)
all my friends want to **** me and i let them

for a long time it seemed too easy to give you the blame
how could something that evil
stem from someone who kissed
so
softly?

maybe it was because my mom told me i looked **** when i wasn't even ten years old
maybe it was because my friend christopher told me when a boy kisses you you've won
maybe it was because you distracted me from being in love with someone of the wrong ***
maybe it was because i was too afraid to say no at first

really i know
it was just you

but
why?

the way your touch can make all my other senses mute
2. even looking at a photograph of your eyes makes my pulse speed
3. the voice you use when you read poetry out loud
4. your smell
5. how scrunched up your face gets when you laugh really hard
6. your mattress on the floor
7. the way you ******* spoil our shows
8. when you sing along to your songs
9. how deeply you hate and love your friends
10. your love of your mom's cooking
11. every moment with you is a balance of comfortable and exciting
12. you make my heart race constantly
13. the caution in your touch and your voice
14. when you lift one eyebrow
15. how soft your hair is (baby bird)
16. the way you look in your staples uniform
17. how sad you get when you leave me
18. the way you smoke
19. the stacks of letters and journals in your room
20. when you jump out of the window of your truck
21. "i wanna be what you need"
22. you drive so ******* fast and so ******* badly
23. the shoes you wear
24. i have never felt more awake than when i am with you
25. your watch
26. the silly faces you make
27. the way i can't stop ******* adding things to this list

"sit on my lap, grind on me, let me kiss your neck"
"i think maybe we could make each other happy"
"how much"
"you aint a car ** ma, i wanna lay you down in a bed"
"with your hands on me, im more than okay"
"i could write poems about you. i won't, but i could"
"i miss my delicious little girl"
"how much"
"i have pills for you baby"
"this is my first ****** in front of someone"
"i dont love you but i wish i did. i wish i did."
"you taste like raspberries and im starving"
"how much"
"how much"
"how much"