Ashley

Ashley Sep 2013

i have long since
closed
the book that i desperately
attempted to pen
about "us"

there never was an "us";
there was me,
desperately in love,
clinging to to someone who did not
feel the same

there was me,
foolishly thinking that someday,
in another world, in the future,
whenever,
that things could change

they will not change

i am not
the girl that you seem to seek
i have tried, for three
long, hard years,
to fit that mold

as i come to terms
with who i am,
with what i believe,
and with where i am going,
you do not quite fit

and that is not a harsh truth,
but honest reality;
we are on different paths,
heading to different loves
and to new lives

i have not wasted my three years
that i have so carefully
handed my heart to you,
and let you stomp me into
pieces

but i have realized
that another day spent
fooling myself
into believing that we are fated
is another day lost

in this world, i cannot afford
to throw away
precious time just to
write of how your eyes sparkle
when you smile

and so,
it is with a great struggle
with the girl who still believes in
a false dream, and the girl who knows
there is more

that i must, finally,
admit the truth to myself;
there is no "us",
and there never
was.

but i still hope that you have
a wonderful,
full,
wish fulfilling,
life

farewell,
first love, first heartache,
and the only one that i
would have stayed
in Hell for.

Ashley Sep 2013

the conqueror

they say that darkness falls.

they believe it overtakes the
Sun, in all its brilliance,
at the end of every day.
in their eyes, the clutches of night
abduct the light that is exuded
on to our haste-driven,
humming lives.

per contra,
black waves have never conquered
the biting bars of golden sunlight;
instead, it has always billowed
from opposite ends of the Earth
to replace a fickle Sun, one
that forsakes stars and city stripes
for new moieties, and
new existences.

at night, a duvet of ink swirls above us,
blanketing bodies and nature alike
under enchanted, glittering tapestries
woven together with the glittering tears
of galaxies out of reach, sewn and fitted
to the quintessence of shadowed alleys,
whispering fields, even
the dimply lit room where two beating hearts
unify.

they say darkness falls,
when the truth is, it rises.
darkness always rises like the calm, gentle wave.

this was a poem i just wrote for an english assignment, which i just like and felt like i wanted to post here. i was particularly inspired to write this poem by a line in the article i based it off of, that said "we like to think that darkness "falls"... but as the earth turns its back to the sun, darkness actually rises from the east to wash and flood over land and sea."

Ashley Sep 2013

if i'm a bird

if i could
i would fly

i would soar through clouds
and i would wave
at tiny people
through windows;
thin layers of glass, protecting people from
speeding dangers
on trains, and planes,
and automobiles.

but more likely, i
would fly to your window
and watch
as you dreamed about
city skylines and
country fields, as you sang
about stars in her eyes,
and i would think
how heavy you were;
so full of potential
and unbroken dreams.

maybe, if i could
fly, you would write about
me.
me, the bird
with the fragile wings;
the bird who flew and gave
you back inspiration in return for
faith, and belief.

Ashley Sep 2013

second chances

i don't give second chances.

if you hurt me, over any
tiny, insignificant thing,
then i will push you away.

and even if, someday, i let you back in,
it will never be the same
because as a rule, second chances
do not change
a person whose character is
flat.

however,
the day i met you,
something changed.

i let you rip my heart
into bloodied shreds;
i watched as it fluttered down
and landed in a pile
that included my dignity,
my sanity,
and what was left of
my innocence.

i watched, completely detached
yet insanely aware of
how you could look at me
and of how i would do
anything - no,
everything
to make things okay for you.

i would move earth,
crash my car into a wall,
even sew my lips shut; i'd do
all of it
without complaint,
especially if i knew you'd grant me one
second,
minute,
hour
of the attention i craved.

so it was no surprise,
that each time i declared
to be done or
pushed you away,
that you could always
find your way
back in.
there was always some kind of
charm, lurking
in those crystalline eyes
and tucked into your laugh.
there was always,
always - no matter how much
i changed, or moved forward -
some part of myself that i
left with you;
some part of myself that -
while i don't even want it -
i will never get back.

so it is no surprise
that you smile at me on a friday,
or that it is so painfully familiar,
or even that it strikes me down
as hard as the first blow
Cupid aimed towards my heart.
no, the surprise lies in the sharp ache,
the realization that part of you and i
are still lodged in our past;
we are still just kids,
still best friends.
there is still a part of me
that wishes to rewind time
and return to the golden era
of us.

there is still a part of myself
that would give you your twentieth
second chance
if all you did was
laugh.

Ashley Sep 2013

tired

sleep is nothing more
than pressing pause on netflix;
our minds are put on hold,
our worries forgotten for the duration
of a few REM cycles.
the events of the past day,
week,
even our whole lives -
all of it is suspended,
frozen in the clutches of time -
lurking in the back.
Grendel in the shadows,
only woken by glaring sunlight
and the sound of joy.

the beast slinks inside
and it interrupts
the tranquility of transgression
with splintering, mind numbing, earth quavering reality.
and consequently,
reality is nothing more
than an empty space in a too cold bed.
it is nothing
but a series of unsaid goodbyes and
pleas for you to return;
but only in the mind,
because the words are burning holes
through my lying tongue.
the only reality left is sometimes,
i catch an icy blue glare in the mirror,
haunting and devastatingly familiar.

sleep is escape
if only to a universe where we
were not;
if only to a land where what is done
can be undone,
as easily as pressing undo while typing.
at least there, where i dream of you once,
again,
you cannot leave nor hurt me.
and we always have happy endings,
because i always pictured
that that was all you could bring me.

i never dreamed i couldn't dream,
or that the monsters lurked not in the shadowy alleys,
but instead, inside of me.
and i never imagined them seeping into reality.

i never knew losing you
could **** me.

Ashley Sep 2013

hypocrite

i am not okay.

i am there when my friends need me,
listening,
giving out advice like it's christmas,
and they are the salvation army,
ringing bells.

i am distant sometimes; i rarely answer texts
and not once has anyone
ever
wondered why.

i get sad, and i have never told
anyone
as to why that might be.
but they have never asked
either.

because
who wants to hear the woes
of the broken girl
lost in her own mind,
utterly unsure.

but sometimes, i have an overwhelming
emptiness
digging into my bones,
and i want to speak but find myself
unable.

trapped in my silence,
my inability to break this image of
near perfection
that i have worked so hard to
obtain.

even though i dispute it,
and despise everything about this
person
i have created, that's how
they see me.

when they ask if i'm okay,
i always reply "yes," or
"i will be"
because i have to be
to survive.

but what i may want to say,
what i wish i could scream
from the tops of roofs
and the ends of the sea
is that i am drowning.

i look in the mirror
and i hate
everything;
i want to claw at myself, and tear away
the ugly.

i want to rip apart
the blonde and blue,
replace it with dark brown
and muted grays,
and disappear.

i want to tear
at the angry red marks
that litter my skin, and
i want to rip the fat off in shreds until there is nothing -
nothing left but blood stained bones.

i want to change myself
and make who i am
loveable;
i want to be pretty, perfect;
maybe, for you.

i want to feel something,
anything,
besides this loathing
and despair that lurks
inside my chest.

i don't want to suffocate
and i want to tell someone -
anyone -
that i need to be saved. but i can't;
i won't be a burden.

but i am not okay,
and i have been sad
so empty for so long
and no one seems to see past
the artificial light.

that's all i am -
a phony;
an actor wearing the appropriate masks,
a broke soul playing the role
of "happy."

just once, i would like someone to see me
and realize that i am so lost,
desperately searching for "okay"
and see that i want to be
saved.

but that's the dream,
the fantasy - i know,
there's no need for reminders
that heroes don't come for sad, faithless girls
too far gone to make it.

there are not helping hands
for girls who are splintered,
held together by ****** strips of duct tape,
crushed hope,
and steel wires of depression.

so instead, i will hide my pleas
behind bright smiles
and i will hold back my cries
even if they choke me
even if they **** me.

because people,
even those you love,
do not look kindly upon messes
and leave at the first signs of broken
that's what they do.

they whisper about the messes,
gossip right in front of their eyes;
as if these are not people, and cannot hear
or feel the pity
burning through their words.

a mess is just that -
a mess -
and there is no person brave enough for those
unless they are the beautiful, fragile kind,
of which i am not.

Ashley Sep 2013

anywhere but here

when you were thirteen,
you told me how
you hated it here, and
wanted to escape.
i idolized you then,
because i needed someone who
understood
the heavy desire
of needing to be anywhere,
everywhere,
but here.

when you were sixteen,
i told you my plans of
traveling to London
and going to school there for one year,
maybe two.
you asked me why, and
i couldn't answer
because you didn't
remember.