I'm just an empty coffee cup, with nothing left in me and all of the stains from the past.
i can no longer be your pick-me-up.
-is to feel the glow of light
even in darkness
is to want now to last forever
while still anticipating
is to draw a future
between the cracks of your smile
is to fill myself
in the lifeline of your palm
is to color cheeks into blush
at the sight of your gaze
is to stretch a smile
into a mountain range
is to pour myself
in the indents of your ribcage
is to hear a reminder of you
every time a love song plays
is to finally understand
why they were made
is to not have fully understood
a good night of sleep
until it is spent by your side
to be with you-
is to find god in our silence
to see the holy in our touching
to say grace for this feeling
and pray for it to stay.
sometimes getting out of bed feels more like a climbing
and some mornings waking up can be a triathlon of effort
I have completed many
sometimes I am all muscle
sometimes I am all skin
sometimes I am the long lost cousin of regret
sometimes I am the farthest thing from human
some days I am a Saturday
some days I am more Monday
some days I am both
it does not matter which day it actually is
it does matter if I can't remember
I get lost often
in the process of writing
and moments of comfort
I don't think about the future a lot
but occasionally I'll wonder what it would be like to live happily in it
Now and then I'll draw people into mine and imagine how they'd fit
I take things day by day but tomorrow still excites me nonetheless
I was fifteen when I got my nose pierced
sixteen when I switched the stud for a ring
seventeen when I got my driver's license
and at eighteen I finally stopped sleeping with a nightlight
I am terrified of the dark
but I will never admit it
I am terrified of losing things
but I will hold onto my pride like it's my sole source of surviving
I will not always be smiling
know that if I am not, it’s not your fault
know that if I am, it is
it took me years to correctly pronounce ptsd
it took me a few, two exactly
to admit that I have it
know there will be days when the storm is too heavy to fight off alone
the winds too strong to fend off with just these arms
I will not ask for your help
I will think that I don't need it
know that your laugh will never become secondary
your happiness, always a priority
I have loved too much for far too long to not do so consistently
I'm a hopeless romantic
but often times I will just be hopeless
is when I will need you most
when the loud of my vocality has turned itself quiet
when I can blame only tired for my weakness
is when I will need to be reminded
of that tomorrow that excites me so greatly
about all the times the stars were told they wouldn't glow bright and center
tell me about all those instances of defiance
tell me about the moments where the sun refused to let the clouds block her bravery
how she still manages to make herself known in the midst of chaos
is there anything more worth it
than being unabashed in your awareness?
to know that this is what I am
and it is all I have to offer
the thing is
I don't have a lot to offer you
only poorly composed sonnets and a good 99% of my affection
the other one percent
I'm saving for myself to have on a rainy day
the thing is
I don't have a lot to give
but I do have words I am willing to tie into stanzas
I will wrap them up and call them gifts
I've got a body,
not perfect but it's mine
and I'd love for you to know it
the thing is
there are a lot of things you should know about me
before you love me
but the truth is
a lot of them you really won't find out
until you do
and that alone
is the best part
I fell asleep.
To this current dragging me away,
But that's okay.
We were never meant to be, anyway.
You were nothing, corruption.
We could never work in conjunction.
And without you I can finally function.
It's a little silly how much weight you bare.
Its a shame how little pain,
I feel, When I think of rain.
But don't worry, you've created a tear.
You have shattered the barrier, broken.
But I am not the one behind.
I have left unspoken.
She is wounded, weeping.
Tainting me, dissolving us, Poison.
The best word to describe you is, Poison.
Because you're the reason for this corrosion.
They say crying releases toxins
From your brain.
That's what makes you feel better.
Well, as a walking poison,
I must need to keep those toxins.
Maybe if I hold them in,
My poison won't spread.
My poison is a bomb.
Collecting those toxins,
And kills those closest to me.
So maybe the only way to save them,
Is to leave them.
But what if that kills me?
And then I explode.
My poison killing them then?
I guess my poison is uncontrollable,
But I suppose I'll keep trying anyway.
Sometimes I think it would be so much easier for everyone if I simply hadn't been born.
I know am not a great poet, syllables was never my thing
I know am not a poet, I never was
But life turned me into a thinker
I was long lost, now am a believer
Felt like an outcast, in a land full of deceivers
you know am a keeper
I kept it all in while the world was cruel
I didn't know how to grieve, I was never taught how to cry
my heart grew solid, despair was my comfort
I searched for answers,but uprooted more questions
I tried to jump, but your hand held mine
I tried to hang, but the rope wasn't tight
I tried drowning but the tides brought me back
In a world full of noo's, i found a dimple
that hope in a dusty room
a room, far forgotten
I walked in and smoked hope
a pen and a paper changed my life
I can voice my sufferings and victories
*am not a keeper anymore, am a poet
I'm tired of written apologies you don't have the guts to speak-
Poets use words and letters and metaphors to explain how they feel
but you, you use a paint by numbers
and it seems to me I've ran out of every color
so now you're just a blank page staring back at me
tempting me to write my own apologies
because I somehow feel bad for you having to say sorry.
These days can become the flat tire on your car on the way to a funeral
but I will always be there to bring you light
even when you take your lack of apologies
and use them to knock out the lights on the ceiling fan-
I will wait in the dark until you decide to change the bulb.
But you never do-
so I'm left there picking up shards of lightbulb
as my hands bleed and spell out your apologies
and I look up at you and ask for help
but it seems you are stuck inside your own mind
your own world until the mess is cleaned up
and the light returns and then I'm stuck here apologizing
for getting blood stains on your t-shirt.
I understand dismay, and the ability to be distraught-
but I don't understand being someone else's peacoat
there to keep you warm until its no longer needed.
I just want to be appreciated.