Bec Miller

Bec Miller Mar 2014

bff

you get angry
at me
because your boyfriend
is mean
to me
and I won't take it.

and you choose him
over me
wanting to talk to him
and not me
and I miss you.

and I look back
at the pictures
on the rocks by the river
with the cigarettes burning
close to our fingers
and our hair in the breeze
and the smiles on our faces
and you were my best friend
and now you don't care
because you're always with him
and never call me
to share what's been going on in your days
and I feel like I don't know you.

and you definitely
don't know me.

Bec Miller Feb 2014

And I'll Give You My Beating Heart if You Ask

It had been so long
since I last made the effort
to put together
words with a meaning
beyond social niceties
and basic conversation.

Now that I have again begun
I cannot stop the outpour
of letters and spaces
strung together by
the most fragile of emotions
and thoughts I never
dare speak aloud
for fear they will be
misconstrued
by the narrow mind
of the modern young adult.

I don't know you
and yet
I wear for you
my heart on my sleeve.

Bec Miller Feb 2014

the boyfriend father

I was a child
and you
9 years my senior
when you invited me
into your bed.

And I stayed,
but only to sleep
and you understood
and held me
like a father holds
his daughter.

And as time passed
I did more in your bed
than just sleep
and at the moment,
it felt right.

But now I see-

It wasn't.
I was searching
for my beloved father
in the corners of this town
a country away from him
and you were clinging
to the youth
you were too old to own.

And we found each other
and momentarily
I was happy
until one day I realized
you spoke down to me
like a child
and offered the
unsolicited advice
of a worried parent.

And then I was the worried one.

I will write his story until I can sleep again, until his smell is washed clean from my memory and I can feel assured that his name will never show up on my caller ID again because one father, *my* father, is enough.

Bec Miller Feb 2014

passion pill

The warmth
of clean sheets
and a welcoming pillow
call to me louder
than a cold text book.

The flick
of a cigarette
is always more enticing
than the loud clack
of my keyboard.

And then
a wave of
     nausea
          chills
               anxiety
gripping at my core.

Where has my life gone?

Quickly, quietly,
I dial your number
and search the drawers
for a few crumpled bills
and you give me
in exchange
the familiar orange capsules.

The beads inside
jingle, as I walk
up the stairs to my room
and quickly swallow
the only thing
that can reignite the spark
and the passion
of knowledge, with which
my eyes once burned.

t-minus 11 hours until my midterm.
stick to the 3 main food groups: nicotine, caffeine, adderall

Bec Miller Feb 2014

Skin

I'm tired of my skin
and what it speaks
of my past
and the knowledge
it gives to people
who will never know me.

I'm sick of putting holes
and cold metal jewelry
in the only body
I will ever have.

Razor blades and needles
are long left in my past
*so why does my skin
still tell their story?

Bec Miller Feb 2014

Crave

You looked at me
like you might love me
in the very moment when
my hair fell between
your fingers
And the words
rested on my tongue
longing for
the perfect moment
to speak them aloud

Bec Miller Feb 2014

Ask Me One More Time

You ask me
to ******* my body
in return
for what you already owe me.

You ask me
to forgive you
for all the harm
and pain you caused.

So ask me
one more time,
and wait a moment.

Soon, you will feel
my pain,
burning in the Hell Fire
you call your heart.

— The End —