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Caroline K Dec 2014
Baby show me what home feels like.
This frozen town has never felt warm to me.
It's hard for me to stay.
When people think they know my name
from meeting my eyes once.
Think they know my story because
they heard my name whispered on walls
or maybe not at all.
No matter how many sugars I add,
this town will always
taste bitter between my lips.
Caroline K Nov 2014
If your arms are Boston, than I miss home.
Caroline K Oct 2014
1.You were my first love, I will never forget that summer. With the boy who always wore a Rockstar SnapBack and taught me how to skateboard. I told you I wanted to see your best friend. That was first time feeling my heart break while bleeding regret. I cried to mayday parade every night after. A few years later you chatted me and asked if you could be my first kiss. I'm glad you weren't. We haven't talked since and you can't be my first everything.
2. You were a rebel. You asked me to run away with you; we planed our escape to the mountains. You wanted to kiss me after you walked me home in the snow. I remember how cold my feet were in my converse. I ran away before our lips met. I didn't want you to take stars from my eyes like I knew you would. Somehow years later, you are still stuck in the same town while I ran 2,000 miles away to the mountains.
3. There was distance between us. But you always drove to my house in your beloved red Mazda. I wanted to like you as much as you liked me. You were the only guy to ever buy me flowers; they died just like us. I told you I couldn't be with you anymore; I know I broke your heart.
4. I swear you were fate. My judgement was cloudy from all the drugs you always had to give. I wanted to mend your life, I wanted to be your glue. But I realized I was just as broken but in different ways. As much as we wanted, we couldn't piece the other one back together with our shattered hands. I'm just ****** you can say you took my virginity. I hope it hurts every time you hear my name.
5. I never saw this coming. You were a Junior and I was a freshmen. You stole my first kiss; somehow I never forgot how your lips tasted. You were out of my league but you fell for me. I convinced myself it was just a summer fling. While you were saying goodbye to summer, I was boarding a plane. At the terminal you whispered you loved me. Now, you are the only one I can see myself with.
Caroline K Oct 2014
Scars on my arms
the ones I told you
were from the cats,
where to prevent those thoughts
from coming back.
But my demons
are starting to visit me more
during the day,
and it's so hard to hide
in sunlight.
I want to reach into my chest
and remove my heart,
but the shards stab me
I'm a danger to myself.
I want to rip
everything cased behind
my ribs with my finger tips.
I want to be empty
so there is nothing
left to destroy.
It's harder now,
to swallow down
the parts of myself
I can't seem to stomach.
I'm disintegrating
from the inside out.
Caroline K Jul 2014
Walking home under street lit lamps
my bitter lips told you to go back.
Anger burning in my eyes you could read
that I didn't want you near me.
Your toothbrush next to mine and
a drawer to call your own.
Sharing the same bed,
with nothing but naked skin and heavy breathing.
I thought love was supposed to be a constant variable in life
but I close my eyes and it's not you that I crave.
I am laced with guilt for not feeling the same,
I want those butterflies I got from kissing you
the first day you came.
You know every curve to my body,
you know how to touch me in the perfect way
and my skin does want you at times
but I still feel vacant.
Caroline K Jun 2014
Allow me to remind you,
that the sunrises are always
the most beautiful
when you are awake to see them.
Take value in those bewitching
fabrics of clutter, you wrap
your walls with.
For you are a skeleton;
empty and translucent.
There are no diamonds in your eyes
no sparks of fire when you laugh
because you are hollow bones,
marrow ****** dry.
Oh how my eyes deceived me
when we first met.
I think it was all of those
inflatables you bought me,
so I would also rest
on your surface.
Caroline K May 2014
In seventh grade,
I wrote you a poem
of your missing pieces
to the family puzzle.

I wrote it on blank slates
of pale wrists
with red ink.
But not even words
upon my skin made
me exist.

I wanted you to cultivate
flowers in the cracks you created.
For many years
I watered and waited
to see seeds
turn to green.

Maybe you got lost
in the rain trying to find
the street name.
Excuses you made
never did make sense
to me.

Now I have learned your delicate dance,
I have observed
And have learned to spin
the last straws of patients
into gold.
Edited with Robert Shuman
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