Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Celeste Jul 2015
im stuck between what my mind and heart wants
nothing seems to be in its right place
or maybe im just never meant to be anywhere that i happen to be
my mind is always caressed by clouds and burned by the vocalists of the earth
words are as scorching as the rays of the sun and my writs are itching once again

and im scared im scared im scared this world is not for me
  Jan 2015 Celeste
Joshua Haines
She looked at me and said,
"You should **** me
before you love me."
And so I did.

Her hands covered her *******
and she said,
"I want you to guess which breast
my father touched first."
And so I did.

The bones in her hands shifted
as she fixed her hair into a ponytail.
"You're going to promise me that
you're not going to try to fix me.
You're going to promise me, okay?"
And so I did.

Her lips would start bleeding
because when she lied
she chewed her lips.
She said, "I think today
will be the last day I live."
And I asked her for one more.

Dry blood sat on her inner lips
as she kissed me good morning.
Her voice softly cooed,
"I hope that isn't the last time
I kiss you."
And I asked her for one more.

She bled,
"All you write about are girls.
You never write about me.
All you write about are faces
without souls. What about my soul?
Are you going to
******* write about my soul?
Are you going to write another poem?"
And I asked her for one more.

Looking at me,
she ran her fingers
down her hips,
across scars,
and said,
"Too many men look at me
and see what they want to.
They look at me and see
broken picture frames
that they can repair
and put our faces into."

Our hands met
and our fingers grasped
at the pieces of ourselves
that were deeper than faces.
But it was only me
as she whispered,
licked my cheek
to my ear,
"Don't fall in love
with what you
think you see.
Just **** me."

And so I did.
And so I asked her for one more.
  Dec 2014 Celeste
Being good enough is entirely subjective.

Not knowing,
but understanding,
that you'd never be.

So alone I stand,
record as clean as a babe's.

Not because no one's good enough.
But because I'll never be good enough.

When they leave,
I never protest.

I watched,
and empathised.

What I have,
everyone has.

What I lack,
anyone can make up for

I only wish for that simple happiness.
Of love.

Yet how can I?

Thus I'm content,
in my halfheartedsoul,
that I will never be anyone's cup of tea;
should never be.

They deserve better,
much better,
but I just can't help myself,
from thinking,
Next page