She spent her whole life dreaming. Everything and everyone she encountered told her
to stop. “It’s a waste of time” “It’s not healthy” “Grow up” they’d say. And eventually she
started to believe the things people said. She wanted big things - for herself and for
others, but it didn’t take long for her to realize the importance of settling. It made things
easier and she had the tendency to complicate them without even trying. She felt
isolated from the world just outside her door but she didn’t know how to change that or if
she even wanted to. The best things in life tend to waste away after a matter of
moments. They pass away as if they’d never existed. Maybe she’d imagined them all.
She began to condition herself to expect disappointment. It worked for a little while, but
hard as she tried to shield herself from the pains of everyday life - the bullet always
seem to ﬁnd her. It always came, without fail and pierced her heart with little regard for
the repercussions. She longed for the day she would be good enough for the people
she loved. Maybe you had to earn it, and she hadn’t yet collected enough gold stars to
pick out of the treasure box.
I flattened my palm against yours to see if we were compatible.
My hand was dwarfed by yours.
"Are we compatible?" you ask.
"You feel familiar,
like a memory.
with worn in soles.
Like a dream,
that became reality."
Let's get married in Vegas.
Let's have a ramen noodle dinner party.
A quaint occasion.
In our quaint cottage.
Let's dive into the ocean
Floating among the plankton.
Glowing like stars in the sea.
Let's grow young together.
I want to cuddle and listen to the hum of the fridge.
I want to trace your features
With my fingertips.
I want all of me
Touching all of you.
You smell fizzy.
Everything you do is what I want.
You're fun to be in love with.
You make my heart hiccup.
I'm around too many people that are too obsessed with their bodies.
I'm afraid of being too skinny. I'm afraid of being too fat.
Molded into the right shape by the wrong society.
Pinching your tummy fat between sickly fingers with manicured nails painted blood red.
Your power lies in your body.
Men desire us
So we ought to be optimally desirable.
Inject fat from your *** into your lips
And give us a big sloppy kiss.
No thigh gap, no problem.
I hate and love my bellybutton at the same time.
It's half inny, half outy -
as if playiNg coy.
I'm down to my socks and knickers.
I'd describe them, bUt you don't care.
I choose a flattering filter on my webcam
and strike a pose
as the countDown begins:
Three - two -
They say a picture is worth 1,000 words,
but only one comes to my mind.
Craving affection, I did what any girl would do.
I knew he wanted me
and I knew I would regret it
but I pushed past the guilt
and willed my thumbs to be bold
because my mouth would not.
* I'm bored. Want to make out?
He replied almost instantly
though not looking in my direction
where I sat not more than a foot away.
My phone buzzed.
One new text
I convinced myself he would know it didn't mean anything.
So I kissed him in the poorly decorated guest bedroom.
I didn't like the way his mouth felt
or the way his hands passive aggressively caressed me.
He was surprised by my utilization of lip nibbling.
He said he could get used to it.
He closed the door.
"I'm not going to have *** with you."
He's terrible at pretending he's not phased by this.
I don't let him walk me to my car,
fearing he'll expect a goodnight kiss.
But that's not what this is.
Maybe he'll realize
I was longing for someone else's kiss.
I remember the precise moment I stopped loving him.
We had gone out to dinner.
I was just getting back from the lady's room.
He looked up at me and smiled.
His eyes, I noticed, were dead and lifeless.
Not even a dull glimmer of light remained.
thinking eyes would appear in the two gaping holes in his face.
They only grew deeper.
He looked at me quizzically.
Perhaps something in my expression had given me away.
I sat down beside him
avoiding looking at what had once been a pair of chlorine blue eyes.
It was as if something had changed in the time it took me to use the restroom.
When I left everything was normal.
But when I came back he was no longer the man I loved.
I denied it for a while,
dismissing it as a feeling that would pass just like indigestion.
But it never did.
It only worsened.
An unexplainable bitterness began to build up inside me.
Today I looked through some old photos of us
and realized that I'd imagined those chlorine blue eyes of his
because he'd never had eyes of his own to begin with.
Funny howI was the one with the eyes and I was blind the whole time.
Maybe I should pluck my eyes out.
Mommy said if he's mean it's because he likes you.
She said boys are backwards and upside down.
She said boys are young dumb and fullofcum.
She said close your eyes when you fall so you don't see how much it's going to hurt.
I still have bruises, she said.
They shared a mutual hatred for people
that disclosed unsolicited details about their relation*****.
Even though they spoke everyday
goodbyes never got easier.
brb, gonna sleep for eight hours.
What will you dream of?
You want me to say you, and I want me to say you, but I have no control over my dreams. You're only reserved for my daydreams.
They exchanged a plethora of photographs.
I lIkE yOuR sOcKs.
It wasn't long before they perfected the art of taking selfies in the shower.
LeT's PlAy NaKeD tWiStEr.
Sometimes they broke the unspoken rules they'd agreed to.
The rules that banned them from getting too cutesy;
or twee as he liked to put it.
Cuddling is just hugging laying down.
For much longer.
*Cuddling is just horizontal hugging for a long time.
I step out of the bathroom, the soft yellow light casting a trail from the doorway out onto the carpeted floor of my bedroom. You're sitting criss cross in my bed, your elbows resting on your knees. You look up when you hear the door open.I cross my arms across my chest and walk towards you, hoping the lighting is merciful. You push your legs out so that they dangle over the edge of the bed. I position myself between them as my hands trail up your legs.
I'm not wearing make up because I feel that you'd prefer that I didn't. I'm wearing my pink Calvin Klein bra with the lace trim and my black partial lace, partial mesh underwear. I feel self conscious, but resist the urge to ruin the moment by making fun of myself. I'm not waiting for you to say something to make me feel pretty. I don't need you to when I see the way you look at me.
You help me up into your lap so I'm straddling you. You lie down on your back and stare up at me. I'm comforted in knowing you're just as nervous as me. But the nervousness isn't the bad kind - but exciting. The alt-J album An Awesome Wave is playing softly in the background. I recall adding Intro to my Little Death playlist and laugh under my breath. Your hand reaches out to caress a tendril of my hair. I feel your touch from my split ends, to my roots, and all the way to my fingertips. I do my best to keep them from trembling. But knowing you're just beneath me has a way of making my entire body pulse in anticipation.
I want you. I want to feel you. I want you to feel me. I want it to feel unnatural when we're clothed together. I want you to hear all my noises and show me all of yours. I want our bodies to move in time to the music. Eyes closed. Sensations have a way of making you see. And I see all of you tangled up in all of me.
The music swells. The drums. Guitar. My body feels like an instrument in your arms. Your hands. Exploring my notes. Play me and I'll sing loud. Fingertips between my lips. Mine. Yours. Mouth on mouth. Mouth on neck. mouth on chest.
Your mouth tastes of gummy turtles.
Something that one of us said.
Taking turns playing the victim.
Apologies laced with guilt.
The horrifying rush of almost losing you.
Shove the doubt down deep.
Keep quiet until morning.
Don't make a mess of this.
Part of it is ***.
Part of it is just me.
Shoveling hurts into a fire.
To make them disappear.
Never sitting still
Too afraid of thinking.
Why so sad?
Why so mean?
We've still got six months
Left of our sentence.
But you're stuck in isolation.
You don't hear me.
You're not listening.
We don't talk,
We don't discuss,
These bars have hardened us.
They'll be no niceness left when we're
mommy's first mistake.
hair and eyes the color of freshly mixed mud.
too small and lumpy.
passed off to daddy like a hot potato.
that potato grew.
and now i'm daddy's regret too.
Flesh against flesh
In a sensual dance.
A face twisted in pleasure
Is mistaken for pain.
Singing a song
Orchestrated by the body.
They call it
If you've sung
Then you know why.
The streams of water
Trickle from the shower head
And tickle my lips.
Leaving me longing
To be kissed.
I saw you with her
Smiling that smile.
I’d love to wipe it off your face.
Is she better than me?
Don’t answer that.
You punched me right in the face…
That my ego
Gasped for breath.
I don't like people that use the word "epic".
I don't like people that are overly optimistic.
I don't like people that "read twilight before it got popular".
I don't like the cold.
I don't like insults disguised as compliments.
I don't like tardiness.
I don't like
I do like
I do like people that wear ironic t-shirts.
I do like people with green eyes.
I do like people that are awkward.
I do like raw cookie dough.
I do like writing ****** stories.
I do like you.
Let's get under the covers together
and make a lil love tent.
Warm, cozy and
Wandering love tent hands.
I'll be gentle.
But I don't want you to be.
Pushing our love tent bodies together.
Love tent lip bites.
No pants allowed in our lil love tent.
You want to take advantage?
I want you to.
I want to hug you for three hours.
Make that three hours
and four minutes.
I want to feel the weight of your head against my stomach.
Listen to the rumbles.
My belly button is not an "on" switch.
I want to touch your lips
With my fingertips.
Imagining how they'd feel elsewhere.
I want to moan for mercy.
I give you permission
To dream of me
In something that comes off easily.
I consent to your hands
Trailing down my body
Until my vision goes spotty.
Touch me at every red light.
Make me feel right.
Don't make me ask again.
(This is the poem's end.)
I did it.
Shame has a way of hollowing me out.
I showed you my scars and you said they were nothing,
but now they're consuming my heart.
There's lots I could say,
But my credibility is only as good as the rest of me,
which is not.
I said: "not all things that have been broken are bad"
but now I'm distraught.
I could play therapist and analyze myself:
daddy issues - check
trust issues - check
abandonment issues - check check
I ****** up.
I don't want to find an excuse
that'll make you stay.
Maybe that's why I pushed you away.
I don't want you to leave,
but I care too much not to let you.
I wish I would have realized sooner
and gotten my priorities straight.
We could lie together
and that would be okay.
And you could **** all the girls
and go into gruesome detail.
As long as you still had your finger on my heart.
But you wouldn't do that.
Because you're not **** like the others
and that's why I picked you.
I'm afraid I'm not anymore.
I ran to keep from
The soft bounce of my shoes on the pavement
was my way of pushing back when the world kept pressing its weight on me.
If you say I love you, you're signing a contract
A document that you acknowledge the sharp pains that keep you from sleeping won't cease.
You're forfeiting the feeling of being loved in order to show someone love.
You're saying: "I know this will happen again and it is worth it."
I'm so tired.
but I refuse to succumb
before I'm ready.
My shoulders ache
my eyes burn.
I can help.
Let me fix you.
You need me.
How can I refuse?
I wished you a goodnight.
Hoping you'd dream of something that would make you blush
when I asked about it the following morning.
I'd lie awake in bed
for another hour or so,
having idealistic daydreams
of tickle fights that turned to frisk fights.
Not that I'd put up much resistance.
If you play the part of the naughty lab professor
I promise I'll find a way to end up in detention everyday.
I won't tell if you don't.
I say it in French
so the words don't seem as heavy.
Heavy things leave both parties weaker
than when they started.
You make me feel all carbonated inside.
I always wondered if love
is nothing more than holding onto what you've got
from fear that you won't find something better.
Just one big settlement.
Deal or no deal.
We carried on in our mutual settlement
weighing the pros and cons.
Trying to determine each other's worth.
When my pockets were empty
I decided it was time to make a return.
I could no longer afford all he had cost me.
I think I like writing because it’s another distraction from those feelings I try so hard to outrun. For a short while I have a purpose and I can feel as though someone is listening to me. Someone can hear me. But of course I’m just talking to myself really. That’s all this is. Me trying to comfort myself. And the thought of that saddens me more than I could have anticipated.
My life is an indie drama that no one’s ever watched. It collects dust on the bottom of the shelf along with the other VHS tapes that are no longer of use to the video store… by this point I’m sure you’re beginning to grasp what kind of mood I’m in. Introspective. Deeper in thought than I’d care to be.
As I now will myself not to cry I have the urge to walk down the hall, through the kitchen to my dad’s room and wake him up just so I can have him hold me for a few moments. So I can remember what it’s like to be comforted by someone other than myself. Someone that hardly has the choice to love me. Would he hold me? Let me cry briefly perhaps? Or would he turn me away before I plead my case? This could seem like a cruel response, but I too have been cruel so maybe it would be my karma.
I know it’s hard for him to see me in a fritz. It makes him feel uncomfortable. Something he can’t fix. I just want him to be my dad for two minutes. Then I could shuffle back to my bedroom, slip into bed and drift in and out of sleep. I don’t know when my dad and I became so afraid of each other. Our relationship is now that of two roommates that don’t really care for the others company. It’s as if I woke up one day and realized I was homeless, yet ironically living in the home of my father. The separation we’ve built up between each other serves as an emotional wall so we can’t hurt each other. Those are two things we’ve both become experts on – hurting each other and building walls.
It’s strange the way all these feelings well up inside me all of the sudden. I was able to keep them at bay all day, keeping busy at work. In fact I had a great day – even making a decent amount in tips. I keep torturing myself. This self-mutilation only seems to worsen.
My bed is an island
On all sides surrounded
I sleep in til noon
And live off the fat of the land.
This is my
I don't ever want to leave.
And he realized then that she wasn't his.
Passing her off like a spliff.
Round and round she goes.
Nobody knows how it feels to die.
We're all too busy pretending to be alive.
She fell to the ground just like the ashes.
And I inhaled her like the smoke.
why do you even like me?
4,432 miles away
and you still find a way to make me
I calculate my words
and find that they are lacking.
Our romance is long division.
Did I forget to carry the one?
what is it about me?
Is it the way my hair frizzes when it's wet?
or the fact that my teeth are still slightly crooked despite my having had braces?
Surely it's my flirting.
And how my attempts at **** come off pathetic.
I'm sure you find it endearing.
I didn't notice that face,
the one I make when I'm concentrating -
until you mentioned it.
a bit of me is bothered,
bothered that you notice my embarrassing habits.
but another bit,
and a more prominent one -
flattered that you're watching me so closely
that you can see things
that I haven't noticed for 19 years.
You're bound to see something you like.
The black cursor pulses with intimidation;
urging you to fill the white blankness with letters that form words and transition into sentences.
The keyboard is my instrument,
usually used for good and occasionally for evil.
An encouraging word or a means to vanquish my enemies.
baby grew up
and baby turned bad.
but all the babes liked her,
which made her daddy mad.
but a mad daddy is better than
a sad baby.
I don't like any girl that could steal you away. Because she's there and I'm here.
She'll fall in love with you,
because how could she not.
First your skin should have ownership of (painting permanent pictures with needles)
and then the bits within.
I find it amusing that you always inflate your cheeks with fluid when you drink anything. Why not simply swallow the moment it's in your mouth?
Then I met you and I understood.
Some things are meant to be savored.
She was too ambitious
For someone that was often high.
And I admired the fact that she wanted to make
At 9:30 at night.
He was a quiet boy
obsessed with death.
Some said he was depressed.
And his smile.
his smile was worthwhile;
his smile was.
But the boy was not right.
His demons dressed in their Sunday's best
to keep from being caught.
He knew all the nice things people would say
at his funeral.
That he was smart,
This poem is for that boy.
The boy that never got to hear all the wonderful things
people had to say
because he is dead.
She has sharp hipbones
that jut out in a way that seems painful.
And I think her lips are too thin
but all the boys think she's beautiful.
I could be like her.
The Malibu Barbie type.
I could wear more makeup
and style my hair like the celebrities featured in Cosmo;
but would my prince charming be able to recognize me
through all that eyeliner and the smog of hairspray?
I wish i were a lighthouse;
Then I'd be my own safe place.
And the dark wouldn't seem so threatening.
He was a boy with beautiful eyes
and an appreciation for colorful socks and generic tea.
A boy that played the drums and went to festivals.
The kind of festivals that left him longing for a proper shower
and his mother's pork belly stew.
He dyed his hair a fitting shade of black
And though he was underwhelmed by the idea of anything romantic
his use of smiley emoticons was enough to make up for it.
He taught me the importance of learning to appreciate cheap wine
and the power of using compliments sparingly.
He was the kind of boy that would be fun to spoon,
or so I assume
because I've never met him.
My tongue was red
And yours was blue
So we made purple.
Tie dye my taste buds.
Paint my lips
With a kiss.
I knew it.
I swear I did.
From the moment you expressed your lack of interest for anything having to do with romance.
I’m not quite sure what I knew,
But I KNEW.
Maybe it was the fact that I would be happy memorizing the curves of your mouth by tracing your lips with my fingers in the dark.
Remember when you said that bit about not actually being hungry,
You just wanted flavors in your mouth.
There’s something endearing about the fact that we've fallen into an unconventional routine.
Perhaps because in traditional relationships it’s something people fear.
The casualty with which we regard the fact that though we have yet to meet,
Our lives will soon intersect indefinitely.
As if it were normal.
As if we care.
I’m far too susceptible to the way you seem to blink in slow motion
when you’re overdue for a good night’s sleep.
My favorite place to be is with you in my daydreams,
Thinking about things that could soon be reality.
Everyone and everything appears dull compared to way your eyes glimmer.
Have I told you that I adore?
I tell you in my poems so you don’t forget.
"You're an open book, but in a language I can't read."
*I'm the book you'll never take the time to read to the end.
Where's my inner beauty.
Rolled up in a spliff.
Where's my peace of mind.
Jumping off a cliff
His touch was too eager.
Almost as if he was afraid
She would evaporate into thin air.
She wanted to.
But she laid there instead
as he murmured drunken slurs into her ear.
She could taste the bitter fluid on his tongue.
He never seemed to want her when he was sober anymore.
It made her feel utterly repulsive.
Was it her unsatisfactory performance
that had driven him to his alcoholism?
Or had her looks deteriorated so rapidly
that the thought of touching her was sickening?
Perhaps this is why his movements were always so rushed now.
He wanted to get it over with.
Maybe he no longer enjoyed it
but saw it as a right of passage he had worked so hard to earn
he felt obliged to indulge.
Frankly, she no longer cared
to know the answer to these questions.
She felt his body convulsing on top of her -
a sign that he was close.
So she closed her eyes
and clenched her jaw.
"It'll be over soon" she thought.
He lived 150 miles away.
but there was something far greater
than a two and a half hour drive separating us.
You're 4,432 miles away
(I know. I googled it.)
yet you seem closer.
Though not close enough.
He made my bones feel dry.
I was afraid I'd break from the slightest movement.
but then you.
with your bedhead
and love of the sea.
He wants to be a doctor.
Admirable I suppose.
Excuse me if I don't wait in line to kiss his ***.
He did more hurting
than he did healing.
You'll be a marine biologist
and we'll live by the sea
and have a beautiful multiracial family.
I can't touch you.
but one day I will.
I'm bleeding boredom
While you're revising the things you said.
A redeeming soliloquy
But I'm still bored
And I haven't stopped bleeding
Or believing you'll leave me.
And too much cacophony.
Bring me down
Bring me low.
Let me go
Let me lie
Beneath the covers
Until my eyes are dry.
Don't you dare touch yourself.
That's my job.
I'm going to touch you in public
to make you want me in private.
But I'm going to make you wait.
Make you want it.
Feel my arousal.
Nails trailing down my spine.
Sandwiching your bottom lip between my teeth.
*I'm counting the minutes until I can taste you.
Too busy to say bye.
Let me cool down.
I don't want to talk with you right now.
Exit in the middle of an exchange of words.
Replace apologies with "brbs"