i
hold
grudges
like
my
mother
&
leave
first
like
my
father.

tonight was a godsend

he plays the cello in parks after hours while i'm smoking cigarettes and trying to think of things to write down later
he sleeps in the back of his truck with a blue blanket when he doesn't want to wake up in his bedroom alone
he climbs on everything and doesn't sit still and ***** girls that i can only imagine wish that he would kiss them too
he went to school for massage therapy and he looks like chris from skins and he was manic tonight and said i made him happy and he's sorry that he used me
i told him to do it again

"hollow"
would be an
understatement
if i were trying to
describe how i felt
lately.

i have no words left.

the sun in me must be heavy
because waking up is getting harder
i am practicing for the real thing
if we're being honest, i don't
want to see my 17th birthday
because since somewhere after
my 13th one, i have been restrained,
arms behind my back, while he
sucker-punched me in the jaw
i have spent the last 4 years
spitting blood and teeth onto the cement
and saying "thank you, thank you,
this is all i could ever want."

2 years ago
i was sitting on an old, ***** love seat
in a musky garage
that belonged to your mother
taking hit after hit
from a pipe made of tin foil
holding hands with you
on that love seat that had me
laughing 'till i didn't know
if i actually existed
and other times, it had me
wishing i didn't exist at all
but that first time you
pressed your lips softly into mine
it didn't feel like a kiss at all,
but more like a trigger being pulled.
for the last 2 years,
i have been stuck on that love seat
not knowing how to exist
in any other way besides
trying to find you on it but
you left a long time ago
and i don't know if i've finally
found my way home
or if i am just disappearing
as the months pass and i
forget more and more what
it felt like to have bullets
for a tongue, sitting next to you
on that old, ***** love seat

and what's worse is that
i couldn't go back if i wanted
and it may be that my life
is getting duller and greyer
every second that i
am forgetting how
to miss you.

this morning, i awoke with a million different things swimming through my brain's waves and wiring that all could be summarized in only four words, picked at, scraped down, and peeled off completely raw:
my heart is hurting.

if the people at that party could physically see it in action, it would be on it's hands and knees, crawling to the nearest and darkest corner to hide in. no one seems to think you deserve me and no one has any patience and no one is waking up this morning, clutching their knees to their chest at the thought of the curve of his smile, making me want to meet god just so i could thank him for it.  

and i think it's almost insane, the way this world works. how i stayed on the porch with him until the sun came up even after he said he'd only stay for a little while. how we talked so loudly of loneliness but hadn't even slightly exhaled the word itself. how he's a figment of my past but he made my world feel new again. how all of the people that want me around are pushing me away because of the way he leaves me and showing their teeth because of the way i want him despite that- there is no kindness here- when the reason it hurts is because he is the most warm, tender person and understands the same thing about me.

it's a dog-eat-dog world and i am a 16 year old human, eating a burrito over the kitchen sink in my underwear at 5 o'clock, monday morning.

haven't had it in me.

i wish i could
string my phrases
together with
a lace of
simplicity and
modesty.

but i am
complexed
by you.

i spent the day with him.
i listened to him
talk about drugs for hours,
then let him **** me
till it hurt
to look at him.
i'm not in love,
i just lust for him
in a tired, quiet way.

we were on his porch
when i snuck away
for just a few minutes to
call you and say
to your voice mail:
"the sky's on fire.
it's orange, red and pink.
it's really something you should see."

and it's back to him
and his nicotine lips.
he's an old soul
he's a free spirit
he's creative and
he's slept with everyone i know.

i wish you were here.

sometimes,
i feel so empty
that i cut my own skin.
not to try to let anything out,
but to see if something will crawl in.

Not a poem, more of an update.

Basically, I'm back! I'll be posting here again regularly.

Also, 99% of the poems I posted here were about one boy. We ended up becoming best friends and it turns out he's actually a horrible person. Just thought it was kind of funny to log into this account and look at all my old poems and think "******* I didn't even know him at all" and thought y'all might get a kick out of that too. It's weird how things end up.

Let me know who's still around! I assume most of my regular followers completely forgot about me haha. Just wondering if I'm talking to no one here.

Either way, I'm glad to be back and I hope you all enjoy what I have to put out here.

in 10 years
your body will be
covered in ink
and i will look back
on the days i used to
make the most intimate
c o n t a c t
with the flawless
ivory silk you called
skin, a version of you
that was young and
pure

i've been feeling, lately,
like i can't write because the
weight of your goodbye
has fogged up my head
far worse than it was
when i used to lay in my
old driveway and imagine
the weight of your truck
against my chest.
typed out easily with a
smiley face at the end of it
just to tell me that your
departure from me does not
weigh heavy on your heart.
you didn't mean it that way.

the thing is, i wrote about you
day and night the last time
you clouded up my mind
but i still choked on the air
you always made so heavy
around me the next time we
spoke, so maybe this won't
do my any good.

in the midst of all the chaos in my life right now, i have a tiny sliver of hope
in the form of a christmas card, written
wishing you well
            merry christmas,
                   skip

all i can do now is think about
being in missouri city by this time next year
spending holidays with a family i can stand
maybe i'll go to back to school with the comfort
of having someone stand behind me and
understand when i say that the weight
of my fear is too much to hold inside my body
and i will shatter on impact with the floor
if i try to get out of bed today

maybe i will never have to think about
the life i have now, with the mother who
does not and will not understand the words
"e m o t i o n a l  a b u s e"
and the chemical-reliant sister who doesn't
know the meaning of love and respect
and the man who can't step up and be the
adult and tell me that it is not my decision to make
maybe i will never touch another bottle
maybe i will be able to talk to the people
that it has hurt me to love, without a can in my hand
maybe i will love myself in turn of adding back
the half of my life that i have slowly lost
over the past twelve and a half years
father, despite leaving me to wonder why
i didn't know if you were even alive,
the thought of you is the purest thing
in my reach, this holiday.

i don't think i'll ever forgive him
for choosing me to suffer without you
you were ripped from me
i have been at the bottom of the sea
he thought an ark would save everyone
i'm still here, i am drowning
i am the prodigal son,
confused, setting fire to every pew
that made me believe in him
more than my own self
i don't need him like i need you
i will baptize myself in your name
i will crucify my body and let
my soul find itself your way
until that day comes, i am
waiting for you to join me
let's tessellate.

last night, i slept in your
blue plaid pajama pants
and woke up with them,
and myself, soaked in
period blood.
i cleaned myself off,
cleaned my bedroom up,
and found an old towel
under my bed that we
used to use to wipe off
whatever mess we made
on top of it.
i melted in a bathtub full
of too-hot water and
scented bubbles while
the song my grandfather
used to sing to me as a
lullaby overpowered
any thought i had about
impurity and sin.

i notice these moments
more than anything else
you can call me "beautiful"
we can make love to my
favorite songs, but even
though i take that home
with me, it stays in the
bag i brought instead of
the pores in my body.
there's a silent movie in
my head that replays
e  v  e  r  y  s  i  n  g  l  e
gas station, back road
beaten up motel moment
that makes me certain that
you are a front cover to
my back one, & in between
the two of us, we'll create
a story that'll put the bible
in the drawer next to the
motel bed to shame.

here i am

gripping my pen
tight enough to
turn my knuckles
white

while trying
to write about
letting go

you said it was the weather
when i asked why it is i'’m so cold
what you forgot to mention is
that it was the middle of the
summer and whether or not you
would be back by the time fall hit

well, fall hit and the leaves
crunching beneath my shoes sound
like door slams and i stay up thinking
if you weren’t around to hear it;
did it really happen?
you don’t call the next day and
i know for sure it happened

you say i should move on,
i picked the boy with your fingers
and spent the night thinking about the
way he would look on top of me
and spent the morning hoping you
couldn’t read minds,
because mine wasn’t on yours
this time and im sorry,
you say you will call and i think about
the way winter will hit without you around
to see, because it's happened but
this time it won't leave bruises

the first time we
touched, your
grandmother's
wedding china
trembled in its
cabinet

but i learned that
you compulsively
avoid punishment
by devouring the
nearest misses and
digesting them as
innocence.

the golden month of summer
we're recovered from the semester
we spent making fun of each other
i know this because of the way
you are holding my hand
in this moment, i am begging
for someone to ask what love is
so i can tell them something like
"you know when you hold onto
something for too long and your
palms get a little sweaty and so
you let go of whatever it is?
i feel like that right now, but
it's more like his hand is
sweaty but i'm grabbing tighter
like a plead from a door frame
begging for the slamming to stop
yeah, my palm is sweaty but
i cannot let go.

2 years later, here i am
my hands are clenching themselves
into fists, my palms are sweating
but i've developed this habit of
not letting go of anything
and i miss you.

somehow
between facebook posts
and blankets tied around my neck
drunkenly running through the house
i keep finding myself
playing the heroine
to your hero.

his is drug withdrawal,
but with a boy.
he’s just sitting
on my bed side table
staring at me and i
keep cutting him
into lines,
but i can’t inhale him.

can’t inhale him cause
my nose is filled with blood
and if i tried,
i’d just be swallowing that.

last night, i was forcing the last couple drops
out of the bottle and into my sinful mouth
sitting on the floor of a kitchen that had
Christ hanging on the walls like he
******* died there or something.
in the morning, you arrived back in
your home state where you and your
morphine eyes will haunt my
ambien bedroom.

1AM, i was
gently shoved
out of a dream
in which i was
thrown into some
type of parallel
where

you
      and
              i

had never spoke
more than a mere
"excuse me"
walking into school
one morning
holding a glass door
open

i have spent
the last 5 hours
trying to get
this scene out of
my head.

even in a universe
where you had
never squeezed my
hand twice, like a
pulse, or sat on
your porch with
your cigarettes we
shared and two
glasses of orange,
i left my lipstick
on everything
you'd have thought
i would be more
permanent --

even then
i spent the rest
of my dream
thinking
about how
7:45AM
looks so
good on
you.

i want to show you how lovely my room
looks when i first wake up and the
light is pouring in through cracked blinds
but a picture doesn’t do it justice and
a response from you has become even
less frequent than a thought about
something other than you and your
tragically well put together writings
that never seem to be addressed
to me anymore but i think that
if i were to put a few more states and messy
goodbyes between us then you might
just find me interesting and worth
your time again

i'm sorry that all i can give you
doesn't include wanting you around

only missing the times that i did

all my friends loved drugs or liked to get ****** up
my boyfriend would shoot ****** and paint with my blood
i’ll sure as hell miss downing pills
but i think i want to live instead

i loved white nights bleaching my eyelids
i loved brunette boys who made me feel like jesus
getting ****** on rooftops watching the sun collapse
but i’m tired of waking up and feeling like ****

i had fun drinking ***** on hot, summer nights
and placing pills under my tongue until the world was vivid neon lights
holding hands with the boy who drank too much lean
but i think i want to make it past 2013

you used to sing to me
but it's been days since i've
heard anything from you directly
and i completely understand if
your world is crashing down
under the weight of my sadness
but the one thing i have to ask is
to please, take back this
agonizing pain that you gave me
on your way out of the door.

i used to think you just wanted to warm your hands
but i realized you really do want to watch the world burn instead
what an awful way to have wasted all the love i had

ever since your mother told you not to talk to strangers,
you stopped looking at y o u r s e l f  in the mirror
but if anyone at all were to ask me about you
i'd have to tell them how you love the sun
or how you'd whisper in the morning
allthough you are a bomb to me
you told me once that you swear
you had died with me in an attic fire
in a past life that hurt even more than this
that's when i realized i could scream my name
into your mouth, and hear the echo
coming from your chest
that was the closest i could ever get
to your heart
i'd sleep next to you as
you cuddle with your dreams
while nightmares are fended off
by the better parts of you
the ones that put a pin-sized hole
in your heart every time i
cried for you, and you couldn't
return the favor.
every single morning, you'd wake
and the nightmare would return
it turns out that's what was
holding my hand the whole time
i memorized the words in your eyes
it hurt and i
       suffered and i
                  bled and i  
       cried
but at least i did it
now they rush through my veins
out of my fingers, through this pen
i can't let go of it now

i fell in love with you sober.
you were drunk.
i saw you at your worst;
open and raw
and flayed to the bone,
and i loved you.
you were honest--
too honest
and rude at times,
but i appreciated that.
you knew how to
have a good time.

in a perfect world,
we'd spend mornings in bed,
tracing each others limbs
with just the very tips of
our fingers.
we'd eat tons of food together
and steal cigarettes
from the neighbor,
like we used to.
i'd laugh at you
and smile about your face
again.

To my dear friends who have followed and supported me on this website,
after about a year or two of not being able to write more than a poem every few months at most, I decided enough is enough and I need to get back into the swing of things.
Which I will be doing on a new account! Clean slate and all.
I wanted to let all of you know that you have all been an important part of me growing into myself as a writer and a person, I could not have survived without coming on here every day and writing about anything I was going through and knowing I had an infinite supply of support.
If you still would like to keep up with me, I'll be leaving a comment on this post from the new account so you can find it.
And even if you don't, I still want to say thank you, so much, for being a part of such a special part of my existence.

i trace the cracks
in the pavement
with my foot
and bear the right
to miss you.
the *******
on my left hand
holding the cigarette
to my mouth
are turning pink
like my cheeks
when the winter
kisses them.
the smoke fills
my tiny lungs
until they can’t expand
any further
and when i hold it
for a few seconds,
i feel nostalgic
about that love seat
in your garage
and how your mom
was still alive and
things were so different.
i exhale
and watch the
cancerous contents
spill from my mouth
and remember the way
your lips look
so much better,
remember wishing
i could be your addiction,
remember how
you made death beautiful.

you’re not dead yet,
but you might as well be.
it hurts less and less
every time
i visit your grave;
the shell of
the person
you used to be.
i figured out
the different between
me and you;
i feel love,
but you shoot it
into your veins.
i hide my hands
inside my sleeves
and cringe
at the thought
of not being able
to call myself
“yours”
anymore.
i’ll take my slow,
last drag
and put out
what i thought
was going to be
a life time
of trying
to figure you out.

it's been  t w o  years
so i  don't  remember
any  specific  things  i
used  to  note when  i
would lie   next to you
and  find  the   perfect
metaphors   for   your
perfect  features.   the
only  stories i  have to
tell now are  the  ones
about how  i  think  of
you every  single  day
s       t       i       l       l
but  after  t w o  years
i have   finally   started
to  address   the   pain
of being    second best
and   lately,   not  even
the thought of    y  o  u
r      h  i  p  s   pressed
onto hers hurt me more
than how i feel on days
i eat,    or the  sight  of
myself      in the mirror.

something snapped in me earlier this month
i think it was the bough that held most of what was rotten inside of me
but it could've just been the breath i was holding ever since the day i declared that your absence was never permanent, but i realized that this time it is
but this is not a poem about hoping that what goes up must come down, and what leaves you has to come back around
it's about how the clouds are looking more like laughing children
and i hear the birds in the morning without mourning you at the sight of an empty chair
i have found truth in a kind of beauty that has nothing to do with you

two weeks ago, all i thought about was what kind of person you have become and if they are anything like the person i fell in love with, but

if i've learned anything about love from you
it's that sometimes it means screaming until your voice shatters and other times it's found in silence
or growing out of old ways and apologizing despite only having fallen so hard, you left a crack in the cement

i've learned that the only reason anyone could ever replace me is because i left a hole big enough in their chest to need replacing
and by the end of it all, i got to laugh and cry and *** and be the truest, most human version of myself in the presence of someone else
i have a whole lifetime to do it all over again

i loved the things that you would do when you were you
that is enough for me

you try to alter fate;
fate is
persistant,
stubborn,
resistant.

he is a spoilt child
who stomps his foot on the floor
to get what he wants.

you’re the one
who cuts the telephone line
and then tries to call for help.