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Jun 2016 · 308
Fill (part II)
J Jun 2016
Preoccupied with filling
holes in the souls of everyone else
Forgot how to nourish my own
for myself, I am hungry
You spoon fed me and I spit it out
I was adamant about not needing your help
But I lost the laughter too,
It was never just force feeding
It's summer and I am freezing

Preoccupied with filling
holes in the souls of everyone else
Forgot how to wake myself up
I can't remember how it feels to not love
I know what it feels like to be empty

and know that it is all your own fault

I forgot how to fill my own holes
Jun 2016 · 622
Fill
J Jun 2016
Why does everyone
fill their empty parts
with pieces of me
and when they leave
I'm left more empty?

Why does everyone
fill their voids with me
and forget that I have feelings
and that they can't be shaped like
clay in their cold hard hands
that only create when the head that
moves them has run out of options
I'm not a second option,
I'm not a last
I'm sick of people filling their empty parts with me
and leaving and not coming back
annoyed
J Jun 2016
In the end of May
The daisies finished blooming
Their brightest whites framed our beaten path.
I opened your sunroof and took in the light.
That night in your car
I swear it was holy
I saw solace in your eyes
I felt God that night in the sky.
But I lied and told you I didn't feel it
For I hadn't felt that way in ages,
I was scared of what was to come.
I'm sorry.
Jun 2016 · 444
Mid-Air Clip
J Jun 2016
You built my wings out of stained glass
The sun shined the brightest that summer
So I got set to soar and shower the world in color
But as I took off, my wings felt weak
you clipped them in mid air and stole them right from me.

So I fell
colors spiraled now
out of control,
reds and oranges swirled down
yellows crashed,
greens collapsed.
I landed in the sea
the deepest shade of blue.
I continued to sink in the sea
to violet sands,
purple tundras swallowed me
without my wings
on my body.

Why did you do that?
Build me a way out
and take it away?
Create an escape
just for play?
Jun 2016 · 241
Purge
J Jun 2016
My wrists ache
my fingers burn
but I will continue
until my heart is empty
purge the thoughts of you
from my jaded memory
my body will quiver
my head will still pound
but until my heart stops bleeding
I will not lay my pen down.
Jun 2016 · 403
Replaced/Bug Bites
J Jun 2016
My red scars have been replaced
and now pink bug bites remain
I fill the dark with sunsets
from the top of the park where we laid.
But I did not think of you today.

My summer heart beats steady,
July winds lifts me up,
the grass underneath might leave little cuts.
But they leave room for me to breathe.

I watch the sunset every day,
I take in every color,
I stopped waiting on a call
from a past- life lover.
I do not miss you at all.

I lay in the light,
reds, oranges, sherbert pink skies,
my skin takes in all the earth gives,
The sky wraps itself in mid July,
ribbons for clouds decorate the sky,
I do not ache for you this time.

Instead I crave the palette,
the warm hues of summer scattered,
those colors fill me up
they remind me who I was
three years ago in June
before I lost it all to you.

My scars were replaced
by ugly, pink bug bites,
my heart was replaced
by warm, itchy nights.
But I wouldn't change a thing.
My soul is hung up on a string.
Out on display for the world to see,
finally.
And every night, while it dries,
I have a chance to bring to light
everything your winter nights
tried to hide.
happy
Jun 2016 · 899
Where does your heart lie?
J Jun 2016
I wonder
where does your heart lie?
where does the extra go
when it's time to put on a show?
You live as an emotional exhibitionist
but golden lips trump hollow veins
you only show the world
your trophies and save the rest
for your pillow
so I wonder
where does your heart lie?
Who scared you into thinking
emotions are for the weak?
That sadness reaks of vulnerability
and that missing someone is unspeakable,
I wonder,
where does your heart lie?
The soul you expose
for the world to know
is a sliver of the pieces
that make you whole
you show only gold
when copper lies below
and I wonder
where does the rest go?
u a lying *******
Jun 2016 · 462
5 years/hours ago
J Jun 2016
5 years ago I was angry
vengence flooded my hollow veins
my skin was rough from self inflicted pain
my scabs turned purple, my eyes turned red
I was hateful and tired and bed ridden

5 year ago I was scared
fear swallowed my soulless insides
my hair was thin from all the gin
my nails were brittle from scratching at cement
I was weary and timid and bed ridden

5 years ago I was nothing
revenge conquered my purpose
my hands were cold from nights awake
my smile was jaded from faking
I was not who I am today

5 hours ago I was me
Right now, I am new
I threw away my hate
I swallowed my pride
and I decided to love my life

5 months ago I forgave you
5 years ago I could never
5 hours ago I forgave me, too
and 5 seconds ago I was new

Time ***** dry of what drive we have
hands tick and cause us to feel like collapsing
but I got tired of the scrapes on my knees
from praying to God for some sort of relief
so I decided to be that for me,
and I forgave you 5 years ago
I forgave me only 3
but it is behind us now
and we can move on
because 14 years ago
I thought I was wrong

5 years ago I was different
my body had seen better days
my heart only 15 years old
was ready to give in
I found forgiveness
in the darkerst corner of my ribs
I broke off a piece
to let some air in
and have been healing
ever since
I was sexually assaulted as a child and I found forgiveness as the only method of coping that has worked. This is the only poem I've written about it in years. I feel light.
Jun 2016 · 677
Night Shift
J Jun 2016
Night shifts are quiet
my mind is loud
it screams things at me
from all around the building
like how you left
and how you did it easily
how you walked away
without thinking of me
I swept and mopped
a hundred times
to clear the floor
of the stains left behind
I tried the same with my brain
and ended up jaded
saying your name
I wonder when this will subside
the rush in my veins every time
I see you come inside
just for a coffee
a quick pick-me-up
that's all I was, too,
you filled up your cup,
extra sugar to mask the taste
now I'm just stuck
Jun 2016 · 473
Your Eyes
J Jun 2016
I remember the first time I looked into your eyes
I felt everything inside you
suddenly felt everything inside me too.
Parts of me I wasn't aware existed started thawing out
I felt my bones start to shake.
I fell for you three years ago to this day.
And since then, I haven't been able to look back.


I remember the 56th time I looked into your eyes
I swore to God you were the one that made life worth living, constantly giving me something to smile about as the world seemed to crash around me in an unescapable pattern and I always fell into you.
I became comfortable with leaning on your shoulders though they too were weary but you never told me to stand up on my own
and I became afraid of being alone after the 154th time
I looked into your eyes and saw my future.

I remember the 876th time I looked into your eyes.
That day still haunts the perimeters of my mind
I felt my chest sink in that day
as you said the words "I'm not in love with you anymore"
after that every time I looked into your eyes I felt absolutely nothing.
I felt crashing, I felt sadness for a bit,
but nothing clicked like it did for years
and I felt the lump in my throat crawl into my brain
and I remember telling you I felt the same.
I wasn't in love with you anymore.
Prior to that, that thought never came up
I couldn't handle the pain of knowing I would have to move on
so I stopped looking into your eyes,
to spare myself the aching,
every time I felt a rush of blood pump to my heart
almost fast enough to make it stop,
and I wondered if it would ever start again.

The very last time I looked into your eyes
I felt a part of me die and I don't mean
it metaphorically,
I mean I felt my insides wither away so fast
they made me feel like I was losing air,
taking every bit of strength to put one foot
in front of the other just to bring myself out of there.
I said goodbye without looking at you for fear I might fall back
just like you let me for years.
I said goodbye without looking back and now I forget what
our last goodbye looked like,
but can't seem to forget how I felt at our first hello,
and I wonder if this is what hell is like.
Knowing that if you could, you'd do things right a second time,
but having that ability stripped away from you by a Greyhound bus
and a parking pass,
and always, constantly, looking back.
Jun 2016 · 258
untitled. june 19, 2016.
J Jun 2016
Every argument was useless
you never heard a single word I said
and now I climb mountains
to get your voice out of my head
I'm still better off without you
so don't come after me
I'm climbing at a steady rate
and soon I'll reach the peak
Jun 2016 · 309
Fall Apart
J Jun 2016
I fell apart 127 times before I stopped trying to put myself back together. What kind of force were you to steal my foundation and my willpower too? What kind of God would make our paths cross for long enough to build an empire, and watch us as we took that time and set everything on fire? There is nothing left of what we built, ashes cover anything green. The proof of our conquests lies under rubble too heavy to remove. Water fizzles off rocks that waited too long in the sun for enough energy to create life, and then we are nothing but steam. I stopped being able to reconcile with your energies last fall when we were apart because everything you sent my way dug a hole in my spine and I finally collapsed on December 9th. I fell to my knees at 6:33 at night and the pit in my stomach is still there even though you are not.

I haven't stopped trying to put myself back together since you left.
At least I can say I have that going for me. You took a lot but you didn't take everything.
Jun 2016 · 425
Energy
J Jun 2016
Soak up your energy like a ***** sponge
throw me out just like the rest
use me up until you've had enough
needed you at your best
no reason to try to save what's left
I'll need new ones anyway
to scrub this guilt of off my chest
Jun 2016 · 737
Tired
J Jun 2016
Tired.
Exhaustion,
the kind of fatigue you don't counteract
with behind-the-counter medications
because it lives behind your eyes but
not quite inside your brain,
the kind that makes you feel insane
just for acknowledging it's there.
It's quiet in the day but wrattles constantly,
reminding you, you're the only one to hear it.
Tired.
The kind that misses sleeping in,
but 13 hours of sleep is never enough
to fill in gaps or bags under eyes,
so you just lie in bed and think about
how tired you've become,
and how you've forgotten
how it feels to be refreshed.
Tired.
The kind of tired that inhibits you from moving
your mind races and your body is glued to the bed,
it's 3am now and you've finally stopped pacing in your head.
Tired.
your eyes stop moving around 6am
when you crawl into bed,
you are so drained,
nothing could keep you up now
you block out cars horns,
you ignore thoughts that knock on your door,
and rustle in your blinds,
and drown your fatigued mind,
begging for a place inside your bed,
you are so tired.
you are on sheets,
you haven't washed in weeks,
stuck without a destination
for your mind.
stuck, the sun just rose,
so you are
**** out of luck.
.
Jun 2016 · 585
Affection
J Jun 2016
You don't have the capacity to love
I always love too much
that's where we tripped up.

You mistake affection
for connection
laughter and lust
for love
and that's fine
for a month.

But it's draining to watch you
**** the life out of everyone around you
it pains me to see you turn stones into dust.

It's hard to attract you for what's underneath,
I started to realize it's not very deep.
That's fine, for a year,
but we're just so done
with talking to a ghost
sleeping with no one.

So next time you decide
to tell her you're in love
make sure you feel it in your heart
if you even have one.
J Jun 2016
My sour mouth
was sweet before
you swept me off my feet
last year
Jun 2016 · 918
10 Words You Will Never See
J Jun 2016
Who knew
our last kiss
would be
my new
beginning
J Jun 2016
What no one tells you about loving a writer,Is that they're nuts, man.They're slobs, they're hoarders, Have you seen my room? I barely have, to tell the truth.
Crumbled paper lines the floor, Ideas withering from the night before,
What no one tells you about dating a writer, Is that they're so moody.
We’ll try to play it off like some sort of
Artistic facade. Mysterious. Yep, that’s us!
But in reality, we’re probably just ******* wiped. We spent 3 days and 3 nights writing songs and painting pictures that you won’t ever see. And what no one tells you about dating a writer, Is that it is hard.
What no one tells you about loving a writer, is that they’re going to love you back. Hard. They might notice parts of you that you never have, they might focus in on each part and it might make you mad, But I promise they love every scar as much as they love every laugh. They might notice every freckle and how the ones on the small of your back, right there where you start to laugh when you get brushed by another, even lightly, make the little dipper, and how it might be cliche but it’s their favorite constellation. And they will try to connect the dots to make sense of your body, to create a solid thought.
Even if it does not come together like the stars in the sky, they will try and try and what no one tells you about loving a writer
Is that its hard. Remember what I said about us hoarding? We hold on to everything, letting go isn't something we do easily and we'll take in everything you say and do whatever we can to make you want to stay, we're messy, we're clumsy
we're odd but we will give you everything we've got. There’s a reason they have a desk full of half written poems, a reason they might feel so hard, they have a broken heart. Hearts that are whole don’t make art, We hate to admit it but it’s true so what no one tells you about loving a writer, is that you’re loving pieces. You’re loving Monday morning, Chaotic, panicked, angry, hungry. You’re loving Tuesday night, Tired, weary, shaky, sorry. You’re loving a Saturday afternoon when the week catches up and the bags under their eyes become a muse for a new piece they might spend weeks composing only to throw into the trash and what no one tells you about loving someone like that Is that it’s normal to throw away something that took so long to construct. But they won’t tell you that they’re used to that. What did you think made them write in the first place? They are used to that. Their whole lives have been building bridges with flammable wood Over barren lands. What no one tells you about loving a writer, Is that you’re loving two eyes, two hands, Two legs, two ears, and two lips but too many souls to try and control. Don’t try and control them, they’ll turn their back on you, they are conditioned to take their sorrows and turn then into words that can't be taken back, ones that make their spine stop chilling, Perhaps pass it on to another, what no one tells you about dating a writer, is that you will be that “another," you will have to absorb some of the energy, The forces that make these people soak up Every piece of sorrow in the world And make their heads heavy, And make their hearts scary, their hands shaky. What no one tells you about dating a writer, Is to be careful. They are broken and they cannot heal. Because they might stop creating, And their hearts might stop beating, Because their words bleed out of their skin, Their hands shape the world they’ve come to Live in, to love in, And their lungs are filled with every word you’ve ever said, And when you left, They took those words And wrote them down, And what no one tells you about dating a writer, Is that if youre not going to love the writer, At least give them something worth writing about. They will.
Jun 2016 · 347
*Thought of you*
J Jun 2016
the thought of you made me warm for three years straight
the image of you made me glow for days I still see late at night
your kiss still leaves a mark on my heart
your lips I still feel in my spine
the thought of you used to make me comfy
but now keeps me up at night
Jun 2016 · 1.9k
The man outside my house
J Jun 2016
A tall, thin man
stands outside my house,
it's cold out there and he waits for me to come out

The same young man wears a black hat
and a black blouse
he paces to and fro until he passes out

The tall thin man
waits for me to arrive
stands there singing songs
until he feels like he might die

He knocks on the door,
he sounds so polite,
begs for a minute,
and a glass of water if I might.

The man barges in,
he breaks my door,
he raids my cubbards
he stains my floor,
he spills my wine,
he eats my fruit,
the man feels nothing,
he continues.

While he wanders
through my house,
he spits out lines
as ironed as his blouse.
"Thank you for your patience"
"I really have to say,
you're very kind and giving
in the most pathetic way."

The man then goes up to my room
he makes my bed look brand new.
Then makes me now lay down and pray,
tells me that I belong this way.
I beg him to stop as my hands start to ache,
my heart froze up and he swore I'd been faking.

The man in the hat
the man in the blouse
the man that I let into my house
the man that stole
the man who broke
the man who I let take all control
that man took what he needed
that man then left
and left me bleeding.

On his way out he said goodbye,
he said farewell, and thanked my time,
before he took off to the sky,
he told me something I can't deny
"You're too trusting, my dear,
and look at you now,
you let people in out of fear,
and you are left the clown"
Jun 2016 · 374
Clean
J Jun 2016
Cut my hair off
dead ends on the floor
peel my skin off
begging you for more
make me feel new and clean again
though I will bleed, that soon will end

Shave my body hair
make me as fresh as the day we first met
bleach my stained skin fair
beg you to finish what you haven't yet
make me feel new and clean again
the process might burn, that soon will end
Jun 2016 · 260
Fill up with poetry
J Jun 2016
I keep trying to replace
the feeling you gave me.
Words don't do the same things,
The ones I used to swear I hated.

Lines and lines of rhythmic blood,
nothing sounds the way it should.
I try and fill up with poetry
I try and pretend I'm not bleeding.

Words carve my sunburned skin,
I tried too long to let light in,
I hurt myself and begged for help,
poetry won't heal these welts.

Letters may convey a thought,
but bring you back, they will not.
Jun 2016 · 482
Paper Plates
J Jun 2016
We ate off paper plates.
God, we were a mess,
we nourished ourselves with
disposable trays,
to leave less of a mess.

We slept on paper beds,
just incase we fought again,
what a waste it would have been,
to have bought a brand new set,
only to end up sleeping in separate rooms,
on the floor again.

We conquered paper mountains,
they didn't bend, they didn't break,
they ripped beneath our heavy feet,
and we let them because we were too defeated.

Together we made a world of paper,
that's why I'm gone from yours now,
you held me for three years,
but three years of paper burns in 10 minutes if you let it.

And that's why you're still in mine,
I never took you out,
I never had the heart to take the time
to set you on fire,
and now you're stuck here.

I eat off paper plates now,
hoping one day you'll get hungry again too,
and we can build a world again,
temporarly, disposable, as long as it's with you.
Jun 2016 · 231
Tuesday
J Jun 2016
Sunshine fills my hollow bones,
I lay outside beneath the stars,
I learned to make this earth a home,
Founded it from broken parts.

Crosswinds get the best of me,
they direct me towards fledgling things,
I know not which road to take,
I fear a tragedy either way.

But Tuesday follows Monday's luck,
the fate that I had used up already.

I take the left road, I walk where I can see,
pause a time,
I bargain with destiny,
I know the path that is for me.

I let the sunshine fill my bones,
I learned to make this earth a home.
nature earth happy freeverse rhyming couplet jmk personal
Jun 2016 · 920
Peace is no option
J Jun 2016
Peace is no option,
hate sowed in every row of land
from coast to coast,
they stole everything but the sea.
A country founded on thievery,
an empire, starving for conquests,
a people that are nourished by exploitation,
the blood of minorities waters roots placed deep,
The stark white flowers turn pink in their petals.

And we admire their beauty.

Hatred walks with a rifle,
so peace is no option.
He does not have a weapon,
that could do any harm,
without a heart full of hate behind it.
Driven by fear,
fueled by confusion,
a bullet flies blindly.

The man who creates is not a criminal,
but is he who follows a path shaped by fire,
burning the colors that lived there before.
The man who believes in soverignty of his country,
at the cost of another.
The man who believes love could cause harm,
armed with a poisonous thought.

The barrel is only a conduit;
so shoot the palette,
splatter the colors,
our sisters and brothers,
alike they lay in one silent painting;
the white canvas will always stay
as clean as they say.it should.

Peace is no option,
when war is a game,
painting with blood
since the very first day.
Jun 2016 · 478
Orlando
J Jun 2016
50 hearts bleeding on the floor,
blood that is thickened with hatred,
it seems as soon as we are born,
our cords are cut and replaced,
into our veins,
they instill hate,
slowing our hearbeat quickly,
as we grow up,
the bitterness trumps,
we lose what was born,
to a gun,
our hearts ache for those that were slain,
the community will not be the same without you.
Jun 2016 · 423
art
J Jun 2016
art
I painted you a hall of pictures
bled you a museum full of art
and then you stole all the sutures
that I had sculpted for my heart.

My ribs are broken,
inside you pace,
cracking frames with each word spoken,
they put the ropes there for a reason,
to prevent the pieces from destruction

but they never made a rule to protect the viewers who were cracking
criminals who broke the bones barred on the door to come inside
without asking
Jun 2016 · 687
Already (Revised)
J Jun 2016
By the time we met,
I had already kissed 3 boys,
And had my heart broken by one.

I had already given up on love.
I was 16.

When we started dating,
I had only known you for a month,
But you captivated me already.

For 144 weeks, I thought you were mine,
I figured it was for life.
You said it so many times and you’d never lie,
Right?

I had already forgiven you 36 times
By the time you started lying just to see what I’d believe.

The way you cradled me was uncompared to anything,
You convinced me everything else was too rough,
Too scary.

But I didn’t even feel like trying
I had already found true love, after all,
Even if it hurt me.

12 months in out of the 32 we spent together,
You had already broken me 76 times,
Those words still haunt my head,

My bed is empty,
You left me,
Already ready to forget me.

At 17 you said you had already found true love.


Well what the ****?
Wasn’t I done looking for pity already?
Weren’t those things on my arm healed already?
Wasn’t my story over already? You’d heard it already
I shoved my fingers down my throat just to purge up a “sorry”
I never stopped talking and
You’d already asked me to hurry.
Wasn’t I over it already?

But you loved me, I already knew that.

You masked insults with recurring phrases
Thought up already so you were ready to make me sorry about what you said

It was a joke! You already told me not to take it seriously.
Why was I so sensitive?
Wasn’t I over it, already?

I don’t remember when things got bad,
Or ever having the ability to recognize that
Because with you I’d swallowed enough pride to drown myself
From the inside out,
But you were always so forgiving.

I found myself lost,
Apologizing for feelings
You swore I made up but I could not create if I tried.
You said you loved me.

But your tides pulled me by the ankles.
I’d taken swimming lessons already,

But they don’t teach you how to swim when you fall in love with drowning.

So I tried,
To stay afloat in rough waters
I’d already drowned in, over and over again,
I’d tread for show so you could never see,
But I’m drowning again,
Already.


Already? You moved on,
In 19 days, for 3 years that are already gone.
Already, you filled the void we created ourselves,
With white noise because how the hell
Could you make the choice
To replace me for good already?
In the years you spent convincing me to stay afloat,
You made sure I knew I needed you to do so.

I can’t bring myself to throw out your old clothes,
The ones that have piled up 3 feet
In 19 days
Already.

I sat and counted the ways you made me want to die on my hands,
And I tried to justify that by balancing it with the times you made me feel alive,

But I stopped because 6 months in out of 32,
I’d already used all 10 fingers.

Tell me if you do the same for her.

Already, you are happy
And smiling again
You float above waters
I’m drowning in
But man, am I happy
You’re ready to begin again.
Already?
With someone else
As I struggle to heal myself,
Losing color as I stop myself from begging for your help

You’d throw me a line
If you got praise for it,
Or pull me in just to have me in your reach again.

I know I need to do it already,
Everyone on shore assures me
I deserve more.
But I’m still short of breath.

Look at you though,
Already free and happy.
Already?

You are shaping waves, ruthless,
Crashing tides to keep your name
The one I remember when I say in vain
I’d already found true love at 16
Jun 2016 · 600
Talk about you
J Jun 2016
I talked about you
like you shaped mountains
as if you had the power to reconstruct
centuries of settled sediment
into something I would lose my breath trying to climb
I spoke about you,
I swore you put the stars in the sky
just for me
but took them as my eyes adjusted to the dark
and I could finally see.
I talked about you
like you were the milk in my morning tea:
just enough to keep it warm
but not hot enough to burn me,
as if you never hurt me,
it's funny.
how I talked about you
like you would move mountains for me,
or build me a galaxy.
I used to love tea,
and now I drink coffee.
Jun 2016 · 996
steep
J Jun 2016
tea that steeps too long
leaves a bitter taste
the very same way
we held on too strong
to something gone
we wasted months

I soaked up
years of your self hatred
and now I am here.

Cavities now rot my teeth,
I spent months trying to sweeten
the tea we let steep
for far too long
J Jun 2016
Slam the door,
one more time
it shattered enough windows last week,
all the items in the house fit through the three that cracked,
the frame was intact
but the glass had been smashed,
just enough to fit a small bag already packed,
and then shove myself through

slam the door,
one more time,
this time I'm not coming home.
Jun 2016 · 349
October
J Jun 2016
I was born in the Autumn,
on a brisk orange morning,
early October,
before it turns grey,
but after the crimsons have gone away
52 degrees,
leaves already fallen and
wet beneath our feet

I was born in the fall,
it's no surprise I feel this way,
everything that gives me life
someday will die
Jun 2016 · 380
sex
J Jun 2016
***
*** used to have meaning
I used to feel it
not plead for anything to make me believe I didn't need it

and now it is nothing
it is a hobby or past time

I miss mixing my soul with another
instead of trading sweat with someone I didn't even bother
to ask their name

Yours was the only one I cared to know
Jun 2016 · 265
metal
J Jun 2016
What they don't tell you about love
(before you fall in, of course)
is that no metal on earth
is stronger than it

So you can weld yourself together,
using heat from others,
piecing whatever steel you force your heart to become
to cope with a loss,
but the loss still won.
Jun 2016 · 312
full/hollow
J Jun 2016
How can I feel so full of love
as the sun rises every morning
sunshine fills me up,
unthaws my tired bones

but as it softens,
the sun sinks into the lake by my home
I feel it return, that chill in my spine,
reminding me you are not mine anymore,
and I am hollow again,
missing you, again

when will this end?
Jun 2016 · 317
Crushed
J Jun 2016
Notice how when you crush a flower,
it crumbles to the ground,
withers at the roots,
and loses its hue to the bottom of a boot,

but there it goes,
to learn to grow new,
gathers nutrients from the Earth,
to rise and try again,

just like me
Jun 2016 · 749
What we do in June
J Jun 2016
What we do in June
as the days stretch into sunsets,
gold stains our ***** skin,

What we do in June
as nights fill the shells that winter shaped,
we become reborn in the lake down the hill,
until we are ready to confess the secrets we will hide all summer,

What we do in June,
after laughter and drinks,
probably a few too many,
is create stories that some day we will lose,

and have to try to recreate in a series of words that
don't come close to the fun we had,
every night,
laughing until we ached,
thanking God for every day we have here,
where dirt gets under our nails and
our hair never had the time to dry in between
the pools we hopped,

What we do in June
is thaw
from a cold winter,
and warm our frozen bones,
and begin once again,
with a life full of things worth writing about,

What we do in June,
love, ***, trees, drugs,
our memories will fade,
but softly like the sunset into that one lake
where we all lost our virginities.

What we do in June is ours to keep,
it's ours to make
Jun 2016 · 1.0k
Untitled. June 7, 2016.
J Jun 2016
I have lost the sight of your yawns as they lengthen into sleep,
the smell of your skin when it is clean but free from cologne has lost me,

I have forgotten what it feels like to kiss you and see galaxies,
or feel bursts of energy, warmth and tragedy all at once, every time,
I have lost the rush in my bones reminding me that you were mine.

I tried to recreate the constellations your freckles used to make,
but I laid awake and could not see a single star.

That thought used to make me cower, even in my sleep,
and wither in my hollowed wake, but today I do not ache,
not even for you.

A point came where I could not feel at all but pain
But now I do not hurt at all.
This feeling is unfamiliar.
Foreign winds have replaced old currents that settled in one path too strong, and left me cold,
but they are now gone.

I had forgotten what it felt like to not be petrified of apathy,
to not be scared of forgetting the first night you took my body,
believe me, I thought I would never breathe the feeling of discovery again
after months of trying to replace the rushing feeling of breath on my skin,

But I tried tonight to recall details of those encounters,
the ones where you took my soul and I was not sure if I would get it back,

and I could not bring life to any of the memories I one time
feared would never die,

I have waited for this day and now I can finally say it.
healing from heartbreak
is more of a purge, a surge of emotions you cannot differentiate from real or fake as they take over your body,
and there I was, losing it all at once,
and I was left open on a stranger's bed, begging for a minute where
you did not fill my head,
appeasing to God for a day in which my heart did not bend at the thought of never experiencing a rushing heartbeat
without having to take off my clothes
again.

I was willing to give up anything for goosebumps on my skin,
anything to remind me that I was a human,
without you.

But I did it and I want you to know that,
I hope one day you see it because I finally truly feel it.

I do not love you anymore.
or miss you anymore,
I do not think of you when I think of love or *** or adventure anymore,
I do not see you when I picture late July days and sandy toes and sweaty palms from holding on too long,

my heart is free for the taking and I want you to know that,
though you will not care or look for me somehow,
I do not want you back anymore and I wish you could see me now,
Jun 2016 · 427
Into A Storm//Cancer
J Jun 2016
You got a call at 7:42,
It was your dad reminding you to drive safely,
the clouds were getting darker, covering cobalt blue skies,
the ones we tried to sit and admire with bare eyes,
but ended up just taking pictures of like we always do.

We captured pearly white clouds and softening sunsets,
the way I feel with my friends is unforgettable,
and even on days where I feel like the pain I feel,
the one that reminds me that I miss you still,
is spreading through my body like a cancer,
one that is too far developed to treat,
I am reminded by the grass beaneath my feet,
that I have this beautiful planet,
I have the sky to myself,
I have clouds that shadow when I've had too much sun,
and trees that cover when the sky comes undone,
and a storm begins to drench us in shame,
and I got a call that was not the same as yours.

I got a call and heard the word "cancer"
and all I could think of was the way the clouds rolled across the sky
becoming greyer as the water continued to rise,
all at once the green grass lost its hue,
and I fell into the Earth
as I was consumed by the thought of losing you.
Jun 2016 · 596
My second first love
J Jun 2016
My second first love
won't be so rough,
well it might be
but it won't be so bitter.

My second first love
won't be so hard,
well it could be,
it is love after all,
but it won't be the same as before
where we fought about who hated themselves more

My second first love
won't be so hurtful
because it will be true
it will be kind, patient,
understanding and soft

My second first love won't be so hard to lose,
because it won't be with someone who leaves as they choose.

My second first love will be with myself.
before I ever offer my heart to someone else who could break it,
I want to make it hard, make sure it's reachable but not breakable.

My second first love won't be scary,
It won't be jealous or insecure.
I want to make sure I love myself harder than anything else,
so my third first love feels like nothing else has felt.
Jun 2016 · 783
Untitled. June 5, 2016.
J Jun 2016
I used to think that
what I saw when I looked into your eyes,
was the galaxy.
They were vast and dark and seemingly endless,
but they are not a home for me.

What I have learned is that
I was not seeing the sun and moon and stars,
I was seeing the boundaries that contained them,
and seeing limits and edges,
hard and abrupt.
I was not seeing expansion.
I was not seeing love.

Perhaps I was discovering what it means
to see the world through someone else's eyes.
And in someone else's eyes.

But in yours, I thought I saw constellations when
in fact I saw only recollections

They say when you see a star you're seeing the light from something that died thousands of years ago.
Perhaps it is the same for old lovers.
Maybe it was the same for you and me.
I vow I will never see the stars again in the eyes of a partnet,
but instead see things in which the life is still intact and in which I am not clinging on to something forever retracting.

I will see flowers,
trees,
weeds even,
life that may flourish and wither,
but at least I can nourish them back.

We as humans have yet to scrape the edge of the universe,
and that used to scare me.
I used to find comfort in knowing I was a part of yours,
Comfort came to me knowing I was safe in the world you built for me,
but I take it back.

The next person whose eyes I fall in love with might hold stars
they might sparkle and expand,
but they will not be my universe
when there is one inside me I have yet to dive into
when there is so much more for me to see myself
without your limits or your help
J Jun 2016
I've found the strongest poems to be the product of
a purge of emotions that reign so ******* the heart that they
pull at the fingers, draining energy from the tips
as every word falls onto the paper,
relentlessly.

I've felt the hollow shatter of a thousand nights of heartbreak,
the kind that only poetry can seem to glue back together
even if temporarily.
The words on the page, unfiltered
broadcast thoughts of late summer days and first loves,
first losses,
our wrists ache with rememberence as our hearts empty out.

We lose what we thought we still held to our souls
as the sentences unfold and we are finally able to articulate
what it means to be without,
what it means to be empty.
Those lines are but udnerstanding, full of compassion that we have still, hidden away in our hearts for the day they start beating again.


Why are the richest of poems products of the poorest of days,
and why can I write nothing anymore
as my heart feels full, for once, again?
May 2016 · 231
Stop showing up
J May 2016
Can you please stop showing up unexpectedly?
It's so rude to do
I'm out with friends trying to have a good time,
I'm laughing and smiling and free,
and you show up so quickly and make me feel sick so suddenly


but you never actually came back and that's the worst part
your memory haunts my present and it's something I can't shake
no matter how many people I try to replace you with
May 2016 · 423
Hurting
J May 2016
I gave you something that I cannot get back.
Believe me, I've tried,
countless nights, donating my time to strangers
begging God for one second, if anything,
of that feeling that I used to have with you.
He never delivered and I haven't stopped trying
to find that feeling elsewhere,
endlessly unsuccessful and franctic in my panicked ways,
worrying about the days I'm wasting wishing for something greater to come along.


I'm hurting people without caring and it's scary,
this is not who I was before you left me and I am not sure
what you took when you went but I need it back,
desperately,

Desperately I'm searching for a permanent way to fill this void
the one that has only gotten bigger since you left.
I think it's my heart that you took because nothing sticks anymore the way it used to.
I am numb and I wish I could find something or someone to make me feel something again without the bitter taste of our last kiss
burning in my mouth and forcing me to curl my lips hard,
and my fists harder,
I'm harder now and I miss how it felt to love someone deeply.
I miss me, too.
May 2016 · 960
Letting Go
J May 2016
Climbing streets we used to equate with mountains
but slipping on the pavement
falling faster this time around
when I hit the ground you won't be there to remove the gravel from my
wounded elbows
I have to do it on my own.
I learned to sew my own seams.

Swimming laps in waters we used to call holy
Forgetting the strokes you scratched into my mind
this time is different because I'm not trying to swim anywhere fast
I'm doing anything I can to stay above water.

Breathing in pollen
from gardens of lilacs we planted together
that are now covered in weeds
But I am not sowing what you will reap this time.
Taking the nectar from late July days that are now far gone,
and creating sweet honey for only me.

We are on different terrains now and
your water meangs nothing to me
May 2016 · 400
Forget
J May 2016
I could forget my own name
where I'm from
what I love
what I hate

before I ever forget the way waking up next to you made me feel
May 2016 · 1.1k
self harm
J May 2016
So maybe I can say that
I'm "clean" from self harm
because I stopped puncturing my skin
my arms are free from scars


but does it not do the same thing
to trace back old memories
of you and I
and feel the same sting in my stomach?
the same stab from the same type of let down
only this time without a drop of blood for proof of pain

Am I not hurting myself every time I pretend
that I'm okay like this

The scars have healed atop my skin
but the ones within will never get the chance
because every chance that I get to step forward
I take to stay in place,
or in the past
wherever you are still a part of me
and any time where I do not have to close my eyes to have you back
May 2016 · 1.3k
speak in poetry
J May 2016
She tried to speak in poetry
as the hair fell over her face
and the makeup from yesterday started to smudge
so at least one thing she did was
beautiful enough to make someone
want to stay

she tried to make her words send chills
down the spine of men who stole her heart
but what she found was
no matter what order you put the pieces in
you can't put them back together the same way again


she tried to speak in poetry
to fix her broken heart
or to find a new one to hold
she tried to make everything fit into a line
but could not understand how
things would not work out the same way
they did the first time

she tried to talk beautifully,
making every sentence as polished as her final release
and found out the hard way
she missed the beautiful mistakes,
the ones we learn from,
are the ones in the first draft
May 2016 · 1.5k
Too pretty to be sad
J May 2016
Men try to mend my wounds by spewing lines like  "But you're too pretty to be sad"
as if I asked for this.
They try and try again,
saving is in their culture.
Chivalry is etched in them like a childhood scar
Their forests are filled
with knights on white horses
as they've been taught.
Mine are not.
My woods reak of matted down blankets from days without movement.
They feel like exhaustion.
Sometimes you can even hear the sound of their roots being pulled
right out of the ground
that shrieking sound will leave you
Awake for days.
"too pretty to be sad" will not place these rotten roots in graves.
My trees have aged much faster than theirs, 21 years old, bending too easily with the wind.
as it howls, they cower,
I wonder when they will break
and who will be there to hear them.
Because sometimes I feel that people only like to look at my flowers,
and not bear what they have to offer, what they would say. Those sounds would scare them away. Sometimes I feel that people only like to look at my leaves.
They're too pretty to die, anyway.
May 2016 · 2.2k
to the boy who loves me next
J May 2016
To the boy who loves me next:
Please understand I am complex,
and **** your cliches,
this is not some Tumblr post.

I am a host for emotions I cannot control at all times
there are some things you should know
before you decide that you love me,
don't.

Don't tell me that it's going to be okay when I stop breathing
especially in public.
Please don't go when I push you away, though. I don't mean it.
You need to know that I want you to fight for me when I tell you to leave.

My favorite color is purple and my favorite food is strawberries.
(oh and this weird vietnamese noodle dish I never know the name of)

Sometimes I will test you, and not in the "just checking if you were listening"
test kind of way

But I will see how far I can push you until you want to leave,
please don't.

To the boy who loves me next:
understand that the first boy to love me took a lot when he left.

I'm not picking up the pieces anymore, I don't expect you to.
But I am creating new ones and need someone to be there to hold the box of nails or kiss my finger when I've slammed it with the hammer.

Know that you probably won't do anything wrong,
well you might, you're a guy
so you're probably going to say something I will take as
completely sexist!
you pig!
don't you dare compliment my *****! *******!

wait! that's what boyfriends are for,
I'm sorry, I forgot.
I do that a lot.

To the boy who loves me next:
I'm a feminist.
I probably eat 10 bananas a day.
I love coffee and would rather wear my hair up.
And yes, I ****.

To the boy who loves me next:
my room will not be clean,
messy is as messy does,
and even when I don't do a lot
(which is often, oh boy do I have my days)
I am a slob.

To the boy who loves me next:
Chamomile tea is my favorite smell.
I will probably tell you 45 times a day that I think you're handsome
and mean it every time.

To the boy who loves me next:
I have scars on my arm
please don't mention them
I've put that behind me
somewhere you're allowed but cannot get comfortable

To the boy who loves me next:
I'm going to listen to the same song 150 times in a week because I like it,
and I'm sorry but you will probably have to deal with it.

To the boy who loves me next:
I'm sure you're going to like the song anyway.
I have three cats,
I can't take care of dogs very well.
I'm over emotional.
Baby goats make me cry.

To the boy who loves me next:
I cry,
a lot actually.
Don't take it personally.
You'll understand eventually.

To the boy who loves me next:
I like watching the History Channel but I've been watching Gossip Girl for a month now.
I pace myself because I become
emotionally attached to characters in bad MTV shows
faster than real people.
I want you to think I'm a bookworm but I start more than I finish

To the boy that loves me next:
You won't if you see me without my ADD meds.

If you love me next, know:
I like rough ***.
Pretty rough if I might add but I won't tell you that for a year
because I'm shy
You should also know I'm loud,
I don't mean in bed,
I mean roll the windows down because I talk
and get really excited over trivial things like
fresh fruit in season
and sometimes I ramble on about nothing
and you should be able to handle that

Can you handle that?

To the boy who loves me next:
I am apologetic and scared because I have loved once  
I never thought that high would bring me down to where I am now

To the boy who loves me next:
I'm going  to pretend I'm rough around the edges,
please see past it,
or at least love me long enough to let me explain.
The boy who loved me first knows everything.
And since he's gone,
you're going to have the leftover weight.

To the boy who loves me next:
I promise it will be worth the strength it takes to carry it,
I promise to love you back as much as I think I deserve to be loved at all.

To the boy who loves me next:
do it fully or don't do it at all.
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