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 Apr 2016
Enigmuse
dear little me,
you’re taught that if a boy is mean to you, he likes you. you watch all these movies and read all these books about jerks and scumbags who fall for good girls and subsequently ‘act right’ for them, and only them. you think this will happen to you. please don’t date the ‘bad’ boys.

no, the boy of your dreams is a suburban drummer with hair the color of the earth, and the kind of laugh that makes you smile, even if you’re trying as hard as you can to be mad at him (which you never really are).

you listen to him. everything he has to say, you listen. even if you heard it all before, you listen, because nothing makes you happier than the sound of his voice when he’s talking about something that interests him, or how his day went, or something that made him laugh. and he listens to you. everything you say, no matter how dumb it is, or how much you stumble over your words, or ramble on about things that aren’t very interesting, he listens, and he doesn’t think you’re stupid, and he doesn’t think you’re annoying, and he never ignores you. ever.

he introduces you to his parents on valentine’s day, and doesn’t make you feel like you owe him anything. he buys you that bear you hinted at wanting the week before, which you end up sleeping with every night, and aren’t even ashamed to admit.

he naps with you, which you’ve always dreamed of doing with a boyfriend, because, let’s face it: you’re boring, and you sleep more than a sloth. he’s a heavy sleeper, which makes you laugh, and you poke him or rest your head on his chest or whisper things to or about him while he sleeps because he won’t know about it anyway.

he gets you out of the house. even though all you ever want to do is lie in bed and sleep, or watch netflix and drive yourself insane from isolating yourself so much, he gets you out of the house. he gets you interested in things you convinced yourself a long time ago not to try. he shows you things you never had the energy to look for.

sometimes, you’ll find yourself scared, because your anxiety woke you up and told you that he doesn’t like you anymore, or that you’re annoying him, or that he’s leaving, and you ask him, almost every day, ‘do you still like me’, and he never seems bothered by this, even though you swear he is, and he always says ‘yes’, and you always smile and you'll find life a little less heavy.

even if, for one reason or another, the two of you don’t last forever, know that this is one of the happiest times of your life, and that you were okay, which is all the two of us ever wanted. you’ll still date those boys who hurt your feelings and make you feel small.

you and i both know that you can’t resist the temptation to see if the books and movies are true, though, and you’ll end up sad. you’ll ***** up. you’ll mistreat the people who care about you, and you’ll hate yourself, for a little while, but, the boy of your dreams will be there. he always was. that’s the boy you give your time and attention to; that’s the boy you choose: the boy who saw you at your lowest, and still chose you.

sincerely,
bigger you
 Aug 2014
Enigmuse
TO: THE BOY WITH STARS IN HIS EYES
FROM: THE GIRL WITH SHAKING HANDS

4:01AM
I WENT TO BED AT NINE, AND I’VE BEEN UP SINCE TWO. I HAD THAT DREAM AGAIN, THE ONE I NEVER TELL YOU ABOUT. YOU’RE LEAVING. YOU’RE NOT EVEN HERE, BUT YOU’RE LEAVING ME AGAIN. YOU’VE REALIZED THAT YOU DON’T LOVE ME (OR THAT YOU NEVER DID) AND YOU’RE WALKING OUT A DOOR THAT I’VE NEVER SEEN BUT HAVE GROWN TO FEAR.
4:03AM
I WISH I WAS BRAVE, LIKE YOU. BUT I’M NOT. I’M VERY SCARED AND VERY SMALL, AND I’D LIKE NOTHING MORE THAN TO BE ABLE TO HOLD YOUR HAND, EVEN IF ONLY FOR A MOMENT.
4:06AM
THERE’S NOT A **** STAR IN THE SKY TONIGHT, AND I FIGURE IT’S BECAUSE THEY’RE ALL IN YOUR EYES. I LIKE TO IMAGINE THAT WHEN THINGS GET TOUGH, AND THE NIGHT JUST SEEMS LIKE IT’S BLEEDING BLACK, THAT THE UNIVERSE IS HIDING IN THE BACKS OF YOUR EYES.
4:07AM
I HOPE YOU’LL SING TO ME ONE DAY. I LIKE THE SOUND OF YOUR VOICE.
4:12AM
I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY. ONE OF US NEEDS TO BE. I LIKE TO THINK YOU’RE SMILING. WHENEVER I THINK OF YOU, THERE’S A SMILE ON YOUR FACE. NO MATTER WHAT YOU’RE DOING. WALKING DOWN THE STREET? SMILING. PLAYING YOUR GUITAR? SMILING. IN THAT DREAM, YOU’RE SMILING TOO. THAT’S THE SCARY PART. YOU’VE GOT A PRETTY SMILE, EVEN WHEN YOU’RE BREAKING MY HEART.
4:13AM
THE LIGHTS IN THIS CITY ARE TOO BRIGHT, YOU KNOW. THAT’S WHY I CAN’T SEE YOU. THAT’S WHY YOU AREN’T HERE. I CAN’T SEE THE STARS IN YOUR EYES BECAUSE THE CITY WON’T LET THAT HAPPEN. YOU’RE TOO FAR AWAY, AND YOU’RE TOO DISTANT FOR ME TO GLANCE UP AT YOU WHEN I’D LIKE TO. I CAN’T HEAR YOU.
4:14AM
LOVE IS A CAGE MATCH. THE LAST ONE STANDING WINS. I JUST THOUGHT OF THAT. I JUST THOUGHT OF YOU. I HOPE YOU’RE ALRIGHT. I LOVE YOU.
4:15AM
I’M TIRED. I’M GOING TO BED. HOPE YOU HAVE A GOOD NIGHT. PLEASE DON’T FORGET ME IN YOUR SLEEP.
4:27AM
I CAN’T SLEEP. I CAN’T THINK. I CAN’T ANYTHING. I’M TYPING LIKE A PUPPET RIGHT NOW. I DON’T KNOW WHERE THESE WORDS ARE COMING FROM, BUT ALL I CAN SAY IS THAT I LOVE YOU, AND MY HANDS ARE SHAKING, AND THINGS ARE HARD, BUT I’M HOLDING ON FOR YOU.
4:29AM
I JUST WANT YOU HERE. YOU WOULDN’T HAVE TO TALK OR ANYTHING. I’D JUST WANT YOU TO LAY HERE BESIDE ME. SLEEPING WITH THE STARS. THAT’D BE SOMETHING, WOULDN’T IT? A GIRL CAN DREAM, CAN’T SHE?
4:32AM
SOMETIMES, I START TO THINK ABOUT YOU, AND I START TO CRY. I’M SORRY I’M ****** UP IN ALL THE WRONG WAYS, AND I’M SORRY I’M TOO FAR AWAY TO SHOW YOU HOW MUCH I’VE MISSED YOU.
4:34AM
DO YOU THINK WE’LL EVER REALLY BE IN LOVE? ARE WE ALREADY? HAVE WE EVER BEEN? WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT DIDN’T HAPPEN? IT’S BEEN RAINING A LOT MORE THAN USUAL THIS SUMMER.
4:40AM
*I LOVE YOU. I HOPE YOU LOVE ME TOO. IF NOT, THEN I GUESS I’LL STILL KEEP LOVING YOU.
THAT’S ALL I’M GOOD AT, FOR THE TIME BEING. SITTING UP AT NIGHT, WATCHING THE STARS, CRYING FOR NO REASON, AND WISHING FOR YOU.
love *****... this is my good-bye letter
 Jun 2014
Enigmuse
I'm trembling, but who's to blame:
the dealer
or
the drug?
And, at this point, what's the difference?
I like the way the dealer warms me up, but I like the way the drug cools me down. I like the way they both make me crazy, but I love how they keep me sane. I love the way they whisper everything, but at night, they scream my name. I like the way the drug kisses my insides, and the dealer covers my skin. I love the way the drug feels like a virtue, and the dealer is nothing more than a sin.
I like the way this addiction is going, but I hate it all the same.
I wouldn't mind the dealer, if he wasn't the same place from which the drug came.
love poem
 Jun 2014
Enigmuse
I knew my father fell out of love with my mother when his jawline began to tighten, and his eyes stopped looking at her, and started looking through her.

A nervous man, he kept to himself on quiet evenings, and not even an affectionate touch could quite wake him from his emotional purgatory; he was a prisoner of his own heart.

I knew my mother fell out of love when she stopped talking about the sky. Never did she point out the broad spectrum of colors that blanketed the canvas sheet dividing the space between earth and heaven.

A once thoughtful woman, my mother took on a very realistic lifestyle, and began extinguishing the fire that burned in her heart. Now she was cold, and now she was dark, and now the sky, once blue and dreamy, was nothing more than a blackened nightmare.

I've never been in love before, but I will pay close attention to my future lovers jawline. I will color him in with the colors of the sky, and I will cover him in kisses made of day dreams and fairy tales.

I've never been in love before, but I know it never lasts.
At least, not while we're imagining a life we'll never have.
Hm.
 Jun 2014
Enigmuse
There are birds, and then there are those who dedicate their whole lives to watch them. I'll never be a bird, and you'll only be a bird. I watch you, I love you, and I marvel at you. But never would I confine you to the corruption and sorrow of a cage. So I’ll sit, and I’ll wait, and I’ll hope that one day you come to your senses and realize that you can fly away without having to sit and sing to deaf and dumb ears.
yeah
 Jun 2014
Enigmuse
S
  o when I die, burry me inside the deepest of graves
  farther than six-feet-under, because if I’m that close
  I won’t behave. I’m too close to him, through the earth
  I feel his sins, and they keep me alive until
T
  omorrow. When the quiet life subsides, there’s no blue
  left in the sky, and the life we thought we lived was just
  a happy little lie. **** affection, I don’t need it, all my
  lies will supercede it, and I don’t need some therapist
O
  ver-analyzing my thoughts, because I’m already dead.
  Love was just a word we made up to feel better about
  the holes in our shoes and the ones in our hearts, and
  maybe I’m not over him, but I’m over the thought of him
R
  eaching out and grabbing my hands, he’s a boy, not
  a man, and he’s too afraid to whisper ‘I love you, too’
  because he’s too busy trying on a new pair of running
  shoes, and I know he won’t ever love me, even though
G
  od and him both tell me to wait and see, and I know he
  won’t stay, even though he swears he’s anchored to me
  and I know when the sun sets, he’ll be nowhere to be found
  just burry me at least seven feet under the ground, ‘cause the
E*
  arth will love me more than him, and the frigid temperatures
  will remind me where I am, and the sun will bleed down promises
  (not so empty this time), and my corpse will be the breeding
ground for new life. I don’t love him, but I’m glad he killed me…

I always wanted to be a flower.
Now I get to be a whole bed of them.
storge: another word for affection
 Jun 2014
Enigmuse
Clouded skies were once green with guilt as they looked on at a love never intended to happen (let alone last). I scrawl secrets onto the backs of my hands and wave, barefaced, to strangers, who have only seen me through the eye-holes of cardboard masks...
I never wanted to be seen.
Yet, your eyes saw the unforeseable, and my heart and soul were spread out over sheer table tops. You examined them with tender, knowledgeable pupils, glazed with beckoning fright. You did not find your happy ending in my book of sad truths. I ceased to be of any value to you, and, since I was not the rare, antique you thought you saw wallowing in a windowshop corner, eventually, you couldn't see me...
for a boy...
 Jun 2014
Enigmuse
i'm not pushing the shift key
because there's nothing left to capitalize
tantalizing thrones of angry kings
their names synonymous with imperialize

i hate you, and you hate me
one of us is lying, and i won't admit it's me
'cause you're everything i wanted
but you're nothing that I need

hollowed bones and quiet whispers
fill what's left of this tired skin
lonely lovers with lost lives stand in line
and await their goodbyes

so as i smash the space key and i silently brood
i hate the way your eyes flicker, the way you say my name
you claim that nothing is wrong between us
but your expression remains the same

i'm not afraid to tell you i hate you,
i'm afraid of what will proceed
the tyrannizing looks of saints and sinners
all believing i have, indeed, gone insane
for a boy who's afraid of everything
 Apr 2014
Enigmuse
You are above me, for the simple fact that you are not me.
I am but a lonely piano player, who resides in the corners
of restaurants and blackened old hearts. You, with

glimmering eyes, and mischievous lips, dance barefoot
against the earth, the arches of your feet covered in free-verse.
I do not approach you; you are above me.

And here is something you may have overlooked
One room’s floor is another room’s
ceiling, and while you sway and dance and live and wander

you are inevitably doing so on my dreams. Burdened and breathless,
I sit and watch you move, up in the stars and the night and the
glow of the moon.

I look up and i see Heaven, you look down and you
see Hell. And as you bow your head to pray, just remember,
you are above me.
If I had a lover, this would be theirs
 Apr 2014
Enigmuse
I was not informed that when you fall in love,
you’re supposed to shout ‘This Means War’
at the top of your lungs, and dare the world
to catch up with the soles of your feet. You

ran across plains and through valleys, the
soles of your shoes worn out from stomping
out tiny fires, all started by your temper. I was not

informed that you were permitted to burn down
and pillage villages with your careless acts of
lust. I've learned that the world is not exactly round
however it's magical in the sence that it’s got a

way of putting you right back in the spot you were
trying to escape from. I saw fighter jets and
missiles in your eyes, and felt bombs in your pulse.
I loved you, though. Your lips were the only thing left

of you. But even they swore and spewed anger. I
was not informed that when you fall in love, your
heart is supposed to die. You struck fear in the depth
of my soul...but I forgot:  ‘all is fair in love and war’.
blah
 Apr 2014
Enigmuse
I didn't know you were a piano player.

This fact only came up while my palms burned
with anticipation as I reached out into the stillness,
searching for your hands. I found them beneath sheets
and cold promises, where the fingers were dancing
and the nails were scratching and you were looking to have a good time.
You're good at playing the blues.
A man by the name of Skye told me you knew all about snatching secrets
from the moon, and as I felt the scars and scratches along your callous, quick fingers, I knew this was true.
Your eyes never looked down at what you played, which is probably how they ended up this way: scarred and burned and stained a dark red. I
never found out why you liked to play music so dark that it did
nothing but leave bruises, ones you tried to wash away with
old wash cloths and chardonnay. Or why your nickname was *****
even though your mother named you Vivian. Or why you sold me those
tickets to that band you dreamed of seeing. Or why your hands started
shaking whenever you were near me. Or why I'm in love with your fingers,
and all the notes they've played and touched and stole.
I don't mind the fact that their skin is burdened with slices of depressed,
quiet peace, or the way your eyes turn blue even though they're supposed
to be green.
I can only hope in the wake of all these sad revelations, that your fingers will remain on those black and white keys, and tomorrow you'll still be playing.
I've got a terrible fascination with hands
 Apr 2014
Enigmuse
In my spare time, I put out his fires, and I cut
the bottoms of my feet on broken glass while
traversing across the muggy, jagged scape of his mind.

He calls my name between pulls of cigarettes and the
striking of cheap matches, and it's worth noting that I never liked
my name much until I heard the fires scream it.

I'd stand at his side and watch the flames cause his heart to implode,
and I'd fidget with his *****, shaking fingers while I listened to him
whisper something about 'I love yous'

A man's art is a reflection of self. I take note of this,
while I watch the flames dance and swing in the browns of his eyes
and warm the cavern that, moments before, had been a heart.
hate this
 Apr 2014
Enigmuse
In the event I drink liquids fit for automobiles and devour
the taught warm light of a match, I hope you know that
I won't say sorry for all the hardships I put you through.

I won't say sorry for the way I stormed through doors
and plowed through hearts. I won't say sorry for the way
I told you yes when I really meant no. I won't say sorry

for the time I cried over spilled milk and shrieked over
stained sheets. I won't say sorry for leaving you without
even so much as a formal goodbye, other than this one

which was scrawled on the back of an unused napkin in
the middle of a crowded Starbucks down in the city, this
being the first time I've been in either place. I won't say

sorry. Not to you, not to anyone. As for now, I bid thee
fairwell, from one poetry lover to another. I won't say sorry.
For I've already managed to blurt it out seven times.
yeah, not my best
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