i am tired.
not for a lack of rest --
no, i slept quite well last night
and I've had my coffee.

its something deeper, something
inherently present, in the
fibers of my skin,
in my tendons, in my eyes.

i am exhausted,
fatigued by life
by the noise and the silence,
the people, and
the empty rooms,
the light and the dark;
by hope and
despair.

so worn down by the world
that nothing in it can
refresh my mind from the
constant buzzing.

i am tired, and there are not
enough hours in the night
for the type of rest i need.


-U.K. & m.g.

dear me,
this is you.
me.
get up.
the ground is your reward
it will hold you when
you are done
hold you with all force
you
are not done
put a silencing finger
to the singing
of  all fat ladies
this is not over
real in all finish lines
steal the sound  of the
metal ringing hanging in the air and
put back in the bell
one more round we go.

get up.
there are sunsets that need
to be signed off on
snowfalls that need your approval.
starry nights like sad
lovers who's beauty
has gone unnoticed in the glare
of television sets
they are looking for
volunteers to notice them
raise your hand
step forward
you will not be chastised
for staring some beauty some beauty
wants to be seen

get up.
as if the simple act of
standing has brought you closer
to the cosmos as you
have ever previously been.
as if all the stars you've seen
busy looking back
taking notes and keeping track
of which wishes need granting
they heard you ask for
strength
show them you havent wasted it.


..

s.d.

sadly
it's the broken toys
who were played
to the
core
the broken toys
were overworked
overused
but the toys
did not
know
that they were overused
because they
were loved.

m.g.

SO TODAY I AM TYPING (2/11/13)
IN CAPITALS
BECAUSE
I AM INFATUATED
WITH SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T CARE.

SO TODAY I  AM TYPING (2/15/13)
IN CAPITALS
BECAUSE
HE LOOKS AT HER
THE WAY I NEED HIM
TO LOOK AT ME.


SO TODAY I AM TYPING (2/24/13)
IN CAPITALS
BECAUSE
SHE PUT HER ARM
AROUND HIM
AND HE SMILED, AND HIS
EYES DID THIS THING
THIS BEAUTIFUL, CRAZY,
AMAZING THING.


SO TODAY I AM TYPING (2/29/13)
IN CAPITALS
BECAUSE
HE SMILED AT ME
AND HE SEEMED UPSET
I SAW IT IN HIS EYES
MY WHOLE WORLD
IS HIS HAPPINESS.


SO TODAY IM TYPING (3/4/13)
IN CAPITALS BECAUSE
SHE LEFT HIM
AND HE WAS SO HEARTBROKEN
THAT IT MADE MY OWN
HEART HURT.

SO TODAY I AM TYPING (3/9/13)
IN CAPITALS BECAUSE
HE SMILED AT ME AND
PUT HIS ARM AROUND ME
AND I GOT THIS FEELING
THIS BEAUTIFUL, CRAZY,
AMAZING FEELING.


SO TODAY I AM TYPING (3/14/13)
IN CAPITALS BECAUSE
HE KISSED ME
HE KISSED ME THE WAY I NEEDED
HIM TO KISS ME
WITH LUST
WITH PASSION
WITH NO TASTE OF REGRET ON THE
TIP OF HIS TONGUE.



SO TODAY I AM TYPING (3/20/13)
IN CAPITALS
BECAUSE HE ASKED ME TO
BE HIS GIRLFRIEND
AND HE KISSED ME AGAIN
AND I THINK
I LOVE HIM.



SO TODAY I AM TYPING (1/25/14)
IN CAPITALS BECAUSE
HE PROPOSED TO ME
HE WANTS TO MARRY ME
FINALLY
I HAVE GOTTEN THE LOVE I DESERVE.



so today i am not typing (6/12/88)
in capitals
because
he is gone
he died
he left me
alone
back in this old feeling
this awful
old
feeling.



m.g.

empty space.




m.g.

i hate boys so much
boys are so dumb


m.g.

you  make me hate myself
more than i already do.


m.g.

across the river
made up of particles and whatnot
is where my soul belongs
it exasperates me that
the fish can easily go
and see my love
with a simple
flip of their fin
can watch my love
i grew up
believing no one
would ever fall in love
with me
that i’d be
forever lonely
like the moon wasn’t something
my love had built for me
in their bedroom
sitting at their desk
pondering which piece fixates itself
to which piece
so my broken heart strings bled
the color blue
it was blue because the
river was blue
and so were my feelings
but it was also blue because
it was cold outside
and i loved the way that
my love’s lips turned a slightly blue color
in the cold
and it was blue because that was
the color of their eyes
i tried to empty myself of all my
emotions
dont tell me that
a defective life is something
a therapist can fix
and that a couple pills a day could cure
because there is no way for it
to transit itself into something
beautiful.





m.g.

my sunshine faded to shade.

my stars fell into their graves.

my moonlight grew dimmer, craving more.

my planets stopped revolving.

my entire sky fell to pieces before my eyes.


e.a. & m.g.

“I'm in love with you," he said quietly.

"Augustus," I said.

"I am," he said. He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you.”


j.g. & m.g.

i wish someone would write me a love letter in french. the kind that entail the small things i did that i would never be able to notice on my own. how i trace letters into my palm with my opposite hand when someone is speaking. how the corner of my mouth rises when i attempt to smile at someone politely. also, because french is a beautiful language. it's **** and passionate, as cliché as that may come across. je t'aime d'une manière que les mots ne peuvent pas décrire.

diˈpreSHən
noun
severe despondency and dejection, typically felt over a period of time and accompanied by feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy.


m.g.

your eyes haven't changed
the way they
lit up when
we saw each other again
i miss you
i miss your long hair that
i suddenly took liking to
and the song you wrote me
is one of the most beautiful
things I've ever heard

come back to me.


m.g.

I want our words to make love
Let us wine and dine in pen
Ill kiss you from the page
We'll create no biblical sins

So poetic
that my physical is pathetic
I mean I fumble words around you
But when I create, I'm no fool

Subdue you
underneath you
I'll ***** you
Make your feet move

Give you shakespear cues
Show you which way to play
As I write out scenes of love
That last for hours into days

I'm no genius Just a lover
That gets off to syllables
I passion write in purple
Cause the red is full of bulls

Let our I's Collide
As we make human i Ts
Saving Graces for our diner
for in each other we both feed

I'm sure to say I do
If you read a little deeper
But don't read too fast
‘cause I'm know to be a sleeper

Silence is my killer
Verbal language is my gun
As I have no set targets
go on killing sprees for fun

Im a ******
Leaving men lifeless in bedrooms
Bathrooms, car seats, tee pees and Breakrooms
Let us have a pow wow

For I'll empty life into you
Birth a new princess
All in the way she touched you
While leaving no finger prints

Let Our words
make Love
Feel Death
and Receive Life

For I Created this to tell you
I want your soul tonight
but every time you'll read this
You'll know that love is Write



anon & m.g.

ignite that ****
light
glowing inside of you
its there
its there, my love
but you're trying to
dull it
down
saying there's nothing more inside of
you
than emptiness,
but i can
see
that little light
barely shining through,
let it out,
you've got to let it out.


m.g.

eyes
glitter with the hope
of a new
beginning
i pray for a new
life
one to start over
one with no pain
suffering
loss.


m.g.

Baby, I understand that some nights sadness will hit you like a tidal wave and there is no way to stop it or tell when it is coming. I understand how hard it is to keep from drowning. But I need you to understand this. When you are sad, I will call you and read you parts of my favorite book so that for a little while you can leave this life and feel like you’re someone else. When you are too sad to even speak I’ll sit there with you and listen to you breathe and memorize your heartbeat. And when you tell me that you need me, I will already be on my way to you. And if you want to cry, I will hold you all night. And if you want to laugh, I will bring your favorite comedy over and I will watch it with you and fall in love with your tear filled eyes every time the tv lights them up. If you want to be alone, I will give you space. But I will come back in the morning and tell you how beautiful you are and that I’m so happy you made it through the night. I will hold your hand and tell you that tonight will be better. And I’ll do everything I can to try and make that happen. So it’s okay to be sad, because I will always be here to make you happy again.



m.g. and a.n.

the pain
is now cutting
me
so deeply
i can't think
and i have
to be strong
for the ones
who need
me
to be strong
i have to put on this mask
a mask
with smiles
a mask that says
"No, she's happy, don't worry.
The scars on her wrists don't exist."
but frankly
i can't even breathe
or handle
this anymore.

i'm done.

m.g.

my soul has
grown tired
and functioning
has become hard
I'm like a broken
machine
i can function
but i can't do it
right
its broken
the memories of you and i
and when the memories broke
the machine did
now if you didn't understand,
the machine is a metaphor,
and that metaphor,
is me.
i am
the machine.
i am
the metaphor.




m.g.

"i don't feel like talking to you"
that hurts
and i didn't do anything wrong
you have no right
to get mad at
me
we broke up
you broke up
with me
and he misses me
you have a girlfriend
don't get mad at me
because my ex
misses me
you're my ex too
and i still had feelings
for you
and you had the god
**** nerve to bring up girls
you like
in front of me
when i still had
feelings for you
honestly,
if you can just ignore me so easily
i don't think we should
be around
each other.




m.g.

“i just don’t think its working.”
she mumbled
but the words did not come
through clearly,
the words were like mud
thrown against a clean window
it cleans off eventually
but never sticks
he sighs
and when he sighed
the whole world
exhaled with him
the whole world
released all pent up anger,
frustration
and took some time
for itself
his love for her is like
a river
on going
ever flowing
non stopping,
she keeps him going
she keeps him safe
just by the touch of her warm
embrace.


m.g.

4107 by beth lindly

                                             4

i have been born into a southern city twice,

once to parents that counted and once to those that didn’t.

twenty-one years and i haven’t ever sat all the way

through a game of football, or soccer, or anything

except gymnastics. southern life is the same as

gymnastics – you don’t have to know the rules to

know when someone messes up, when someone falls,

when someone scrapes the length of their fingers trying

to pull themselves up. there is a spillway by the house where i

grew up that wasn’t full this morning. when my father

drove us to school in the fall, through those blurry mornings,

i could see a small rhombus of sun shining on lake tuscaloosa but

it was only in the fall and only in those mornings. i am proud

to have noticed that rhombus. we lived in a different house

until i was five years old.  i had a sesame street comforter

and we didn’t have cable. all they ever taught me was the

cockroach on the wall does not exist if you can’t see it.

(or, at least, i haven’t seen that cockroach since then. who’s

to say.)

                                             1

the death of fairies is something that has once made me sad.

i thought there were some behind my elementary school’s quarry

but they were just honeysuckle, and it was november when i went

back, anyway. there were never any fairies around my house.

i checked in the herb garden my mother grew in our front

yard, with all the mint and oregano that went into the soups she made.

my ex told me to stop calling it “my house” because the room

that saw me stay up past 2 a.m. to talk to him now sees my

sister write on the walls. but someone else wakes me up now and

my home can become whatever i need it to be.

                                             0

i had a dream last week about my dog dying and i remembered

it over lunch with my parents with such a horrid suddenness that

i thought it had happened right then. “no, beth,” my father chuckled.

“millie hasn’t died.” “she’s doing just fine,” my mother agreed.

but she has, i thought, i saw it clear as anything.

my dog’s brain has been recently deteriorating, the pieces

taking with them her ability to hear. our family has taken to stomping

on the ground so she can feel the vibrations of come get your food,

come outside, just come here. i am proud that she can feel the vibrations

that call her home.

                                             7

the fog that exists separating me from my dirt and blood has yet

to be predicted by james spann – a 70 percent chance that when i’m seventy

i won’t be able to remember how my backyard looked without the deck.

i am twenty-one and soon i won’t be and it will continue like that until

my memories have cateracted into a milky blur of greens and purples

when i was a child and maroons and blues when i thought i was an adult.

my hope is that i will start an herb garden and plunge my hands

in the warm earth and feel the vibrations that might call me home,

if they want to.

slowly
she fades
into oblivion
her style changes
she no longer wears
bright colors
and tanktops
now its just
long sleeves
dark colors
anything to hide the hurt
on her wrists
her smile is fading too
her eyes
have lost that
gleeful smile,
yet know one
has noticed.


m.g.

oh my god
i miss you
i miss the way
you'd say
"Hi, baby. I missed you."
oh my god
i miss that so much
i miss your sweet words
your soft lips
i miss your
lovely hair
i miss your beautiful green eyes
and you said that you miss me
you don't know
how much that meant to me
you brought out the best in me
a part of me I've never
seen
and i know
i know
that you won't hurt me again
and if you do
i don't think i'll forgive you this time.





m.g.

i wish my eyes were
as blue as
the ocean
my lips were
red as blood
and my hair was as black as
ebony.

s.k. & m.g.

"1. I was drunk off ****** ***** he was tall and looked like a boy I used to love. I pressed my forehead against the glass window and told him I loved being high up and he told me to come back to bed where it was dark and warm and I couldn’t see all the lights and the little people swarming 63 floors down. he told me his little brother’s name and I used to remember it. I’ve forgotten by now.
2. he kissed me tasting like tequila and trying to make me something that I wasn’t. he kissed me because I was there and he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. writing about him makes my blood stand still I think I’ll stop before my arteries start to clog.

3. I was ******* a cherry lollipop and feeling like ******, he was throwing his shoulders back and thinking about soccer season. I put my lollipop in his mouth and he said “why don’t we have this conversation walking”. under the trees at night before the cops shut the party down he put his hands up my shirt and then got bored when I wouldn’t **** him with my mouth. sometimes when I see him I smile a little like “maybe…if you had waited another minute…”

4. I took the L train to Brooklyn it was hot and sticky and I was worried he wouldn’t like my hair. when I wandered into the bar I didn’t recognize him until he touched my shoulder. he said he didn’t like sleeping because it was boring and he stuck his fingers in hot wax and he rolled me a cigarette and then apologized when I told him I’d quit last yeah but I’d smoke it anyway. his apartment was full of stupid art and I don’t know why he never texted me back. maybe he found out I was too young for him. maybe when I kissed him he tasted high school on my lips.

5. he was hands, hands, hands, touching me in the shallow water of a man-made lake. he was in my hair and falling into wet sand his lips were all over my chest he murmured “don’t leave me what am I going to do without you.” I left the next day. “you’ll be fine.” I wish he had left bruises on my skin but he is far too kind for that and he calls his little cousins cook, short for cookie.”



a.n. &m.g;.

my heart is shattered
and my lungs have
started closing up
and my heart clenched
and tightened when
"i think we should just be friends."
escaped his lips with a
whisper
and i acted like i wasn't
falling apart inside
and
i acted like i wasn't
going to end up
crying all night
and ignoring
his phone calls
texts
facetimes
and i understand that he needs
physical contact
and i may not be able to give him that
but i tried
i tried my best to be the best
i could be
just for him
and everything has been falling apart
and my heart is officially
shattered.




m.g.

why must
the saddest of people
be the ones
who get
hurt
the most?
it is not exactly
fair
you see,
they are hurt
they must be healed,
but some wounds
do not want to close
and choose
to remain
open
and raw.

m.g.

to be honest, my darling,
im frightened without you
I'm literally sitting here
frightened
of myself
my emotions
me
and you are the one who always claims that
you love me
but where are you
when i need you the most?
it's funny how
even your best friend makes time for me
and you're too busy
probably with another girl
another girl who doesn't have weird anxiety issues
that get her admitted into hospitals
and dumb **** like that
hahaha but you always tell me that
you would never
but how am i supposed to trust someone who
is never ******* around?



m.g.

you're hurting me
please realize
i stopped telling you things
so you would stop worrying
because I'm nothing to worry about
you deserve better than me
a low life piece of trash
realize that
and one day I'm going to be gone
and please stop whispering about me
when I'm right next to you
it hurts me
and don't look at me
like i mean nothing to you
i understand why
you called her
we moved past that
indeed we did
but you need to understand
where i come from
though we don't agree upon
the same things
you don't have
to hurt me
i understand what i did was wrong
and i apologize
and i realize i can't  fix the damage I've done
but I'm hurting inside
and even though i can't say it
i need you
but i guess you don't need me.



m.g.

since my worst heartbreak
i have fooled around with love
each attempt useless
at first it's wonderful
beautiful even
and i'm happy
and he's happy
and we're okay.

but something struck a cord in me,
about a month into these relationships
i become anxious
not answering his calls
putting off meetings
i don't know why, though.
i wish i could love you
how you love me,
and so i leave you
because you deserve someone who
wants you permanently.
not someone who wants you for a little.

when i was little, my grandparents called my heartbreaker.

i never hoped that term would be actually put to use to describe me.


m.g.

you always wanted
your bones to show
and i quite
never understood why


when a hug will
snap you in half
and the light spring breeze
we all adored
will blow you away


people will not
love you more
when there is less of you
to love.

k.p.k & m.g.

the petal falls
like an angel
sent from
heaven
down to earth
the earth lay
still
in the
depressed night
terrified of what is
around the corner
the sun rises
the horizon loses all
the fear that
the poor night had obtained
the ocean
glimmered with the
light of a
tranquil mood
and the petal lay
motionless
in the light of the morning.

m.g.

don’t dive
if
you’re not
ready
to swim.


m.g.

ive come to realize
there is no
light in
my life
and that i have caused
and deserved
every ounce of pain
and that
i should start wearing
sweaters
in the summer
i want to start crying
i want to give up
i can't continue being a person
i can't continue being chained to depression
i want to be a spirit
a free spirit
one who floats along streams and rivers
and one who gives you that
warm feeling when you
feel most alone
because when i'm a
spirit
i'll be free of this burden.





m.g.

He studies her.
She is sitting  just across from him, re reading the same book for the 12th time.
Literally.
She is always finding a new book, and if it was really good, it was all she would talk about. He loves that about her.
The way her long, dark blonde hair contrasted her structured cheek bones. He loves the way that her eyes turn dark green when she cries, and when she’s smiling, the way you can see her small dimples.
He loves the way she wears his shirts around the house.
He loves the way she lights candles, because she thinks the house smells “beautiful.”  

“Babe, do you want some tea?”  he asks, reaching across the table to hold her hand. Her nails are a pastel coral.

He loves the way pink looks on her.

“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.” She says, looking up from her book and smiling at him.

He stood up, and walked over to the white tiled counter that had his Canon on it. He loves taking pictures of her. He prepares the camera.

He notices the way her large white sweater droops over her shoulders, exposing her pale skin. You can almost see through her, like she’s some kind of glass you don’t want to break.

The whole kitchen was completely white.
But it didn’t look weird.

She had put up little drawings of cute things, like pugs, cats, poetry she had written, all in pastel colors. The sun from the window was hitting her face perfectly, and he takes a few pictures. She acknowledges him taking the pictures, and just continues to read. 


“God, you’re beautiful. You know that, right?” He mumbles, while facing the kettle.

“I don’t think beautiful is a word to describe me, baby.” She responds, looking over her shoulder to see him.

She admires the way his curls were wild and rugged when he didn’t brush his hair. Or the way you could see his tattoos through his white shirts, when he wore them. She admires the way he tries to impress her by doing silly things.

She admires the way his dimples show when he gets really excited and happy, and the way his green eyes could make any girl swoon.

Quite often, she thinks about how he could have any girl he wanted, yet he chose her, in all her glory.

m.g.

does perfection define us?

is it worth the trouble

worth crying at night

because you are not

'perfect'?

the cliché "no one is perfect"

is a lie.

because when i wake up everyday,

i see a perfect girl

a perfect boy

and realize how imperfect

i am

i realize how much more of a loser

i've become.

i realize that the only thing

that made me imperfect

are the thoughts that run through my head.

the over thinking

that I've taken, now as a best friend;

a poison that i can not live without.



i understand that

the only thing standing between

me and perfect

is merely

me.




L.A.M & m.g.

the day that I'm gone
god i hope its soon
i hope you realize
ignoring me
was never
the answer.


m.g.

frankly, i find it so stupid that everything depends on 'likes.' yes, i understand that it is teenage female nature to get upset when your Instagram post does not reach more than 20 'likes', but there is so much more to life than this. also, i see that this website, this very one, also depends on likes. i honestly could care less if i got 0 likes on each post. i don't do this to please people, i write to please myself. i write for me, i write to make me happy. and my happiness actually matters. i just feel like i needed to say this.


m.g.

When I first saw her,
God, I didn’t know what took over me,
She was a picture of pure beauty,
The closest to heaven I felt I’ll ever be,
I got to know her a few days later,
We met in the park, full of valentine haters
She gave me a small smile, mines stretched to a mile,
I offered her dinner; she said that sounds fine,
She’d met me at 7, for a swig of wine,
Of course I already felt woozy, she was intoxication
A bottle full of inebriation,
I felt my knees go weak when I saw her,
A beauty like no other,
I booked the expensive restaurant
Bought the most expensive wine,
Even bought myself a suit,
As though if it were a crime,
To not let someone like her, get the best in the world
And when I met her at 7 sharp,
She seemed to stop time,
She took the air out of me,
****, I could say was hey,
She gave a tinkling laugh and said that her name was May,
I thought, what a fine name, for such a girl,
Her eyes were diamonds, her hair in all curls,
Around her neck was a single pearl,
We had a good night; we drank till we were doozy,
We laughed till we choked
And then devil had to come and stop all the fun,
“April” he said “what are you doing here”
“Her names not April, its May” I did argue
“No, my names April” she smirked “Get me quite away from this ****”
My mouth fell to somewhere in the middle of the earth,
I had felt my love for her was bulletproof
But she was the one who shot me
And watching her walk away, I did wonder
Why was she here drinking all the red wine?
She was perhaps my intoxicated valentine,
The one who I didn’t deserve,
She’s gonna leave me in quarantine,
She left me with this horrible disease,
And I don’t think it will ever cease
She was my evil intoxicated valentine
She was my bitter intoxicated valentine.

f.f. & m.g.

and that will be it.
it will happen like this:

the conversations will go
from 5 hours to 1.

the way you look at me
will change from "how
could i live without you"
to "you're a friend"

the conversations
will go from 1 to none.

you won't even need to
look at me anymore,

and that will be it.
i'll no longer be apart of your life,

and that, will be it.

i know
the feeling
of the cold
blade
feels good
against
your skin
but it’s not healthy
my dear
it’s no good for you
it will just leave
ugly markings
along your body
making you wallow
in the pain
you used to harbor.

m.g.

if i could
i would
shrink myself
and sink through
your skin
to your blood cells
and remove
whatever is making
you hurt.


m.g.

slowly
I've been keeping my feelings to
myself
every "i'm okay" has been a lie
and inside
parts of me
are chipping
away
like the old white paint
along the fence of
an old house
when the subtle brown wood is starting
to show through
though instead
the white paint is my happiness
and the brown wood
is my sadness.


m.g.

m.g.

hello, my friends. i would love to thank you all for enjoying my writing. A special thank you to Liam, because he always has lovely comments to post. you're all such talented people, and i am honored to read such lovely pieces of writing. i love how we all just come together on a big writing community and blatantly express our emotions within the art we know as writing. yes, i said writing is art. writing is a type of art in which there is no paint, no oil pastel, nothing. the art is in the beholder. keep writing, because we are the hope of the next generation of authors.


m.g.

If you close your eyes softly and listen carefully, you can almost go back to the very first summer with them. You can almost hear our muffled giggles and see our sideway smiles. The night is young, the city lights are twinkling, and the stars are slowly beginning to emerge. It's the moment between sunset and sunrise. The sound of crickets chirping and the scent of summer permeates the surrounding city. Summer stains our minds with carelessness and the feeling of forever young. Remembering them is like experiencing summer for the very first time.



m.g.