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Oct 2018 · 33
Yellow bird
em Oct 2018
A knock; window glass

The sudden gasping for air

Oh love, sleepless night
em Feb 2018
I had never liked my name until i heard you say it.
Watching the syllables roll off your lips while they slip into a smile is equivalent to watching our hometown pass away through an open window,
the serene sensation of the wind blowing through my hair,
and blowing away the person i used to be.
You found the words to erase the self-portrait my brush always seemed to repaint,
no matter how hard i tried to change the ending.

When i asked you what your favourite food was, you said it was just dinner-
home cooked chicken and potatoes.
You said it reminded you of the easier days when a sunburn after a day at the beach was the worst thing that could ever happen to you.

On the night that was the very beginning of the rest of our lives,
In that moonlit cabin,
I realized i would be happy passing my days just listening to you talk.
Feb 2018 · 162
Wounds and Scars
em Feb 2018
I am a master at opening old wounds,
Scars cover my legs from the bug bites i can never stop picking no matter how many times my mother tells me i am only going to make them worse.
It is in my nature to

Pick and pick and pick,

no matter the blood shed or the pain inflicted.

Like a moth to flame, i was drawn to you and our endless cycle of
break up,
make up,
love you,
hate you,
love you so much,
It did not matter the

months and months and months

i spent picking up the pieces of my heart, i would always let you take out the stitches.

I used to think you were my forever, that one day we would own a big log cabin in the woods, and i would wake up to your face each morning and think, "We made it."


We didn't.
Feb 2018 · 82
daisy
em Feb 2018
It is summertime
the ivory petals bask in the sunlight as i sit in the garden.
I watch as the wind sways the stems back and forth-
Like a young girls curly locks.

I reach down to pluck one out of the warm soil,
Pull the petals one by one,
She love me,
she loves me not,
she loves me,
she loves me not,
she loves me.

And i love her too.
Dec 2014 · 404
nothing special really
em Dec 2014
My words, like me, have grown empty of meaning.
No rhythm, no depth, no feeling
My words, like me, have become boring and plain.
No spice, no depth, no pain.
My words, like me, are now nothing more than ordinary.

I'm empty, I'm boring,
I'm tired of being me.
Dec 2014 · 349
suicide note
em Dec 2014
I sit all by myself
Sip
Drink my coffee
Puff
Smoke my cigarette
I think there must be more to life than this

I sit all my myself
Write
Scribe out my thoughts
Sob
Cry my stress away
I think of all my friends I have grown to miss

I sit all my myself
Listen
Eavesdrop on conversations
Speak
Talk only to my hands
I think about how much i keep inside

I sit all my myself
Excluded
Left out of the laughs
Vanish
Its like I'm invisible
I think no one would care if I died

I sit my myself
I always sit by myself
Maybe i can't connect with others
Or maybe they can't connect with me
I laugh by myself
I cry by myself
Maybe this is how life works
Or maybe I'm just incomplete.

I sit all alone
I'm always all alone
In my pain ,
I am caught
I'm empty
I'm broken
I'm begging please
Just sit beside me ,
and distract me from my thoughts.
em Apr 2014
I want to sing,
But my voice cracks,

I want to dance,
But I was born with two left feet.

I want to draw, paint,
But my hands are too shaky.

I want to write,
But the words can't flow out of my pencil
The way they flow in my head.

These feelings that keep me awake at night,
Haunting the winds with whispers,
Letting the ghosts seem through these walls that are tired of keeping their mouths shut,
Eating me alive.

You, its always you.

I need to get you out of my veins.

Its hard to express,
When I'm not very good at expressing.
I'll continue to shut down.
em Apr 2014
They say
"When you grow up, your heart dies."
My heart?
My heart has been dying for a decade.
(Somehow it's still beating)
It wasn't until I found myself
In some strange men's beds,
On the bathroom floor,
So deperate to feel alive,
To feel anything at all,
That I realiezed
I've already grown up.

I've been dead inside for years.

She stole my innocence when I was merely 4 years old.
Along with the bottles my "unconditionnal love" for him was gone too.
All these drugs,
I swore I'd never do.
These cigarettes,
Have broken the last of my rules.
The razors I used to not know what were for
(Let alone, understand how someone could get pushed so far.)
Have all made their marks on me
Literally
I look in the mirror and I hardly recognize the reflection,
And I see all my lonely nights painted upon my skin.
I've been told you can ******* heavy heart on my lips.
Smell the smoke.
Touch the scars.
I've grown into the person I swore I'd never become.
Jul 2013 · 383
4:00 am
em Jul 2013
i find myself awake
night after night

my bed remains cold
on the side you used to sleep

i find aches in my heart
and you on my mind

4:00 am is for the lonely
and i'm wide awake

while you're sleeping in the arms of someone better than me.
Jul 2013 · 821
Serial Killer
em Jul 2013
Mortality
The gap between thinking and feeling
The difference between predator and prey
Makes me feel
Immortal
Jul 2013 · 692
Things I Find Beautiful.
em Jul 2013
When your cigarette doesn't ash and the cherry keeps on burning, and the way the smoke looks when it's lost it's way in the air,
and how people inhale the fumes like oxygen even though they know it's killing them.

The look of tears flowing from your eyes that match the red ribbons flowing out of your wrist,
and the look of healed scars,
and how behind each one there's a story that might never be told.

Empty people sourrounded by empty ***** bottles, and the way the alcohol burns their throats,
but they keep on drinking it anyways.

The dead looks in people's eye when they're advoiding something they don't want to talk about, and the way screams feels when they crawl up your neck.

The way the moon hides behind the clouds because it too cries sometimes and wants to be alone.
Old photographs that show your process of losing your inncocence,and your process of slowly dying.
The sharp keys on the piano and how the piercing noise hurts your ears and rings in the air.
The feeling of letting go.
Old heartbreaking love letters.
The calls for help no one really hears.
The feeling of kisses when they really don't mean anything other than you're lonely.
The clock that makes every sinking second sitting in the hospital room feel like decades.

The way I can find beauty in everything around me, but I can't seem to find an ounce of beauty in myself.

— The End —