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Apr 2020 · 104
silence (n).
complete absence of sound 

Sometimes silence can be the most empowering kind of love,
and not a silence you wish to end,
but instead, a silence you hope lasts,
lasting long enough to enjoy all the best parts of him -- 

the missed heart beats when you rest your head upon his chest
and he pulls you close,

or maybe the quiet giggle that escapes his lips
when you press yours to the outer corner of his smile,
along his jawline,
to his cheek
and down to his neck,

only stopping to let your eyes meet his before closing the space 
between you. 

A silence that’s familiar, 
comfortable,
as you listen to the rain outside his window 
and feel the cool breeze making a home within his walls. 

However, the only thing creating shivers across your skin,
being his touch,
and him kissing a trail down your body,
often a finger tip moving ever so slightly up and down the length of your arm. 

Sometimes silence is often the most beautiful way of expression,
as you sit between his legs 
and feel the way his hands explore the depths of your back,
and as he pulls your shirt higher to expose more of your skin,

you find yourself craving his lips on your body 
and as if reading your mind --

he holds you really tight,
brushes aside your hair and places his lips to your neck.
And even in the silence,
you allow for a small gasp to escape the lips
you held between your teeth. 

He’ll move himself to face you, 
wrap his arms around the small of your back 
and place his lips to yours,
kissing you,
like it was the first time --

all over again. 

And sometimes even silence needs to be broken, to allow for I love you.
Sep 2019 · 140
Tacenda
(n.) things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence

Often, the thought of him will cloud her head,
the what if’s
and often enough, the thought of maybe she wasn’t good enough
will take it’s turn,
tugging on her brain.

She could recall the exact moment she caught herself
falling for him,
a thought that never seemed scary to her before,
but in the moment,
she was the most terrified that she’d ever been.

You see,
love was never a thing that she saw for herself
especially when it came to him.
Romance was the last thing on her mind when he
was around.

She could remember all the rose golds and
hearts around Valentine’s Day,
her favorite heart shaped candies
that boys would give out,
a simple “be mine” that changed a girl’s life.

A flavor that wasn’t ever nice to eat,
but somehow,
the fact that is was given by a boy
made all the difference
of how chalky it really tasted.

So when he walked in with his deep
brown hair,
she imagined herself swimming in the pools of
chocolate that occupied
his manipulative eye sockets.

Eyes that had stared into her soul a
million times before,
but for some reason,
this time felt different
and she couldn’t quite tell why,

but it had to do with the fact she had seen
what those eyes really look like,
when you’re alone in the dark
and there’s no one around,
left to impress.

She felt shivers,
and she knew that with every bat of an eyelash,
he was slowly
throwing aside her shirt once more,
and leaving her vulnerable once again.

A manipulation that she’s sure other girls have witnessed,
because she knows she wasn’t the first,
and she certainly wouldn’t be the last
to rest her head upon his pillow,
and moan out in pleasure.

The walls seemed to cave in around them
and she could feel her body go lifeless,
trying to get deeper
and feel every possible warmth
from the boy who swore he loved her.

And she said she loved him too,
even with knowing the true risks of getting involved with him,
but one thing she never thought
she’d witness from him,
heartbreak.

Because after all,
most things are better when you keep them
to yourself,
especially telling a boy you love him too,
when he never said “I love you.”
Aug 2019 · 155
Inside. Part 1
Her hands trembled as she reached for what
lie in front of her,
a sight she hadn’t grown fond of.

A face,
nearly scarred from the time it
laid in the hands of another.

Poorly treated once before,
unfortunately all to familiar with the rough touch of a lover.

One who is supposed to guard
and protect you,
is soon the one to turn
and beat you to the ground.

A fear she had kept hidden inside,
not wanting anyone to know the truth
behind her brown eyes.
Glazed over
and protected by a thick black line,
to make her feel pretty.
Even though with one swift move,
he made her feel like the ugliest
person to breathe in the oxygen
that he share.

And soon she knew,
that in her hands lie a mirror

and the face she seeks,

was her very own;
staring back at her.
we all have secrets, let me share one.
Aug 2019 · 217
Pierced by winter's touch
Glazed over eyes,
ice on an old winter road.
She waited for bittersweet wind
to pierce through her skin
like the icicles hanging from the porch
where she lay.
You are loved. Even if you feel that you aren't, you are.
Jul 2019 · 70
Skinny Love
Skinny Love
(n.) when two people love each other, but are too shy to admit it, yet they show it anyway

Your eyes trail down the endless miles
of my scarred pale canvas.
Untouched for quite some time,

unwanted -

by all that came in contact.
Yet, your hands wander
and explore all the possible depths.

A shaky hand,
tracing patterns up my spine,
lingering longer on the ink
claiming a home within my shoulder blade.

A longing gaze meets mine,
and with every breath taken,
goosebumps replace my smooth skin.

And I swear I’ve felt this way before.

But something about this is different,
new,
for both of us.
Jun 2019 · 132
an angel's wings
So I’ll take one more flight
just before you grab hold

of the angel in my heart,

and rip me right back down to hell with you.
Jun 2019 · 121
two's a crowd
I can’t bring myself to tell you how I really feel,
like a friend
instead of your lover.
A friend that benefits you when in need,
feeling pleasures you can’t feel on your own --

because it’s never the same as the touch of the one you fancy.

Making me think you’re interested,
only to ditch me when I really need you.
Pulling on the strings that keep my heart bound --
a heart that I would’ve killed to let you have.
But I got too close,

and now you don’t want it anymore.

But instead of telling me the truth,
you’ll string me along,
let things go unsaid,
and watch as I slowly fall apart in front of you.
Then, and only then,

will you let me hurt,

throw me into the ground and
laugh as cuts and scrapes are made
because it’s not your fault,
and it never is your fault,
that I fell for the same boy who broke me --

time and time again.

Without any signs of disgust,
I’ll believe that you can’t live without me,
that you’ll never be the same,
that you’re hurting too,
maybe not as much as me

or maybe not at all.

You’ll tell me that it wasn’t my fault
that you lost interest,
that things just happen for a reason,
that we weren’t meant for second chances,
or thirds.

I never wanted to hate you --

feel a raging fire inside of me,
whenever I see you.
With nothing left to say to you,
I’ll hold my head up high
and keep my gaze away from you.

I’ll let you push me away.

Everyone told me I could do better,
that you didn’t deserve my time,
but I never believed them,
in hope that something good would come from this
but reliving the past

is never something to do.
Jun 2019 · 94
invincible
Before you,
my heart didn’t know any emotions except
how to feel sad…
sorry for myself.

I’d look in a mirror and instantly regret
ever getting out of bed.
My own worst enemy was the brain
inside my skull.

And eight times a day,
I’d talk myself out of performing the acts
that my head told me to do.
I didn’t want to live,

and I have no shame in admitting that.

I’d sit and try to rack my brain
of the numerous possibilities that someone
would actually care
if I went missing.

I’d count the scars on my skin that
overstayed their welcome,
pick out everything wrong with myself,
every single flaw that I came across.

I used to play with fire.
I’d steal my moms old lighter,
and ignite a flame…
over and over again,

until the idea of the
flame accidentally meeting my thumb,
didn’t scare me anymore.
Until I felt invincible.

After you
came along, everything changed.
Since the day you came back into my life,

my heart knows every emotion possible,
annoyance seems to be its favorite.
Or sometimes it chooses not to feel at all.

Getting out of bed isn’t at hard as it used to be,
if anything it’s harder,
especially after we’ve had a bad night

and by we, I mean you because
you decided to go and ditch me once again,
left me sitting around and waiting

for my knight in shining armour to arrive,
but
he never did,

and he never does.
The sight of you makes me want to
crawl inside my skin

and wait out the storm,
I know is about to hit.
The funny thing is,

even though I’m expecting it and I know
every single ******* time it’s going to come,
you still ******* hurt me.

Over and over again,
and I don’t seem to learn but maybe it’s not even worth it.
Since that day,

feeling invincible in front of the flames,
I’ve never had someone make me feel so vulnerable,
before I met you.
Jun 2019 · 293
Longing
They say that heartbreak is one of
the worst feelings you will experience
during your time in this world.
And I used to believe that,
until I was standing and looking at someone
that I wanted,
who wanted me too

but we couldn’t have each other.

Our hands longed to touch one another,
feel a sensation we felt once
and never again.
Run our fingertips over the surface
of each others skin,
and never wanting to stop
because in that moment,

we both felt whole.

And we both felt something
that we didn’t for a really long time,
and maybe we would be okay
because we were meant to feel each others
embrace,
or maybe at the last second,
one of us would pull away

because there wasn’t enough time left for us to feel.

Because maybe it’s better to end things
short and move on,
instead of trailing along
for something we both knew
wouldn’t last much longer.
But something about knowing,
makes it hurt even more.

Because we both knew we were enough for one another.
May 2019 · 164
Stolen & Scarred
Splatters of blacks and blues
arrange a pattern amongst what’s left of
my unscarred canvas.
Mar 2019 · 307
Nyctophilia
Nyctophilia
(n.) love of darkness or night; finding relaxation or comfort in the darkness

The moon’s light allows shapes
to reflect their way around my room,

dancing,

everytime the wind blows.

Branches on a nearby tree,
tap on my window,
as if asking permission to emerge,

fight their way through the glass

that keeps them out.
Shadows hide in the crevices of
my walls,

as if the darkness would steal

their souls away,

losing themselves forever.
Mar 2019 · 134
2am thoughts. cont.
My eyes roll back as the ceiling fades to grey -

the walls around me,
of similar color, but
you can’t tell in the

dark of night.
Telling me everything’s okay,
as i watch the life drain from
my skin.

My mind racing,
got me thinking i’m *******
crazy.
Lying here as you claim me as your own,

even after I begged you not to.

I don’t feel the same about you,
as you do to me.

The ceiling fan is on high,
but the only influence Im under,
is lack of air

as you continuously grip at my lungs.
Pleading,
for once more with me.

One more time and
you’d disappear,
that’s what you promised.

Haunting me,
while you cling to something not there.
Telling me everything is my fault,

that you’re not to blame.
I wish being alone in the dark, comforted
me as it did before -

now left with my thoughts

as they consume me whole.

Nothing better to do at this hour,
i’ll continue to drive myself up a wall.
Maybe even go for a ride on the ceiling fan,

no different than lying here lifeless

as you finish what’s left of me.
please just give this to me,
give me the peace of mind I need.
Feb 2019 · 179
2 am thoughts
I don’t like my mind right now,
driving myself crazy over the thought of you.
But nothing I do seems to let you go.

I’m going ******* crazy,
trying to hold on to something not there
because you continue to haunt me.

Anytime I think you’re finally gone,
you come back.
Making me feel like everything is my fault,

that I’m the reason you left in the first place.
I wish I could be comforted by my own company,
but I hate being alone.

I don’t know how to trust myself anymore,
or anyone for that fact.
I’m looking in the mirror

and not liking what I see again.
Maybe if I was beautiful,
or maybe even half of what you wish I was.

Then, and only then, could you accept me.

Love me for who I am

and not the thought of who you want me to be.
Sorry for all the kind of depressing stuff lately, you can thank my sleepless nights for those.  :)
Feb 2019 · 131
Medicate
i  remember feeling the hard lump in my throat
you told me everything would okay
but i couldn’t bring myself to believe you.

For months, i was a different person
but with the same face, hair and name --
a name that quite frankly,

didn’t feel like mine.
That part of me was ripped away
and torn to shreds.

Because the me you used to know,
had to swallow and medicate to feel even a
little bit okay.

The medication made it even harder
to pull myself out of the dark and
rip off the covers.

It took a long two weeks to get
used to the feeling of being a living zombie,
only to have to strengthen the dose.

Afterall, you can’t medicate a broken heart
and no amounts of sertraline
can truly take away the thoughts in your head.

Thoughts of a better life,
with no more hurt and acceptance.
But then you come back

and rid me of any chance i had
of getting away.
i  don’t remember the last time i truly

felt like myself.
i look in the mirror and see me,
but it’s not me.

it’s the idea of what i could’ve been,
the idea of who i could’ve become.
But that idea will never be me,

and i don’t want to medicate anymore.
Feb 2019 · 526
Orange
I remember the sunset,
the first night we spent together.
He told me he loved me,
held my hand and swore his life to me.
Made promises that he
couldn't keep.


I used her for fertilizer
in my garden.
Made her believe she was special.
I stole the light from her eyes,
and left her in the dark --
without day.
Feb 2019 · 233
Wilted (A Collection)
Red

When he left for good that night,
I cried myself to sleep
and woke up without him.
In his place,
tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.


I rid of her,
limb for limb,
tore her in two and stole a piece of her...
all to myself.
Her insides bled
from their newly bloomed.
I'm trying my hand at a poetry chapbook called "Wilted". Each poem will go off of a color in the girl's perspective and then the next one will have a picture of a wilting flower the match the color (i.e the boys perspective). This is just one of many parts.
Aug 2018 · 379
Outside My Window
It is still mid august,
but it is earlier this time.
Looking outside,
you wouldn’t realize that.
It is dark,
and it is storming.
In New Hampshire,
the storms are crazier -
louder thunder,
brighter lightning,
and heavier rain.
And as I lay on this inflatable mattress once more,
listening to the raindrops as they collide with my bedroom window,
I’m met with a reality.
Because if I were in Connecticut right now,
I would be laying by your side,
we would listen to the storm together
and you would comfort me as I hide.
Burrowing my head deeper into the blankets,
as you wrap your arms around me,
holding onto my shaking body.
I would listen to your heartbeat,
steady but alive,
and it would calm me -
but only for a second before another loud boom fills my ears.
And with every jump that left my figure,
you would kiss my head,
reminding me that you’re still there,
as if your embrace wasn’t enough.
Because you wanted me safe,
and you would hurt anyone or anything that tried to harm me.
But in reality -
I am alone,
there is no one on this mattress with me.
And as an attempt to drown out the storm,
I lay with my fan on high
and put it next to my head.
And as I lay here pretending that for once I’m not alone,
I roll onto my side to be met with nothing but darkness.
Because in reality,
you are no where near.
A distance of three hours separates us,
and it’s been only two days,
but with every bolt of light that rips through the sky,
I feel my heart break a little more.
And I long to be the raindrop racing down the window next to me,
as it meets another and they become one.
Jul 2018 · 187
It's Not About You Anymore
I saw you today,
something about it didn’t seem right.
We sat together on that indoor porch,
like usual,
but something was off.
It wasn’t our front porch,
it was only yours.

Your birthday passed a couple weeks ago,
I didn’t come see you -
we had a fight the night before.
But fights never affected us,
the way this one did.
It’s my fault you said,
my fault that we fought,
my fault that we don’t get along,
because it’s never yours.

I barely see you anymore,
and it hurts me to admit that I miss you.
Because sometimes we fight,
sometimes we yell
and we don’t want to see each other.
But I miss our arguments,
I miss the way that things used to be.
Even after a night of yelling,
I could come to you with tears in my eyes
and you’d comfort me -
I don’t have that anymore.
You have me,
my love,
my support,
but I no longer have yours.

Now,
if I want to see you,
I have to drive 10 minutes.
I have to knock on someone else’s door
that isn’t mine,
and stand there awkwardly while
the dog barks at me.
Because it’s not my dog,
it’s not my door,
it’s not my house.
It’s yours.

I no longer live with you,
instead I live with someone new.
I can’t text you,
call you -
the phone service you picked
doesn’t reach their house,
but of course it’s perfect
in yours.

You blame me for the distance,
saying,
you know,
you’re sister is always around.
I’m not my sister,
nor will I ever be.
I’m just me,
and lately it’s like thats not good enough
for you in that new house
that’s not ours.
Cause it’s yours.

We used to sit for hours,
talking about nothing in particular.
You were my best friend
and I was yours.
Tell me we don’t have the same relationship
anymore,
tell me it’s changed.
Tell me it’s my fault
that we don’t talk anymore.
Tell me I need to make an effort,
but you’re not making yours.

Its your new life,
and that’s fine.
Because I have mine,
and you have yours.
You took me out of your facebook profile,
no longer have a place for me.
Your profile picture
and cover,
are of another family.
A family that’s not mine,
but a family that’s yours.

Constantly telling me that my siblings miss me,
as if I don’t miss them as well.
Making me feel like ****
for decisions you made.
Because I never wanted to leave,
but you chose him over me -
and I had to do what’s best for me.
This is about me,
it’s not about you anymore.
This is my life,
and I’m no longer apart of yours.
It's a really long story...
Jul 2018 · 255
Waves In Autumn
Dark waves crash against a nearby rock,
as I sit and watch the salt litter every inch.
Small droplets find their way to my skin,
and soon paint patterns across my canvas.
One that has not been blank for so long --

instead,
this is not the first time.

My miles of skin crave for your touch,
but you are gone.
I cannot bring myself to forget
how your eyes used to trail my body.

We’d sit by that little waterfall and wait
for the mist to carry its way to us,
leaving us wanting more.

As we sat in our little patch of green,
we would count the stars.
The faint feeling of your finger,
finding its way to my hand --

and a face that never leaves my head.
A nose strong and slightly crooked,
like the tree branches creating a canopy
of leaves above --
hiding us from the moon’s light
and the shadows of the night.

And lips,
moulding perfectly with mine --

like two lone puzzle pieces,
finally finding their home,
amongst the jagged ones
surrounding them.
A time so perfect,
that flowed so nicely --

that I long for again someday,
like the waves in autumn,
striking this rock beside
me.
May 2018 · 355
When Temptation Attacks
Part I
One look at you -
my mind is racing.
Heart pumping and I can feel the poison,

pulsing in my veins.
The bittersweet liquid -
turning my bloodstream black

and the taste of ****** takes over.
A cloudy haze covers my gaze,
the only image being let in -

your black seal eyes.
The color of your long, perfect hair,
as dark as the end of my

burning blunt.
One last puff and your face
is burned into my brain.

The human-like smoothness that
my hands crave to touch.
But, I must have been drunk

enough not to notice the scales,
littering your back.
You did always say

you liked me better with a bottle
to mouth.
That way,

I would never notice
the wet feel to your seal skin
and the webs between your fingers
while the liquor burned inside my throat.
Screaming for a way out,
but your ears never seemed to hear

my call for help.
Fingers that I have interlaced
on numerous occasion. Just like the

**** entering my system
for the fifth time today.
One more trail of smoke,

and all the pain would go away.
I tried to fight you, for so long.
I wanted to be

better. You told me to trust you,
believe everything you say -
but you let me drown.
In my creative writing class, we did mythology projects. This story about temptation and addiction was inspired by my take on the Selkie story.
Feb 2018 · 233
Human Wreckage
In a world of human wreckage,
one tree stands tall.
Distributing air for a no longer living population,
one that overstayed its welcome.
Destroyed everything they came in contact with.
Until it appeared that the tornado of life,
came plowing through.
Leaving a trail of broken dreams and sorrow,
in its place.
No one left to care,
no one left to clean up this dumb.
Destroyed.
A town destroyed.
A state destroyed.
A country destroyed.
A continent.
The world...
destroyed.
Animals left, no longer anywhere for them to survive.
Nothing.
Because...
In this world of human wreckage,
a tree loses its first leaf.
Feb 2018 · 240
The One I Let Go
Brown hair that has been styled to the perfect quiff,
eyes browner than my favorite chocolate flavor to match.
Hands that are smooth,
yet rough from the years spent drumming.
A smile that some would call goofy,
bring me back to those days everytime it's on your face.
Voice,
not deep...
but deep enough to make my heart flutter whenever my name was said.
Arms that pulled me in close the first time we hugged...
The same arms that let go of me that day.
The deep voice that whispered, " I will always love you, "
so softly...
if that's even possible with a voice like that.
A smile that seemed to fade as the days went on,
that we didn't see each other.
The hands that cupped my face,
for one last kiss,
and the eyes that are left in my mind.
Hair that no longer tickles my neck.
when there was no space left between us.
Because something I have always regretted losing was...
you.
Jan 2018 · 1.6k
Remember When
Do you remember begging our parents to let us be adults?
When our favorite thing to do was dress up and play make believe.
Drinking meant chocolate milk and artificial fruity drinks.
Getting wasted meant falling off your bike.
When the only pain we knew was stubbing a toe…
Or scraping our knees from the fall.
Getting high wasn’t a term where we blew smoke out of our mouths,
it was seeing who could jump or swing the highest.
When “taking one for the team” meant helping your teammates,
not making a girls night a little bit better.
When kissing was just kissing and you got cooties,
Not STDs and aids from going too far.
And the protection we wore,
was helmets on our heads to prevent concussions…
not a newborn.
When wearing makeup was fun,
and a way to express yourself…
Or wearing your favorite skirt made you feel cute,
not like a ****.
When we didn’t know what drugs were,
just knew that the creamy pink liquid made us feel better.
When boyfriends and girlfriends were described as,
“My friend thats a boy….”
“Or my girl……….. Friend.”
When sleepovers were strictly sleepovers,
not an excuse to get in bed with your best friend…
Who you recently discovered feelings for.
The only wars we knew were card games
And our worst enemies were our siblings.
Dad’s shoulders were our thrones and mum was our hero.
How about that time when we all wanted so badly to grow up?
Nov 2017 · 328
Sad Truth
Look around, nothing but hatred surrounds you.
A burning world consumes you into this reality.
You have to be perfect, or no one will love you.
Perfect long, curly blonde hair.
Twig thin legs, and a stomach that doesn’t exist.

Pretty looks is key, but don't wear a lot of make up.
Being smart is attractive, just don't talk too much.
The perfect guy won't notice you, without an *** or big *****.
If he likes you for you, he's just a ******* looking for nudes.
He'll lead you on so you fall, then leave after one night.

However, in the end if you don't like your outside..
you can stick in needles and tissue to change.
Next thing you know, your skin is turned into plastic.
And darling, what boy wants to date a living Barbie doll?

Now take a look around, the unnatural town.
Everyone's faces fitting like jagged puzzle pieces.
The reality now eating you alive.
But remember, no one will love you if you're not perfect.
Nov 2017 · 242
Hush
Do i remember? Of course.
How could one forget such a thing.
All of the hopes and dreams
That soon turned into fears and nightmares.
The constant cry and reach for help,
But no one is near.
I remember it all,
Especially every “i love you”.
But you didn’t know love,
All you knew were the lies that flowed out with no filter.
The tears that streamed down my face,
Because you couldn’t love me… for me.
You couldn’t love my flaws,
Every single white line that scarred over my body.
You said you loved me. You said you loved them.
But you hated them even more than I did.
You didn’t hate them because who would feel so low
To do such a thing, but you hated them more because the were ugly.
Ugly.
Ugly.
You make me feel so ugly.
He makes me feel ugly.
Even she makes me feel ugly.
Because the ******* number on the scale,
Is more important that inner beauty.
90.
100.
120.
125.
130.
Numbers increase while meals decrease.
Jean size gets bigger and your smile fades,
Now replaced with a thin line.
A thin line.
A thin line.
A.
Thin.
Line.
That's what you expect for me to be perfect.
So thin so that you can’t even see my presence enter the room.
Instead you’ll feel the dark shadow consume you.
Because being skinny and pretty,
Is better than being healthy.
Happy.
Happy.
At this point is now a blessing,
More than a feeling.
Because your happiness made me live,
Made me feel alive.
Now i’m alone, but i don’t need to wonder why.
Being smart is pretty,
Being skinny is per-
Per-
Per-
Perfect.
Its perfect.
Do you want to make it in this world?
Make sure you’re… perfect.
Nobody cares about the 10 size girl,
With scars on her legs.
Or the 2 size girl who looks too skinny,
To be happy.
Too skinny.
Too fat.
Too happy.
Too sad.
You have to be perfect.
The perfect height.
The perfect size.
Perfect hair and perfect face.
Makeup can make you pretty,
Until you wear too much, now a ****.
Now a **** because you slept with guys,
Just because of the dark around your eyes.
Don’t let them see you cry,
Over the thickness of your thighs.
But hush little baby,
Don’t you cry.
Cause mamma promised you’re beautiful.
It’ll be alright.
Hush little baby.
Hush.
Nov 2017 · 339
Anxiety : A Persona Poem
With one subtle rock of the waves,
someone is sick.
Heaving overboard because they just ate lunch.
Well, what about the girl over there?
She’s getting sick even without the rock of the waves.
No food.
No sleep.
Just sick of her own head.
She wants to feel happy,
and she wants to be okay for once.
But, I just cannot let that happen.
I play with her head until she’s begging for a breath.
Just one more chance,
one more day to feel okay.
But she got to be happy for five minutes today,
why does she need more than that?
I don’t care if it’s mean,
I like chaos.
I want her to go crazy,
with her head racing.
I want her to feel overwhelmed,
like the world around her is caving in.
I want her to feel like her head is spinning,
the constant headache from over thinking.
Thinking that she’s the reason why he left,
that she’s the reason he doesn’t want her anymore.
She needs to feel like she’s the mistake,
the one causing everything to go wrong.
She needs to feel my pain.
She needs to feel what I felt once.
Why should I let her be sane?
It’s too much fun to see her in the corner of the room,
with glossy eyes.
You can tell she wants to cry.
She wants it all to go way,
to end.
So as those waves rock, and people are getting sick…
So will she.
Not sick from the movement,
but sick from herself.
it's a little choppy but I wanted to share anyway
Oct 2017 · 2.1k
Burn Away
If this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together.
- ed sheeran

Sometimes I wonder if
our love is real. If this
were to be real, I shouldn’t have to worry. Is
there more to
this bittersweet feeling? It’s bound to end,
isn’t it? The thoughts in
my head haunt me, light my body on fire,
and watch me suffer. Then
wonders why I cry. We
should have seen this coming, should-
n’t we? All
the pain we caused each other? We’re better to just burn
away, then to be together.
Another golden shovel poem
Oct 2017 · 416
Loves A Funny Thing
{You may not have been my first love, but you were the love that made all the other loves irrelevant.}
- rupi kaur

When I think of you,
I get this overwhelming feeling in my chest. May-
be you feel it too. I am not
crazy, for I have
searched for something like this. My
third attempt, and here you are. First,
we must “get to know each other”, my love.

I hear what you’re saying, but
I cannot love
you, it is not possible. Were
you really that dumb? To think the
handsome boy would love
you? What ever you felt, that
was not real. See, I made
you. I made you love all
that there was to see. The
other guys that chased after you? The others
would have been a better choice. Loves
a funny thing, it’s really just irrelevant.
another golden shovel inspired poem
Oct 2017 · 511
I Will Never Stop
{Stay i whispered, as you shut the door behind you.}
-rupi kaur

All I ever wanted was for him to stay,
stay and never leave, I
believe that we were toxic for each other. When i whispered
into the night. Walking away as
if it were the only thing you
knew how to do. “Shut
up and listen to me when I talk to you.” The
anger that poured out of my mouth, as if an open door.
But you did go, and you left me behind.
I never thought I’d hate someone, the way I hate you.

I never wanted to stay
with her, all the pain that i
caused her. The way she whispered
in the night. As
if a warning. “You
never loved me.” The last words I heard before I shut
it all out. I needed to escape the
one thing that was good for me. I put up a door
and left it locked. I left you behind,
I will never stop loving you.
this is a golden shovel inspired poem.
Oct 2017 · 186
Midnight
The clock strikes midnight,
The same way it did last month,
When you took your last breath…
And everyday after that.

Chipping paint that peels from the walls,
Like the way you pulled from my arms.
A seat in the corner, worn-out and tired,
From many sleepless nights.

It still rocks back and forth,
The way you did as you comforted me.
But no more.
You’re gone.

The heater revs up
With heat and fire,
Like your motorcycle,
Now sitting in that ditch.

Regrets of that night,
The words that escaped my mouth.
“I hate you”
Just like I hate the silence that now fills this room.
It’s not fair.

I should have said I love you,
Holding you closer and burrowing my face,
In the crook of your neck,
Instead of this blanket, replacing your presence.

“Good. I hate you too.”
Words colder than the air outside,
Finding it’s way through an open window.
Your sister called, told me everything was my fault.

“If he never loved you..”
Maybe it was all a mistake,
Just like it was when I picked these god awful curtains.
I hate them.

The clock ticks, another hour going by.
Time passing slowly, almost frozen.
Yet with you… It went by fast.
Our time was alive.
So, so you think you can tell.
Heaven from hell.

Flower crowns and hanging art, fill the walls of the room.
Bright colors surround her, like a tie dyed kaleidoscope.
Pictures of friends and families sit on a bookshelf,
While trophies from past poetry contests line in.

Blue skies from pain.

Her long hair bounces, to a familiar Pink Floyd tune.
Rosemary scents fill the room, matches burning the coated bamboo.
As the smoke leaves behind a trail,
Her eyes scan over the wood floor.

Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?

Once new and polished, now splintered from the years.
Nails sticking out, causing many accidental cuts.
She runs her rough hands over the broken boards,
Her chewed nails exposed, chipped polish barely covering them.

Do you think you can tell?

Memories flood in as she lifts the floorboard, revealing a rose pendant,
The worn, brassy one that her mother passed down to her.
Closing her hands over it, she feels a sudden breeze.
Soon, two hands wrap around hers.

Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?

Not ones to be seen, but more as clarity,
Proving that her mother is there.  
Reminders of laughs and staying up all night,
Singing along to whatever old 70s song was filling the air.

Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?

Dancing like “pros”, even though,
They both new that they weren’t.
But in their minds,
They were whatever they wanted to be.

And did you exchange

A relationship many would fight for, not easily found.
An almost perfect life.
Mother and daughter.
Connection so strong, separated by a driver and glass shards.

A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

Soft, loving hands replaced with cold, hard ones.
As she clasped hers over the picture frame.
A frame revealing a man,
Not her father, but close enough.

How I wish, how I wish you were here.

A story with no happy ending, instead long nights of endless yelling.
Smoke trails flood in with the last puff of his cigarette.
Alcohol camouflages his minty breath as he comes in closer.
The tears that streamed down her face, and a red sting on her cheek.

We're just two lost souls, swimming in a fishbowl
Year after year, running over the same old ground.

His eyes, so brown and dark, they turned black.
A side of him no one knows, unleashed,
With the help of the poison,
Burning his throat.

And how we found, the same old fears.

She can feel tears starting to fall,
Shaking her head to make the memories disappear.
But no matter how hard she tried,
They were there to stay.

Wish you were here.
Lines in between sections are lyrics
(Song: Pink Floyd “Wish You Were Here)
That desk in the front row,
Occupied with a shy smile and rings of silver hanging high.
A hint of confidence emerges from the dark parts of her mind,
As does a childlike gleam,
Sparking in her eyes.

Eyes guarded by glasses and black lashes.
Green eyes stare back, with the occasional tint of blue that escapes.
Her once long her, now chopped to just above her shoulders.
A beautiful girl, inside and out.
Yet, as that quiet, shy girl enters the room,
Her presence goes unnoticed by some.
Jul 2017 · 295
My Little Sun
a sky, once so blue,
replaced by grey and many clouds.
filling the once happy sky,
from all chance of sun shining through.
the sun was gone and rain fell.
falling as if the heavens above were crying.
upset from the loss of bright, yellow happiness.
the wind picked up and soon,
all the leaves were losing their grasp.
letting go, they all fell to the ground.
but made no sound.

in the blink of an eye,
the sun was stripped of all colour.
now replacing the day with nothing,
but broken branches and rain.
for you.
miss you papa.
Jul 2017 · 219
Trapped
I’ll always remember every single tiny grain of sand from those shores.
The waves that crashed, rising higher than my two foot tall figure.
It was the summer of ‘04, first time stepping foot on those Newport shores.
For my family, it was just another summer day, to me…
The start of something new.

Long drives call long naps, falling asleep as the adults talk about the day plans.
2 hour drive being interrupted for one stop.
The morning air had that familiar summer scent like at home, but this was not home.
The trees were like forest giants, hiding in the darkness,
Only to be illuminated as the sun shone through their old branches.

I was three year olds, my first time leaving my home state.
Abandoning it for a different type of scene.
Paved streets, sidewalks lined with shopping store.
Some brand new, or going out of business,
Most of them still the original old, brown wood for years before.

My first time witnessing the scorching, hot sun beat down on my pale skin.
The hot grains of sand that stuck to your feet without warning.
Hearing the tsunami of waves come in fast, crashing even faster.
Trying my best to jump over the towering the waves, gripping my father’s hand.
Watching as my footprints would wash away as the waves returned to the dark abyss.

As the sun sets over the horizon, hues of reds and pinks filling the once blue sky.
Changing the scene to a photograph that will forever stay in my mind.
Watching as the waves simmer down and lightly come in contact with the shore,
Meeting as the touch, only to get pulled apart once more.
Taking my memories with them.

Years past and here I am again, in the same sand where I once stood.
Walking the beach and kicking up shells , like the ones I used to collect.
I know it’s for the best, but it’s so sad to see this place go.
No matter how much I grow,
My young soul stays trapped in those shores, which soon became my home.

— The End —