Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
sometimes I hope you lose sleep at night
thinking of what could have been
thinking of how you ruined the best thing to ever happen to you
thinking of all the memories and good times that we had
but mostly, I hope you’re remembering the little things
the things that someone only notices when they’re deeply in love
the things that you’ll look for in every other girl you meet
the things that make you weep because they were unique to me
the things that you'll never find in anyone else
like the way I twirl my hair back
or how bite my cheek before I cry
the way I laugh when I’m nervous
and the little red mark on my right hand that you always kissed
once in a while I wonder if you lose sleep over what I’m doing
if you’re hoping I’m just as lost as you are
hoping I haven’t moved on
or that I still pine over you the way you pine over me
well I don’t
you broke me
you changed me
you made me forget who I was in order to be better for you
you played the victim
you called it off
you deserve to be kept awake at night
for the ways that you have wronged me
the water is streaming down my face
making me numb to the feeling of my tears
it runs through my hair and down the small of my back
replacing the path his hands would travel
reminding me that his touch was even softer than water

I played a station we never used to listen to
the music in the background is muffled and distant
but suddenly a memory plays through the speakers
and the lyrics become clear as day and ten times louder
all at once I feel the stream of tears again

I plug the drain and lay on the porcelain
hot water rains down on me until the bath is full
the rain stops and everything is still
for the first time in a long time I inflate my lungs completely
and I *float
 Apr 2017 Emily Gray
Amanda
there is a revolution brewing
the women fill the streets
their light piercing the stormy skies

the revolution is coming
the pink poster boards litter her bedroom floor
fighting for our rights
with the passion of those from the 20's and 60's

the pink poster board held high
our light piercing the charcoal clouds
the sun is coming out,
the four year forecast of constant rain and sleet
will be cut short,
thrown down the memory hole.
the revolution is here.
 Apr 2017 Emily Gray
Amanda
I never knew love like this
every day your cheek I kiss
you make me want to live
endless hugs for you I give
I am forever grateful for you
I love you and you love me too
you're the sweetest thing
in this house, you are the king
each moment without you
is a moment I miss
you deserve the world
and a permanent state of bliss.
 Apr 2017 Emily Gray
Amanda
Reckless and wild
Hopeful and carefree
The roads of the midwest await

Inconvenience strikes-
Sealed already is their fate.

On the run
90 goes the T-bird
leaving behind it their future
entangled in the thick clouds of dust.

Over the grand canyon they go
The T-bird flies
Their energy and passion,
their fuel.
Limitless possibilities await
for Thelma and Louise

The journey continues
 Apr 2017 Emily Gray
Amanda
The battle over poetry
The soldiers fight
their words, their weapons.
The historic battlegrounds dedicated in honorable memorials,
studied in English classrooms everywhere.
The meek soldiers follow in the footsteps of the noble commanders that have paved the battlegrounds for them.

The quiet soldiers want to fight,
the drafted,
given the gift of perfect aim but can never choose the right target.

I join the fight,
The fight to express thoughts and beliefs
Your words, silver bullets, sink deep into my skin.
They do not reach my heart, however.
They sink deep into parts of me that will not **** me,
but will leave me screaming in pain.
The pain of your words cut deep.
I struggle to fight back,
my pain, my motivation to keep up the fight.

The drafted are invisible
The fight continues,
the soldiers longing to be commemorated for the pain they endured in the fight.
We are the drafted,
the unnoticed.
Our pens, our weapons
and this battle is far from over
 Apr 2017 Emily Gray
Amanda
If
 Apr 2017 Emily Gray
Amanda
If
If we all knew what becomes of us after death,
would there be more suicides?
Or would there be more people seizing the moment?

If we remembered every single day of our lives,
would we go insane?
Or would we be more intelligent?

If we felt no pain,
would the world be full of happiness
Or lost, blind souls?

If all diseases were cured,
would we be happy?
Or overpopulated, each of us living in squalor?

If we all experienced true love,
would we all feel complete?
Or would we feel completely empty once it has fled us?

If we knew all of the answers to these questions,
would we feel satisfied?
Or would we feel completely helpless...
 Apr 2017 Emily Gray
Amanda
Every day throughout the hallways,
I hear it.
"I want to die",
"I'd rather **** myself",
"Oh my god, **** me".
I'll admit it, sometimes I catch myself saying it too by accident.

But these phrases matter.
They are not a joke to simply be brushed off
and forgotten
with a slight laugh, met with fake agreement.

Suicide is real.
Whenever I hear the phrases,
I am brought back to the cemetery.
My grandpa burying his son.
He read a poem to commemorate his son's love for literature.
I fought back my tears because I hate crying in public,
even if it's justified by a funeral.
We pretended we weren't sad.
We tried to fathom how his life was so cold that he'd rather face death
They pretended they understood his pain.

Every time I see a hanging on television
or hear someone talk about hanging,
I fight back my tears
because my experience with that is too real.
It shouldn't be real.
I understand the depressed's pain, I really do.
But suicide leaves scars on everyone you leave behind.
It changed my life forever
and I pray you find the courage to stay.
I.
Was the embers of the fireplace at eleven fifty four: a time, a measure, a number?,
and you couldn't fall into sleeps gripping reach as you got undressed
The cold contents of the wooded room
Impeding rest soon. Soon you rest. Soon you rest.
II.
Now you lay me down to sleep.
The earth was the eve coloured as dust.
The fire on the far side that burned like rust.
The flames that painted the rectangle bricks.
Softly muttered what song to sing?
Black smoke hushed a low simmer.
The birch crackled its warm breast for you to lean to.
While the silence had adhered to.
There is the hush of the cold and the popping of the fire,
for you, you had desires of a warm sleep.
          Two cold feet walk you to warmth in the room.

III.
Whilst all the others rested in slumber
You trusted the coal people burrowing on in they provided warmth for the numb within:
And burned away your frostbitten nose.
They chewed the pain of your frozen toes.

IV.
Illuminations swayed with shadow
you're exhausted lips had caved
For the furrowed light had lighten slumbers way

V.
The house was finally silent at six past the two, twelve hands
You had burrowed in the arms of the people of coal and you had fallen into sleep's gentle hold.

VI.
By dawn the coal people had gone away
The fire twas at at the break of day
Charcoal ashes covered your pale skin as the far side fireplace was dimmed
Your freckles peaked between the black.
Yet now
Now you sleep now you sleep, now they lay you down to sleep.
To the holes in her socks
To the mats in her hair
To the grease in her pores
To the dirt in her nails
You don’t know her story nor the stress she may wear
Nor her laughter nor smile and silent whisper
For all you see is a  passing figure
For you to laugh at and to snort and snicker
So walk to a door that is locked shut
and quietly stare to see if she gives a flying ****
Next page