erin baker: Poems

Mar 2016 · 479

erin baker Mar 2016

The breeze pulls against her hair and I see again another reason to be alive.
For if I was not here in her glory I wouldn't notice the little things,
like how the bees that fly land on the edge of the petal before crawling
into the warm compact center of their flowers.
Or how when I lay down, the sky makes the clouds look as if they were dipped in honey.
It's as if my eyes flutter close and new ones take their place,
making my vision far less impared than when I breathe in the rain.
The grass is tall as if a wall from the outside,
just her, myself, and god.

written about kayla explaining to me how bees pollenate, and me asking about judaism.

Mar 2016 · 1.0k

Could've, would've, should've.

erin baker Mar 2016

Could've, would've, should've.

You say try harder and I do
You don't understnad that this is how I am.
I am so deeply sorry I can't do this,
maybe I can but I don't try.
Maybe I will start trying but it might seem like I wont.
Mostly I try to die, but maybe I should TRY.

Could've
Would've
Should've.

@mom sorry i **** at school.

Mar 2016 · 441

Off putting Conditions.

erin baker Mar 2016

Off putting Conditions.

We were sitting around the kitchen table, my eyes prickled with tear. "Why are you crying?", but you might as well have said 'Shut up and do not speak your mind.' I looked up and wiped my eyes. "It's embarrassing."

I spoke so quiet I hardly heard myself. I saw you reach for my notebook, and in three point seven seconds I yelled 'No!' My shoulders rose and fell quickly. My small hand slammed on the table grabbing the book. Your demaner changed and you got angry. You took my hand and crush my fingers within yours and ripped the book from my hand. Tens apon tens of pictures flew out as you shook all of its organs from the binding. My eyes fell the floor, nothing was left in the notebook. The notebook full of horrible feelings and terrible secrets. You snatched the cover open and flicked through. With all the cynicalness you had, you ripped the pages and fed them to the garbage disposal.

I look up in the same spot as I had began. We were sitting around the kitchen table, my eyes prickled with tear. "Why are you crying?", but you might as well have said 'Shut up and do not speak your mind.' I looked up and wiped my eyes. "It's embarrassing."

"Fix yourself before I fix you."

I'm startled but I wipe away my tears and eye my notebook dangerously. I live to write another day.

This is a poem about an agrument I had with someone and how I imagined it would go versus how it went. I applaud them for controlling their anger because if they hadn't I wouldn't have the notebook that I use to write down my thoughts so I can compile it into poems. Thank you.

#poems #long #notebook

Feb 2016 · 671

Three am thoughts happen all night.

erin baker Feb 2016

Three am thoughts happen all night.

I'm having those three am thoughts at midnight. It's like someone is reaching in through my ear and grabbing my brain, pushing and compressing it against my eye sockets so that my eyes blur. I'm having those three am thoughts at one am where the devil reaching up from under my bed and he is grabbing my wrist shaking my body over and over. He is pulling my hair and pinching my sides and making every sinful flaw I have stick out in my mind. I'm having those three am thoughts at two am, the time when I plug in my lights because suddenly I'm afraid of the dark. When all my darkest thoughts come to life, dancing on the walls in shadows of pain and misery. I'm having those three am thoughts at three am. I'm having those thoughts that make me do things I don't want. It's that time when all of the three am thoughts compile together to make the biggest three am thought there is. I'm having a four am thought at four am, and I'm regretting every three am thought that I had that night. Because if I knew what my four am thought would've said to me then all those three am thoughts wouldn't have happened; and maybe I wouldn't have destroyed half of portfolio because I couldn't see where I was going, or because the devil on my shoulder said the angel took a break, or because I needed scrap for my fire because my lights were broken. I would have my four am thoughts at every hour if I could, but because of my three am thoughts I feel as if they're the only thoughts I'll ever have.

Oddly enough I think I might be okay with that.

Feb 2016 · 316

This house is not for sale.

erin baker Feb 2016

This house is not for sale.

I want to **** myself, but I won't. Because I no longer think that suicide is a house that I want to build some day. I'm fine with this beaten down house at the moment. I like the fact that the linoleum in the kitchen is ripped and I like that if I step on certain spots in the living room, it creaks so loudly that it would wake my mother to have her stop me from doing whatever I decide is fit for that night. I like my wallpaper that you tried to remove so now it's just peeled half heartedly. I like my porch where I receive 99.9% of my splinters. I like the garden gate that I once tore my arm open on. I like my beaten down, busted up, ugly, pathetic house. I don't think I'm ready to build that big, beautiful, shiny mansion that everyone paints as horrible. I don't think I'm ready for mahogany tables and crystal chandeliers. I'm not ready to have the spiral staircase or the beautiful attic view. I wish I was but I'm not; and as you once told me "You will want to **** yourself, but you won't, because you no longer think of suicide as a house you will build one day." Don't you worry, these carpets still have a lot of room for stains. How hard is it to get grape juice and salsa out of a white carpet again?

— The End —