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 Dec 2015 Irene
Chris
I don't know much,
but I can tell you what "whole" looks like.
I've seen it stumble forward
with weary eyes and tired hands.
Come close,
I will hand you a mirror
and tell you to look carefully.
Can you not hear the galaxies
beneath your skin?
They paint in whispers
that even oceans cannot grasp.
I know it took a hurricane and two floods,
but there is soil in your ribcage;
your scars told me so.
Don't mind them though,
they're just reminders
that you love harder than anyone else.
I know you might feel hollow,
but there is a reason your heart
has lofted ceilings.
Never forget how you fought
for all that space.
Look carefully.
These gray skies inside your lungs
are simply a canvas,
and you rain so beautifully.
Oh darling,
you rain so beautifully.
 Dec 2015 Irene
Chris
not anymore.
 Dec 2015 Irene
Chris
Writer’s block does not exist,
there’s only uncreative writers,
and those who don’t care enough
to care so much.
As the former,
I will write this in my quietest voice:
I am okay,
I am okay,
I am okay.
Few would care to know,
fewer would care if they knew.
But it is the truth,
and I am in no business
of making truths I cannot keep.
I no longer write with tired eyes.
I no longer think with shaking hands.
I am no longer transparent,
or translucent,
or opaque.
I am okay.
I know this because I woke up today.
Simply that.
I woke up today,
and I am not empty.
 Dec 2015 Irene
Chris
It's been raining a lot lately.
I still think about you
more than I probably should.

I guess some things don't change.
I guess some things do.
 Dec 2015 Irene
Chris
I close my eyes.
There is a home inside here somewhere.
I remember.
It sinks slightly to the left.
My knees are covered in mud.
The trees have pushed into the living room,
sunflowers are rotting out the woodwork.
I have grown awkwardly into the floorboards.
They remind me that is okay.
I forget.
It keeps me full,
all this emptiness.
The windows are all open.
The hinges let go of every door.
I learn.
Trace the outline of each frame,
hear the echo of hollow footsteps:
"Love more,
love more,
love more."
I have never been here before.
This is what it must be like;
beginning.
 Dec 2015 Irene
Chris
There is a room of everything I wish I’d said.
It tastes of everything that’s empty.
I brush until my mouth bleeds.
Do not touch me with your forgiving eyes,
I do not deserve to be whole.
There is an ocean full of light here somewhere,
I heard it.
It’s a shame I cannot swim,
there is so much I can’t lose.
You said you’d be here.
You said you’d be here.
Maybe one day.
One day it will exist.
The place where we remember.
Where everything remembers.
But it has been quiet lately.
I am everywhere but here.

There is a room of everything you wish you’d said.
It tastes of everything that’s empty.
I stay until my mouth bleeds.
 Dec 2015 Irene
Madisen Kuhn
i am me
 Dec 2015 Irene
Madisen Kuhn
i am
monday nights filled with
candlelit journal entries
and sipping hot tea while
watching rain bounce off
the roof and open windows
in autumn and messy hand-
written letters and white
tees and cuffed jeans and
pb&j; with the crust cut
off and folded origami
cranes and watching the
sun rise while everyone
else is tucked away in
their beds and midnight
car rides and candid smiles
and lists written in blue
ink and wildflowers and
mountains and birds singing
and books and movies that
make you cry and nicknames
and flannels in the winter
and soft music and loud
music and moments recorded
only by memory and pumpkin
pie and forever stamps
i am all the little things
and if you don’t make an
effort to understand why i
love all the things i love
you will never understand
me
written on 10/1/13
 Dec 2015 Irene
Madisen Kuhn
just as you cannot stare at a cut
and watch it heal,
you can’t keep glaring at the pain
and expect it to go away

so look away

let your eyes focus on
daily beauties like sun that shines
through bedroom blinds
and warm sheets
that wrap you up at night

saturday mornings
and crisp november air,
hot showers and the Opportunity
that waits for you at your front step
each and every morning

and one day,
you’ll unravel the bandage
you’ve wrapped around your heart
and the only thing you’ll see is a light scar
that’s there to remind you
of how strong you’ve become

although this life is beautiful,
it isn’t easy
and whether you believe it or not,
you are strong.
written on 11/24/13
 Dec 2015 Irene
Madisen Kuhn
I’m at the point where I can go from feeling so much to so little in an instant. My emotions are all disarray. I feel like my veins are pumping potential energy, heart beat-beat-beating in anticipation for all the things that are about to happen in my life. Growing up is weird. I’m learning and changing and evolving and it doesn’t feel like summer that passes and it’s August and you’re wondering where all the time went… every day I feel time whizzing past; if the hands on the clock rotate any faster it’ll fly off my desk and out the window. I am so many things, and I’m training my eyes to find possibility in every second, to not let time get away from me, to not let myself live in a time that hasn’t even come yet. There is so much I want to do, so much I want to see, so much I want to create, so much I want to be. I’m chasing light and I’m discovering who I am and what I want to do and how I want to live and I’m aching to praise my God with every breath.
written on 12/12/13
 Dec 2015 Irene
Madisen Kuhn
I used to pray that I’d never be loved by
anyone I couldn’t love back,
but then I remembered how many mountains
I grew strong enough to climb when
you didn’t love me back
and I realized that
there’s no use in praying for
the absence of pain
because it will always find you
whether it be through sunburn or aching silence
and broken bones grow back stronger
so I won’t pray you’ll never get hurt
I’ll pray you clean out the cuts on your
elbows and learn to not pick at
the scabs on your knees
and that you’ll stand up more times
than the wind knocks you down
And that you’ll find ways to appreciate
the circles beneath your eyes, but
still hold onto the hope that one day
you will count your scars and smile because
you are proud of how far you’ve come
and how much you’ve grown, and
you’re not just surviving, you are alive.
written on 2/24/14
 Dec 2015 Irene
Madisen Kuhn
when i asked if he had any tattoos, he said
not yet. but if i do, it’ll be to do with God or you.

it has been
76 days
since he
scratched
out
my name
from
his heart
and moved
onto
you

it’ll be to do with God or you.

i wonder if that line gave you butterflies, too.
from drafts
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