Apr 21 smc
abby
We are the ones who are hard to understand
We'll be the last ones in the movie theatre
because the ending scene made us cry
We'll stop to smell the roses
because they deserve to be appreciated
We are the ones who will take the time
to get to know what keeps you up at night
We are the ones who will imagine
an entire future of adventures
with the people who show us love

We are the ones who will love you more
than we love ourselves sometimes
We will give you our strongest parts
in hopes that we can make things better
We desire to see you become the best you
to make sure that you always feel our love
We crave affection and appreciation
We give a piece of ourselves away every day
sometimes to people who don't deserve it
Our love is easy to take advantage of
and sometimes we don't get back
the love that we give away

When we hurt, we crumble and fall apart
We constantly have to put ourselves back together
We are more fragile than we like to give off
We carry our emotions on our sleeves
Our flaws have the ability to consume us
We aren't afraid to give you the world
but we are afraid to feel unloved
We want you to see what we see
We want you to understand where we're coming from

We are good people with good intentions
We are stronger than we look like
Not everyone can feel the way we feel
We feel too much, too often
We are not hard to love
We are something not everyone knows how to love
But you need to remember that
your worth does not change just because
no one is there to appreciate you, to remind you

You are not any less lovable
You are the most lovable person in the world
You are a light that the world needs
Your kindness is not your weakness
You do not need to change for anyone's acceptance
You do not need to stop giving love
just because you don't get any back
Your heart is the best thing about you

And one day when you least expect it
someone will notice you from across the room
and know exactly how to love you
They will think all of these things are beautiful
They will deserve the love you can give
They will fill the empty space in your heart
But for now, don't stop feeling
We are the ones who feel everything so deeply
We are the ones who can't give up because
We are the ones who will teach the world
how to love
We are exactly who we are supposed to be
smc Feb 23
Someday

he'll show up
with an, "I can't be without you"
on my front doorstep,
and wake me from this
nightmarish sequence

ebbs and flows
of hollow sunset
followed by
blinding sunrise
and cacophony of birds
singing joyfully.
smc Feb 14
Imagine
there's no deception
no heartbreak
no poison for our bodies to succumb to
no rules
and no sadness.

If only I thought like that more often...
I'd be happy.

I love who I'm with now: just me.
I'm trying, at least,
moment by moment,
to win this Game.
This is what my life is missing. the game.
smc Feb 13
Glorified one-stemmed wonders
delivered in high school
when she waited
hoping for
maybe,
please...
oh, hands stop sweating!
heart be quiet--
he can hear it pounding through your
tee shirt!
this time...yes, maybe...
he glanced!
looked this way!
she can hear blood pounding
in her ears
her face turns scarlet,
boiling-hot,
and she tries to hide EvErYtHiNg
she is feeling.
Hope. this time, please.
let it be my turn.

And her heart splashes
into her stomach
hands turn to ice
face melts
as the pretty girls
talk
and flitter...
hummingbirds
with their rose nectar.

He did buy a rose,
but not for her...
another February
cold and alone
left to study
and be exactly who
she wants to
escape from.
Twelve months a year
smc Feb 13
tiny jewels
adorn
H E R
finger

the ones
w     e
found
together
in peru
    brazil
  colorado

and she laughs like
fairies dance around her
perfect
hollow
soul

she knows
what she did
to what was once
someone
else's
life
smc Feb 13
He flings her boots at her, and she watches in slow motion as they land, spraying dust and dirt from the barn. She had, earlier that week, worn those boots as she sang to the horses to calm her mind on a sleepless night. Promises shattered, she scrambles to pick up her boots, losing him and the horses, her only place of solace. Hope is gone. Her ears ring with his words, a broken record, only days earlier: “Come on home, honey.”

She had unearthed a fossil...

A slight bump, pearly white, attracts her eye. As she slowly brushes the dirt off the surface, she sees the bones: the hollow, dull eye sockets, disturbing jut of a dislocated jaw, gaping mouth. She notices how deep it is buried--the tip of an iceberg. Then, just as she puts her brush down to look closer, the wind, a whispered warning, stirs a cloud of dirt that settles over the remains, filling the holes and smoothing the jagged edges. In an instant, she forgets, consciously choosing to disregard those feelings of disturbance. She picks up her brush and hesitates, torn between logic and temptation. Compelled, entranced, she gingerly touches the bristles to the dirt. Maybe it won't be ugly this time; perhaps it wasn't as disturbing as she thought. She could have made it up--just her mind playing tricks on her. If she trusts her hesitation, though, she foregoes the excitement of discovery. But she has already seen what lies beneath. A glimpse should have been enough.

She cannot look away. Hesitation is devoured by anxiety; compulsion grows stronger, takes control. And she lets it.  She sweeps the bristles slowly at first then picks up speed, furiously sweeping away the earth. She should have trusted that tug of hesitation, should have left the brush and walked away. She didn't want to see it; she looked anyway. The image, horrifying, discolors her own skin to match the gray of the bones. Frozen, petrified, she watches worms slither through cracks in the skull. The head is twisted and detached, unnaturally askew. The ribs are shattered, by knife or gunshot, where the heart once was.

She punishes herself. Self-loathing swells and festers as she resentfully reflects on her choice to dispel her better judgment. She avoids mirrors, afraid to see skin that remains gray. The horrifying truth of what she chose to uncover disturbs her dreams.

I awake, coughing, disoriented, clothes adhered to skin by cold sweat. Anxious, hollowed, robotic, I reach for a cigarette.
from "The Story of Ky" by smc
smc Feb 13
I miss you, too
blinks on the screen

do you remember me?
can you tell me how you can
read the words of a desperate heart
and choose to respond with
n o t h i n g....
do you remember?
two weeks, it's been.
did you lose a connection
from
    your
      brain
to
     your
heart?

what prompts you
to keep tugging
on a frayed string
       that used to
be strong
    and shiny
               and blue
"like your beautiful eyes"

through the sticky mud
and the unsettled puddles
from acid rain
that keeps
on
f
a
  l
   l
  i
n
g
the longest month of the year, 28 total days. february
Next page