Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Was so fragile-
She could be cut by callused palms.
Could be bruised-
With the stroke of her makeup brush.
Lays so sound-
She could wake up to the car door slamming in the garage.

She is so thin-
Light shines not just through her eyes-
But through her chest, hips, lips, and-
No warmth is transferred through her kiss.

She breaks like hardened mud.
You could sink into her like quicksand.
Her body, is built like a storm.

You can watch the blood in her veins-
Meet your fingers at the surface-
You can still see what you have drawn in the morning-
If you can even crawl out of bed to crack the blinds.

She likes thunderstorms.
She likes the smell of dirt.
Her eyes were gray-
And her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth.

She can dance in the sun-
clumsily-
And still be the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

She could sing-
Off key-
But her emotion is what makes those notes gold.

She lays like stone.
She moves like running glass fast forwarded.
Her voice is thunder-
And her eyes are the winter.

She lays hands on you-
Only to heal.
She can mend you-
as easy as bending a wire coat hanger.

Her skeleton is like flint-
How it sparks against mine.
Her body is so fragile-
A word could hurt her.
and a stick or stone-
would certainly **** her.
If I give you midnight skies with billions of white stars
or rivers flowing with milk and honey
that lie on a fertile land with roses and tulips blossoming in the misty air
will you feel my love
to my one and only.....atleast in my head
 May 2014 Hailey A Carlson
s
I hope
 May 2014 Hailey A Carlson
s
I hope you still
smell like rosemary and take your coffee black
I hope you still
say my name in a singsong voice and remember the curve of my neck
I hope you still
dance like no one's watching and listen to the birds talk
I hope you still
have a fiery temper and read under the big oak tree
I hope you still
love yourself and everything on this earth
i used to love the smell of her
on my clothes
i used to enjoy her hair
pacing in front of my eyes.

but
everything collapsed
worlds colliding
people make mistakes
even the people we love.

now i'm more in love
with our memories
than with her.
but in the end
we all become the person
we swore we'd never be.
If a pen should stutter,
my words are weak.
Leaking ink and broken words
leave my hands as red as guilt,
and I am not innocent.
Flushed cheeks and a stained tongue,
there is little I can hide.
But maybe if you slice me open,
there is more to see inside;
Reach around and find my chest,
but know it holds more salt water
than your desired treasure.
I do hope what few jewels I have
Bring you pleasure.
 May 2014 Hailey A Carlson
meg
I remember when I was in the hospital and I didn't sleep for two days straight because I swore to god that if I did the demons would step out from under the bed and seep into my head.

I remember when it was three am, and I was shaken awake from the girl three doors down shrieking from the night terrors that her mother embedded into her skull with her fist and a belt when she was eight. But, they were then stored away until she was thirteen years old and a man swore that he'd beat her if she didn't cooperate. So, now they hide during the day, and creep back up when the sun falls.

I remember when I witnessed a boy unintentionally scratch at his skin until he bleed for an hour because the voices inside of his mind told him that if he didn't hurt anyone else, he would just have to hurt himself. and he swears he'd never hurt anyone besides himself.

I remember when I met a girl who had cuts up and down her arms and legs from when her mother told her she'd never survive the world because she isn't good enough. But, I swear to god that she was the strongest person I've ever met.

I remember when my roommate stayed up all night rocking with bloodshot eyes and deep purple circles underneath of them because she swore that if she slept the monsters inside of her head would crawl out and bleed into her soul.

I remember when the boy five doors down hit the wall so hard that it shook the entire unit because he hallucinated a man and a little girl trying to strangle him, and he swore he could feel the noose around his neck.  

even through all of this, for some odd reason teenagers think it's lovely to have deep scars and to hear voices telling them to **** themselves and everyone around them. I swear, nothing is lovely about demons eating at your brain and thoughts.

I remember when it was four am, and I was up weeping from the fact that people think my suffering is lovely.

I can swear to you, it's not.
***** hiding that I went to a mental ward. because I think that this is the best poem I've ever written.
Next page