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 Jun 2016 heather
J
What no one tells you about loving a writer,Is that they're nuts, man.They're slobs, they're hoarders, Have you seen my room? I barely have, to tell the truth.
Crumbled paper lines the floor, Ideas withering from the night before,
What no one tells you about dating a writer, Is that they're so moody.
We’ll try to play it off like some sort of
Artistic facade. Mysterious. Yep, that’s us!
But in reality, we’re probably just ******* wiped. We spent 3 days and 3 nights writing songs and painting pictures that you won’t ever see. And what no one tells you about dating a writer, Is that it is hard.
What no one tells you about loving a writer, is that they’re going to love you back. Hard. They might notice parts of you that you never have, they might focus in on each part and it might make you mad, But I promise they love every scar as much as they love every laugh. They might notice every freckle and how the ones on the small of your back, right there where you start to laugh when you get brushed by another, even lightly, make the little dipper, and how it might be cliche but it’s their favorite constellation. And they will try to connect the dots to make sense of your body, to create a solid thought.
Even if it does not come together like the stars in the sky, they will try and try and what no one tells you about loving a writer
Is that its hard. Remember what I said about us hoarding? We hold on to everything, letting go isn't something we do easily and we'll take in everything you say and do whatever we can to make you want to stay, we're messy, we're clumsy
we're odd but we will give you everything we've got. There’s a reason they have a desk full of half written poems, a reason they might feel so hard, they have a broken heart. Hearts that are whole don’t make art, We hate to admit it but it’s true so what no one tells you about loving a writer, is that you’re loving pieces. You’re loving Monday morning, Chaotic, panicked, angry, hungry. You’re loving Tuesday night, Tired, weary, shaky, sorry. You’re loving a Saturday afternoon when the week catches up and the bags under their eyes become a muse for a new piece they might spend weeks composing only to throw into the trash and what no one tells you about loving someone like that Is that it’s normal to throw away something that took so long to construct. But they won’t tell you that they’re used to that. What did you think made them write in the first place? They are used to that. Their whole lives have been building bridges with flammable wood Over barren lands. What no one tells you about loving a writer, Is that you’re loving two eyes, two hands, Two legs, two ears, and two lips but too many souls to try and control. Don’t try and control them, they’ll turn their back on you, they are conditioned to take their sorrows and turn then into words that can't be taken back, ones that make their spine stop chilling, Perhaps pass it on to another, what no one tells you about dating a writer, is that you will be that “another," you will have to absorb some of the energy, The forces that make these people soak up Every piece of sorrow in the world And make their heads heavy, And make their hearts scary, their hands shaky. What no one tells you about dating a writer, Is to be careful. They are broken and they cannot heal. Because they might stop creating, And their hearts might stop beating, Because their words bleed out of their skin, Their hands shape the world they’ve come to Live in, to love in, And their lungs are filled with every word you’ve ever said, And when you left, They took those words And wrote them down, And what no one tells you about dating a writer, Is that if youre not going to love the writer, At least give them something worth writing about. They will.
 Jun 2016 heather
J
Who knew
our last kiss
would be
my new
beginning
 Jun 2016 heather
J
My sour mouth
was sweet before
you swept me off my feet
last year
 Jun 2016 heather
J
Affection
 Jun 2016 heather
J
You don't have the capacity to love
I always love too much
that's where we tripped up.

You mistake affection
for connection
laughter and lust
for love
and that's fine
for a month.

But it's draining to watch you
**** the life out of everyone around you
it pains me to see you turn stones into dust.

It's hard to attract you for what's underneath,
I started to realize it's not very deep.
That's fine, for a year,
but we're just so done
with talking to a ghost
sleeping with no one.

So next time you decide
to tell her you're in love
make sure you feel it in your heart
if you even have one.
 Jun 2016 heather
J
Tired
 Jun 2016 heather
J
Tired.
Exhaustion,
the kind of fatigue you don't counteract
with behind-the-counter medications
because it lives behind your eyes but
not quite inside your brain,
the kind that makes you feel insane
just for acknowledging it's there.
It's quiet in the day but wrattles constantly,
reminding you, you're the only one to hear it.
Tired.
The kind that misses sleeping in,
but 13 hours of sleep is never enough
to fill in gaps or bags under eyes,
so you just lie in bed and think about
how tired you've become,
and how you've forgotten
how it feels to be refreshed.
Tired.
The kind of tired that inhibits you from moving
your mind races and your body is glued to the bed,
it's 3am now and you've finally stopped pacing in your head.
Tired.
your eyes stop moving around 6am
when you crawl into bed,
you are so drained,
nothing could keep you up now
you block out cars horns,
you ignore thoughts that knock on your door,
and rustle in your blinds,
and drown your fatigued mind,
begging for a place inside your bed,
you are so tired.
you are on sheets,
you haven't washed in weeks,
stuck without a destination
for your mind.
stuck, the sun just rose,
so you are
**** out of luck.
.
 Jun 2016 heather
Kathryn Paige
i'm the reason
you ran so far
from god but
i don't think he
was ever here to
start because
you wore a cross
around your neck
and it never meant
a thing when you
had me tangled
in your sheets

and i don't care where
i end up after this life
because you left me
in a state of hell the
second you said
hurting me meant
nothing when the
only forgiveness
you need is given
by someone
i can't see.

-k.w//i can't remember the last time i saw god
 Jun 2016 heather
Kathryn Paige
In a world that
has failed to keep
you safe,
I hope you find
peace among the stars.

-k.p//orlando
feeling heavy hearted today
 Jun 2016 heather
Kathryn Paige
like the tattoo
you got at sixteen,
you wore me proudly
for a little while,
but as time passed,
I was covered up by
something better
and eventually forgotten
as a whole.

-k.w//your ****** tattoo
 Apr 2016 heather
Tom Leveille
and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it
 Apr 2016 heather
Tom Leveille
i love you this morning
it's a come home safe morning
fog on the road
& no seatbelt kind of morning
the sun is over easy
& nothing's on fire
there's punctuation
where i don't want it
and extra love
in the glovebox of my car
been thinking about being honest
how these poems are all me
but they tell the story
how someone else
might believe it happened
within reasonable doubt
no copy & pasted love letters
no 'who ever says hello first gets my attention for the day'
try a little tenderness
in my ears and today
there are instruments
in the back of my head
i think you love me
because i'm sunburned
felt it in a 'come hell or high water' kinda way, that 'touched from far away' kinda way that 'if i touch this piano one more time one of us is going to break' kinda way
and i drove over 17 bridges yesterday and today i'll do it again
and i think nobody gets
what that means except maybe you
i just tell them i love the scenery
that somebody must've made
these trees blush just for me
you know how i love
to change the subject
i bet they'd love the view
i bet you would too
and all these metaphors
for other things are beside the point
this is a metaphor
for why i don't wear my seatbelt
a metaphor for why whiskey
knows me better than you
could ever try to
all the buildings seemed to sag yesterday and all the stars
are doing that cliche thing
where they talk
quiet jet noise
& some lumbering giant
made everything shake
not those hand metaphors
not another one of those
& keep the sea to yourself
i think it was a train
it's sound hugged the embankment
for a moment
and then trailed off into nowhere
and that's kind of like me
how there's a town called 'rescue'
close to my home &
it's no coincidence
that i've never been there
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