Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Oct 2013 Molly Hughes
Wanderer
An empty room seared into memory
It once held your breathless form
I listened to that heart go silent
Crying wet, hiccuping tears onto your heated skin
I cleaned you up, kept you warm
Tried desperately hard to shut your eyes
Knowing that you would never smile with them again
I cannot say for sure if you heard us
Your father breaking down through the speaker
Mitchell, your best friend, sobbing through the phone
I held each call gently, wishing not to cause you more pain
My voice softly singing the song we danced to at our wedding
The stark, violent feeling of your loss
When you were finally free'd from your mortal prison
For you that word took on a whole new meaning
I have never been so proud as the day when you made me yours
But watching you, fighting along your side
To not give up
Even to your last ghost of thought
I was even more so
Left with an aching dark moon
A dead sun
No light to reflect off of my screaming face
I grieve in darkness
Where I can still feel the weight of your  hand in mine
I will always miss you. Some moments more achingly, vicious than others. This being one of them.
 Oct 2013 Molly Hughes
L Meyer
There once was a proper noun,
who started hanging with the wrong crowd.
With alluring adjectives who handed out compliments like candy
− gob smacking gossipers with an opinion on everything.
And with thrill-seeking adverbs,
who buddied up to the most dangerous of companions;
crash, dive, hurl, and gamble (to name a few).

Until the day the sentence came rambling into town,
planting punctuation in the form of kisses
on the noun’s eyelids, earlobes, and collarbone.

Provoking such admissions as, “My thighs stuck
to the black leather seats under the hot, cloudy skies
of that August afternoon, and my hair whipped
like willow branches in the wind,
when I rode on the back of his motorcycle.”
or, “He greets me every morning with a sun-drenched kiss”,
and, “The tulips were picked fresh from the ditch of
a curvy, country road, but now sit in a
vase by my bed, and are slowly wilting away.”

It would eventually be made clear
that the sentence had a nasty habit
of propositioning prepositions,
only to leave them hanging,
and to place things in parenthesis,
that simply did not belong.  

And so, the sentence would wind up leaving town,
or “run-on”, as the noun liked to tell it.
Went chasing after some particularly provocative expletives,
eventually trailing off with a faint set of ellipsis...

And the kindest of adjectives
came cooing after the noun,
calling to her; lovely, lustrous, listless.
And the adverbs brought with them
their gentlest of friends; comfort and console,
to speak with the noun:
softly, tenderly, lovingly- all witnesses.

But it was of no use,
and the noun whispered quietly:
“I have been enchanted with a single kiss
which can never be undone,
until the destruction of language.”


*based off of the poem Permanently, by Kenneth Koch
 Oct 2013 Molly Hughes
kt
i came to you with my problems
you told me to shut up
and im a little wolf crier
i was drenched in blood
all i needed was help
instead you called me
and yelled at me to grow up
you said i was just pretending
"some people have real problems"
so i cut a little deeper
my problems arent real
so i took another pill
i shouldnt be here
 Oct 2013 Molly Hughes
kt
vodka
 Oct 2013 Molly Hughes
kt
you told me i drank too much
as you were sipping your beer,
but i drink to forget the pain
and you drink to feel something.

you told me you couldn't trust me
as you kissed her,
but i would never hurt you
and you have no heart.

you told me you could taste it
as you were pushing me away,
but i kept pulling you closer
and you just kept walking.
I saw you today.

As you sat with half
of your face facing
away from me,
I prayed you would look at me.

You didn't then,
but you met me at the staircase,
laughed,
and disappeared from the landing.

I saw you today.

And I don't remember
much of anything else.
(But so much longer in my head)
 Oct 2013 Molly Hughes
G C
Long nights,
Deep conversations,
Secret smiles,
Wide eyes,
Strange thoughts,
Shared fears,
First times,
Laughs and tears.
We were falling in love,
So young, so careless,
*So innocent and reckless.
 Oct 2013 Molly Hughes
G C
Your hands in fists,


Clenched,


Your knuckles even whiter than usual,


I can see your veins,


Making their way through you strong arms,


Intricate and incomprehensible,


Like your mind,


They resemble tree branches,


As they get to the crook of your elbow,


They change color,


From green to blue,


Like your eyes during winter,


Your favorite season.


As cold and as heartless as you,


You, my darling,


You are made of winter,


Its frosty rivers run through your body,


Delivering frozen blood,


Which feeds your cold heart,


That heart,


Pumps the frozen blood,


Through all of your body,


So you are made of winter,


You are made of cold, dark feelings,


You are made of permanent snow,


You are, an eternal winter,


Storming and destroying,


My warm soul.
 Oct 2013 Molly Hughes
AJ
Son
 Oct 2013 Molly Hughes
AJ
Son
Sometimes I see a little boy,
In a blue and yellow striped shirt,
In the corner of my eye.
He told me he is a lost spirit,
And that I was to adopt him.
The boy did not remember his name,
He only knew that he was four.
So I tried to call him timothy.
He gave me a headache,
He does not like the name Timothy,
He prefers Collin.
Sometimes he is in my dreams,
And he asks me to sing to him.
He cries when I sing church songs.
And he cries when I smoke or light a candle.
I think he died in a church.
I think he died in a fire.
Poor Collin.
Sometimes he just watches me.
And he sings a little song.
"The wind moves the tree.
And I move too.
But what moves me?
That is up to you."
Poor Collin.
Other stories about Collin can be found in the collection "Son", which you can find if you look in the notes down below.
 Oct 2013 Molly Hughes
H
I will take this. I have to.
Even if it breaks me.
Even if it breaks me into a million pieces that nobody can put together again.

And it has.

It has broken me into so many fragmented pieces; I’m now what they refer to as

“damaged goods”

Something so traumatic, I’ll never be normal again.
Normal is a thing of the past.
This is what’s happening now.

Broken pieces.

Everywhere.

Every time I fix a piece, another breaks. I feel like I’m holding myself together with tape and glue and it’s not going to be enough. I don’t know what else to say, but it’s too much and it's not enough. All at the same time.

It’s like screaming without a voice.

They said there’d be waves.
They essentially promised.
They said that these waves of sadness would come and go. That happiness would slowly seep back in.

Weaving its way into the oscillating patterns of a heavy heart.

But there haven’t been any waves.
They were wrong.

Instead the pain is dull. It is constant.
But most of all, it’s there. It's there all the time.
The constant part is the worst. The only thing I could relate it to is fire.

It’s like somebody running through a fire has it easier. Sure they’ll get burned but the point is that they get to run through.

They get out.

This though? This is like getting caught in the fire and not making it through. This is like a permanent residency in my own personal hell and at some point I really need the fire to be put out; the pain to stop.

It has to. There’s only so much a girl can take. It’s like somebody has their dark hand engulfing my heart and they’re squeezing it every day and no matter how I plead, they’re refusing to let go.

It’s the greatest sadness I have ever known and it is depleting me emotionally and physically.
I. Am. Too. Weak.

Everybody keeps saying how strong I am. They have no idea. It’s like I’m the world’s greatest actress and I’ve fooled them all. All they see is somebody taking bad news well.

But nobody takes their entire earth shattering “well”.
And my earth has shattered. The death of my brother at the age of 21 has shattered me.

There’s not one thing I wouldn’t give to go back and hug him just a little longer at the airport three days before he died. It was just supposed to be his last semester at college. Not the end of a life time.

There are too many broken pieces. The jagged edges cut my hands. I can’t pick them up.

And so now all I can do is pray. With my forehead to the ground and my faith in God I will pray. Pray the pain away in hopes that one day, the happiness is real. And the tears stop.

In hopes that one day, I can go on without him.

So I’ll pray.
Next page