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Today for the first time in quite awhile,
upon my face grew a genuine smile.

It wasn't fabricated, it was honest and true
and when reality hit me I was left feeling blue.

I was so surprised, it was hard to even speak.
How long had it been? A month or a week?

My smile had faded as quickly as it grew,
but I know it'll be back the next time I think of you.
My head doctor told me I was "existentially depressed"
18
Her hands shaking like the bedpost,
Springs are sprung in a similar way to how I am for her,
Bending over effortlessly to feel the sway of her remarks.
If only her remarks were as sweet as her accent,
(If only she had an accent.)
Brave wake-up calls furthering our existence.
Memories lost at the bottom of half empty bottles & at the top of the ping-pong ball's curve.
The sky has been dark for a few hours & the back seat is really the only place we have ever found coherence at.
Tears. Lots of tears.
"Forget about them, take a little chance with me."
The friction,
the faulty red cups,
the unforgettable music,
the fair use of things that are older than our grandparents,
the flavor of her lips, (which makes me think of home, which makes me remember what shattered glass looks like on a kitchen floor & helps me remember what hands that would grab my arm too hard felt like) nostalgia in a pair of lips,
the fruit we were all too eager to try,
the fall of our bodies & the rise of our voices,
the few times we actually would like to remember,
the famous upside-down sip,
& the four words that I could never say in her presence again:
•Light
•Deer
•Exhibit
•Hello
"Promise me you won't forget me."
Misunderstanding her voice never helped me until now.
We're very tired.
We're very sleepy.
But yet our lips aren't.
They seem to forget their purpose once they have a taste of sin.
"Please don't tell anyone I did that."
We're too young for this & I think that's why we do it.
Purposely persuading your every step.
"Don't tell her I said that"
Home is now haze & books are now blur.
More tears.
"I'm not ashamed of you, I just like keeping everything a secret."
We're too old for mistakes & I think that's why we choose to make them.
Calm nerves make her nervous & so do unsteady pens.
"Please don't be mad at me."
We're too smart to be stuck on the same chapter & I think that's why we close the book instead of continuing to read on.

We're all just accidentally sinking to the bottom of the ocean.
Is it weird how I remember one of your favorite artists was Frank Sinatra?
That Red you adored.
On your lips, on your nails, clip clopping heels on the floor.
That you were born on the 18th
In one of the J's of summer.
That you eyes were "fat" you called them
and Sad..
and beautiful..
I cannot look at them anymore
they are filled with everything
everything.
Is it weird that I remember
how full the face of you
how alluring, proactive, your smile
I remember even, how you hated your nose
It was too wide you said.
How your cheeks were too thick for your taste.
Its weird.
How in class, as we learn about Shakespeare, I still look forward
for that little second
to telling you, showing you what I've learned of what you like.
I miss how I got used to out short
random chit chats.
You'd inspire me to come to love an idol of yours
and not only for you she now lives inside
Marilyn Monroe.
Her beauty you desired, her beauty you longed for and admired
and I to
she only reminds me of you
just of you
I wonder how would that be to know?
How you were the Spain to my Romano
and my Romano to your Spain.
How you made me love Spain, Antonio- Carriedo.
That Tomato ******* head.
How you portrayed him, with your joy
all of you joy and with the underlying of your sadness
was his sadness
made him beautiful.
My heart cherishes your Spain, and cherishes you.
Its odd, how I remember your voice.
The exact tone, and that sometimes I hear it, or want to
and find myself remembering a time when
you spoke the words I love you
doubtful
always, careful, but openly.
I miss you. I do. I think of you every passing day.
Its as if you were dead, good forbid it, far ahead it will come but for now its all the same.
You are gone from my life.
I'm sorry,
so sorry....
but no more regrets. I miss you my friend.
You were one of the best.
For Jerrica.
Where did we run off to
and end in
separate ways of road
I miss you


But who's missing
Me or you.
Why does it feel as if
you've left me
why does it feel as if
my lies are true
I miss you

But I also wish you
the greatest best
of your new found things
but also
I am missing

did you
notice
it

the "gone-ness" of it all
of me
of us
of we

No more.
Do you miss it?
Did you notice?
Are you too in love
To see the loss
inside of me
that crawls out
and cries for you
my friend
and doesn't leave
just goes back in.

Please miss me too
Please love me too
Please don't forget me
My greatest friend.
Poem inspired by imaginationcollabortators "please miss me" and also by my deepest-friend, who fell in love, and has now here gone astray from her "lovey" I hope she will return.  I know when you fall in love nothing else matters, I am happy for her, but here I am dying inside.
College is a cancer clinic.
At this university, you either live long enough to die,
or die until you want to live.
Kids drag backpacks like bags of morphine,
and are attached to their planners like they are their heart monitors.
You do your own chemotherapy,
as you poison yourself with debt,
and Friday night nickel shots.
I'm sad
And want to cry
I'm abnormal
And want to die

I've an illness that has broken me
I've an illness and I'll never, never, be free

Writers the happiest people on earth
How ****** up is that to say?
Art and delight are as same as night and day.
I'm sane because I scrawl my fight
That makes me laugh
I'm crazy

I'm crazy
My view on the world is hazy
I'm Manic
My morale machine is lazy

Lately it's quicker
Not enough for a design to birth
I want to be transparent
Isn't that apparent?
I guess I will be my own declarant
I'm inane because to harm I am prone
That makes me weep
I just want a soul to keep
Dear Talia,


Acid rain has never felt so warm. We ran home today from the Rail Trail, underneath an umbrella, that you called a Monet and that I called home.

Before that, I sat in a cafe, using my heartbeats as a way to count the passing seconds. I frequently got up and left to go occupy myself. Honestly, I got up to try to remedy my anxiety.

Beyond reasonable punctuality, I was forty, give or take, minutes early. I don't know why I was early; I guess I just was really excited to see you.

When I did leave the cafe, I would always be on a mission to improve our day anyway I could.

At first, I bought a notebook and two cranberry juices. I wanted to write you poetry in the cafe, before you arrived. I started writing but nothing worth showing spilled onto the paper.

I wrote you this poem:

There is nothing that calms me like you do.
There is no one that smiles like you do.
I could find escape in your eyes, and home in your hands.
If you could understand me, like how I understand you.
There is no one like you.

The next time I left, I went to buy bread. I thought it was a good idea if we could feed the ducks, together.

The lady who sold me the bread looked like her dreams were passed onto me. She looked at me with hope, and realistic expectations.

When I went back to the cafe, you still weren't there. I was expecting you in a few minutes, so I was okay. I had horrible anxiety because I thought you would never come, despite your not having to be there until three minutes and however remaining seconds. I have a horrible fear of abandonment and it ignores all rational thought.

So I sat down and I wrote you another poem, hoping that you would surprise me while I was writing it.

I wrote this poem:

I love you.
And it's okay,
you don't have to love me.
It's my love and I want you to have it.

An hour passed and you still weren't there. It was okay because I thought something more important came up. I just wanted you to be happy.

Another twenty minutes passed and I decided to leave. My head sunk down to the ground, as I jaywalked across a street of inconsistent traffic. Then, I found the sidewalk. I was walking, not really paying attention to anything, when I found you. My god, your peripheral vision is bad, but you really do see me.

I was happy to see you.

I wanted to say, "I love you," but I didn't want to lose you.

You were wearing this top that looked like it was painted in cream, and you were exhausted from walking miles to see me. You profusely apologized for being late, and I profusely apologized for not checking my messages.

****, I really do love you. At first, I was stepping down stairs, and then I fell so hard onto the asphalt that had your face confidently drawn on with assorted chalks.

Your name flickers in every light, and your voice settles in my eardrums.

We walked down to the Rail Trail, and I felt like how I imagined those would feel after being baptized. You don't realize how lucky I feel to be walking next to you, talking to you, and knowing that you are on the Earth, and that we are in the same place, the same moment.

I got to hold the umbrella.

My mouth tasted like cheddar and sour cream ruffles, and my hands had trouble circulating blood, and my heart was circulating too much, too fast.

Your eyes were fountains trapped behind emerald.

I love you. I love you. And I love you. I thought all of this between every word that we exchanged, and every glance. I think you love me, too, but it's hard to tell sometimes. You don't have to, but sometimes I imagine that you do, and it's wonderful to imagine such things.

I'm afraid that I'll have to go to a mental hospital. If you were to leave me, I'd understand. I would just want you to be happy, Talia. I hope you wouldn't, though. I guess I'll find out in June.

Despite being reasonably unstable, I feel like the sanest person in a room, sometimes. I was sitting in my living room and I thought about us feeding the ducks, and I heard everyone else talking. I don't understand the point in alcohol and alcohol related stories, when there are ducks and feeding-the-ducks-with-someone-you-love related stories. I don't understand this town, sometimes. Maybe I don't understand how messed up I am, and how everyone is normal.

The mother ducks, and the children, were not there whenever we arrived. We fed the males and it was fun. I like it when you smile. Frequently, we talked about how unfair it was to the females that they would be deprived of our bread. I think things are unfair for females, no matter the species.

We tossed slices and half-slices of bread like safety nets. If our bread can make them live longer, then it'll be worth it. Is that too dramatic of a thought to have?

After looking at the sky, you and I both knew what would happen. It was to be a downpour of everything that would **** you and I, if collected into a cement hole in the ground, approximately six to twelve feet deep. I felt safe, though. I always feel safe with you.

We hunched underneath the umbrella, and scampered across downtown. Your feet were getting wet because of your sandals, and our clothes were sticking to our bodies like how we were sticking to each other. We laughed and spoke French underneath the umbrella, in the pouring rain.

You wore one of my shirts, once we were in my room, and I looked at you and knew that it was true.

Your nose had little cuts, underneath, from our kissing. Apparently, my stubble scratched your skin. I can feel you after we kiss, too, but in a different way.  I can feel you anywhere I go.

I watched you walk up the side of the road, and I turned around to retrace my steps back home, despite just watching my home walk up the side of the road.



Yours Always,

Josh
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