Regret

my memory fails me,
for i cannot recall the first time we met
the part of you that was a part of me
has submerged itself into subconsciousness

perhaps we first met in our 9th grade poetry drama class,
when you would wear a variation of your dad’s tees
your thick glasses balancing on your flat nose
perhaps it was at the benches where your eyes first met mine

i cant remember what your favorite song was,
you had so many
i should remember more things about you
yet my head puts a helmet on to keep me from the truth

the audio recordings on my phone are not you anymore
you’re someone different, someone new
i think its a better you, but i can’t be certain
our souls are magnets of similarity, repelling each other

all i recall about you is the happiness bubbles provided you
how you said they made you happy
even when you stood on your 18th story balcony
saying you wanted so desperately to just jump

your voice has changed
its deeper, it cracks more now
it sounds nothing like the boy i once knew
who intertwined his hands and lips with mine

please remind me of our first date…
why can’t i remember it? why can’t i recall it?
i can no longer recall the day i said sure,
only that it was in april, and i was a fool, and you were a joke

we broke up 3 months before our first anniversary
before i broke it off
and broke you

i still remember my fake tears,
and your very real ones
i remember afterwards, this feeling of relief
should i have felt something different?

i feel guilt for not feeling anything
should i have force felt something? anything?
anything other than the feeling of a bird freed from its cage?

the words we exchanged whisper themselves into oblivion,
the “i love you’s” empty and devoid of meaning.

should i have pitied you like i did those nine months
should i have let you crawl inside me again?
just a momentary comfort, a twisted way to show my love?

i will remember these events,
as i was your first lover,
and you were my last

the sun sleeps behind a blanket of clouds
i am surrounded by crowds
and yet loneliness preys on me
i pray no one observes or sees
i have buried myself in a cemetery
alone, i am content and happy
and yet my thoughts ramble restlessly
the time i feel alone stretches out endlessly
loneliness reminds me of a con man
his lies convince me alone i stand
he cheats me out of all that could have been
and informs me i deserve hell, there i will pay for my sins
no one tells you how isolating it is to exist
ironically, we feel alone in each other’s midsts
people avoid the odd one out
people avoid those who are silent, and those who shout
our species is cruel to its own kind
eyes lose their shine, we don’t realize we are confined
there are holes in all of us,
why is it we never discuss
the craters we create, and the craters others leave,
i can’t even begin to perceive how easily
we call each other ***, *****, pig
we never stop to empathize
we think only of the things we would jeopardize,
always on the fence about one another
yet we are all mothers, brothers, each other’s
perhaps we are satisfied with being alone
maybe ill be happier sitting on a throne, overthrown
someone told me victory is tastiest when achieved individually
but i think differently,
i believe we don’t need to suffer miserably, individually
i know loneliness takes all we can commit to it,
often times, it leaves us feeling like ****,
loneliness is love’s counterfeit
they promise to fill a hole, and yet the cavity remains omitted
but i chose to believe that the broken can mend
and i chose to believe the paths we walk are not dead ends.

tore myself in two
put on a show for you
the taste of your lips
i hunger for one more kiss
a table for two
only one thing left to do,
you.
we're just a bunch of nobodies
partnership of two wannabes
just a great hyperbole
pathetic in actuality
we’re going no where
we’re bound to tear
i love the recklessness of it all
and fall when you call me your baby doll
id gladly throw myself off a cliff for you
perhaps its time to bid my adieus
but wheres the fun in saying my goodbyes
when i could stay, and let you multiply my butterflies
take from me until i can no longer give
until i forget how to live
forget how to live independently
but i need not worry, you promised me an eternity
and so i trust you with my everything
and you will forever be my king
of this soul, of this body
you’re my new hobby
and perhaps it is unhealthy,
but you’re the only one who loves me correctly
and i could care less
so ill stress, obsess, caress
until there is nothing left of us
just a ceramic jar of ash and dust
and our fates and fingers are intertwined
and you’re confined, all and only mine.

I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman.
Does it mean that I am always in competition to be the top of my species?
Does it mean that I need to be perfect without a single curve out of line in order to find love?
Does it mean that I am only defined when owned by a man?
Does it mean that I can only find purpose in childbirth?
Does it mean that I will forever live in the shadow of men?
Does it mean that I am an object invented solely for a man's pleasure?
Does it mean that I'm forced to confine to gender roles and live in someone else's story?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to accept it when I'm harassed from across the street?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to lie there silent when he puts his hands up my skirt?
Does it mean that I am only worth 77 cents to a man’s dollar?
Does it mean that I am defined by my looks rather than my intelligence?
Does it mean that I will never be capable of holding a major position of power due to my mood swings?
Does it mean that I am defined by how many men I have had *** with?
Or does it mean something else entirely.
It's difficult learning to love being a woman.
Obvious and damaging disadvantages are visible to observers.
We are regarded as second best, property of our man.
We are erased from history, our pain is minimized and forgotten.
We are oppressed and have to fight for our rights.
We are afraid to walk the streets at night, afraid for our lives.
We are harassed without care and without penalty.
We are ***** and murdered for refusing proposals.
We are expected to live on the sidelines as a housewife whose only priority should be her children.
We are expected to keep quiet in situations of domestic abuse.
We are expected to be perfect, and pretty, fresh for a man’s picking.
We can’t even advocate for our own equality without being demonized.
There are times where I wish I wasn’t a woman.
Being a woman comes with innumerable expectations, pressures, and responsibilities.
My existence is not defined by a man, or by the patriarchal expectations that have been placed on me.
I am breaking free of my confinements and I’m not afraid to admit that,
I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman. And that's okay.
//sarahmann

love
its a beautiful thing really,
its brutal, its strong
it so deep, and so heartwarming,
and at the same time,
it makes me want to cry, scream
pound my bed,
punch the white cement wall until my knuckles are ******, raw
and the wall has a display of reds.
it makes me want to break an elegant expensive vase, and crush it in my hand.
its destructive, desired, dangerous,
and yet
i want to laugh
i want to sing
and dance!
dance to oh what a night
dance with my yellow watercolored pillow case, with my favorite pillow stuffed inside
oh, love is so peculiar isn’t it?
its spectacular,
and its like standing in the middle of a ballroom
where dresses and suit ties of different hues reflect the chandelier light hanging from the ceiling,
an array of rainbows cast on the walls.
and yet, theres an emptiness…
one I’m afraid i cannot fill, and rely on you to.
its like standing in an ocean of chaos, of excitement and watching it from afar at the same time.
i can see myself swimming with the sharks, yet i am a bystander
as the thread of my life is strung tautly,
i watch myself bleed, gruesomely torn to pieces
i watch as the water darkens from spilt wine,
the wine that was once salty becomes sickly sweet around me
but i continue watching myself become bones stuck in their teeth.
its like being in an aquarium, encased in water,
and yet, still not a part of it, a distance, yet, a proximity
i watch myself drown through the looking glass, unable to help.
the sign says don’t tap the glass, but i pound and pound.
I am the only one watching myself slowly slow, and slowly stop.
stop breathing, stop fighting.
love is holding your breath, being cautious, yet careless.
Its diving recklessly, unsure whether to be sober, or drunk,
and being both.
its like seeing myself on a high diving board, the water beneath is so deep,
it seems to never start, and never end at the same time.
I can see myself, on the edge peering over,
scared to take a leap of faith,
yet relived i can still feel the sharp breaths,
nervous stomach,
because it means i can still feel, i am still capable of human emotions
i thought had left me long ago, before you.

a years worth of memories

nostolgia
a windowsill
in a moving car
i miss you still

your foggy breath
and the heated bus
the suitcases in the trunk
it was just me and you, us

i remember the first night we touched
the concert of beautiful chaotic noise
and how rough your skin felt under my fingertips
the night we hung without your boys

perhaps I see through a pair of rose tinted glasses
but i believed you loved me
although it is only an inaccurate supercut
of what we really used to be

but through it all
i know our moments shared were not wasted
i know now that we are tiny in the grand scheme of things
and i know any future relationship will always be copy and pasted.

for her.

my heart stopped yet skipped
the first time i saw you through the screen
a moving glimpse, yes
but the trees held their breath in anticipation of the storm to come a beauty i had never seen

she had beautiful long hair
that shimmered with her every move
a beautiful voice that was pure
and she had this confidence, this groove

i could write novels about her
i could write one for her
songs to celebrate her
to glorify her

i get nervous hearing her voice
she sounds like pink and purple sunsets
she feels like drinking a pinacolada, cooling, calming
she gives me this buzz, as drunk as ill get

how lovely her voice is
i think i love her
maybe i do
perhaps its her magnetic lure

or her **** nails
maybe her white crop top
she wore
on our first date

or her eyes,
that look so similar to mine
that shine so brightly

and we’re so close
i can see my eyes in hers
her eyes are mirrors
reflecting the love i feel towards her

the stars cannot compete
with her beauty
einstein cannot compete with her brains
and no one is more strong, more beautiful, or more amazing than she.