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5.2k · Jul 2013
Togetherness
Jill Stinehart Jul 2013
We are our favorite trees, you and I
You, pale and painted with marks
and full of life
Me, twisted and lonely
but coming to life next to you.
Perhaps our branches could grow
and eventually intertwine
but if they do not stretch quite far enough
we could build a bridge
or sprout wings and fly to each other.
We are birds of a feather, you and I
Chattering noisily and endlessly
And I yearn for the day
that together we soar away.
It's a sonnet yay
2.2k · May 2013
City Noise
Jill Stinehart May 2013
The beauty of watching cars drive past on a busy street is
inexplicable.
When you're walking along,
You barely notice them
But,
In every car, there is a person with
thoughts,
and feelings,
and a life just as complicated and meaningful
as yours.
You see them once, and then they're gone.

Every day, we see so many people
that we never stop to notice.
They, like extras in a movie,
are the background in our
seemingly mundane adventures.
This arrangement is only acceptable
because that is exactly
what we are to them.
1.4k · May 2013
Anxiety
Jill Stinehart May 2013
Everything
is a trap.
Everywhere I go
the monster is waiting
to eat me alive.
The sensation starts
on the inside, in my
Stomach,
turning and churning.
It moves to my
heart,
causing a beat that could
be heard around the world,
gripping terror
speeding up the thumps.
From there,
It can reach my whole body.
My head,
whispering words of discouragement
My hands,
trembling and spilling everything.
My legs,
refusing to let me run
away from the monster.
And so
I go only where I am
safe.
I don't go out
because the monster that is
me
always knows where I am.
It's all in my head
which makes it harder to
fight off.  I have
no chance.
I will never
escape
this
trap.
1.4k · Nov 2013
collision
Jill Stinehart Nov 2013
my physics book says
since atoms are mostly empty space
nothing can ever really touch
contact is just empty space
upon more empty space
if this is the case
i do not know what it is like to
hold your hand
run my fingers through your vibrant hair
or feel your lips caress mine in a moment of passion
but how can this be true
when i can feel the way
you have
changed my thoughts
healed my mind
and resuscitated my heart
how can they say
my life has not been touched?
even so,
i long for the gap between our atoms to close
for your laughter and kindness and gentle kisses
to fill the crevices of my atoms.
i want to find a way to fill your atoms, too
maybe then
our perfect love will defy physics
and we will collide.
1.3k · May 2013
The BBC
Jill Stinehart May 2013
There once was a TV network
That made me want to exult
But now I am sad and despondent
And it’s mostly Steven Moffat’s fault

I enthusiastically started Doctor Who
Who’s chronology is twisted and bizarre
It seemed like such fun to travel through time and space with a man
Who used a blue box as his car

But soon the companions’ aspirations
To travel to planets and stars
Were crushed by the Void, lost love, and gargoyles
And the Doctor is lonely and scarred.

Not yet wise, I began watching Sherlock
His deduction left me amazed and bamboozled
He and John drank some tea, and solved crimes with glee
Although each case took quite some perusal.

They lived happily with their cool flat decorum
Mrs. Hudson made biscuits below
Then along came the menacing, mean Moriarty
There was nothing that he didn’t know.

Because of the fallacy that Sherlock’s a fake
He’s dead and John’s in the doldrums
The only thing done to commemorate him
Are John’s “I do believe in Sherlock Holmes”

Hoping for a show that was boisterous and happy
Instead of the peaceful, yet sad
I turned to the medieval Merlin
who was quite a cheery lad

He worked for the king’s son, Arthur
who eclectically chose his knights
There were sirs Lancelot, Gwaine, and Leon
The bravest people in sight.

Merlin used his job as camouflage,
His secret he did not divulge
for if they all knew he was a powerful wizard
In his execution King Uther would indulge.

Since Merlin’s destiny was to keep the prince safe
He faced many scary things
He would cower in fear, but when Arthur was near
He felt brave enough to sing

Merlin’s feelings for Arthur were obvious
But does Arthur feel the same way?
When Arthur deigns to exchange dialogue with him
It instantly brightens his day.

But Lancelot died doing Merlin’s job
And Arthur is in love with Gwen
Morgana, a wizard who was once Merlin’s friend
Is evil and wants Camelot dead.

So the Doctor is lonely and growing old
Sherlock left John all alone
And Merlin feels guilty and outcast
They’ve lost all the good they’ve ever known.

And I am left crying and angry.
How could the writers do this to me?
But still, they’re the best shows I’ve ever watched
And I’ll always love the BBC.
I wrote this for school lol
I like British TV shows okay
925 · Jul 2013
My Time
Jill Stinehart Jul 2013
It's 2:38 am
I have again been
left alone
abandoned.
Just because they say
3 am is a time for the lonely
does not mean
it has to be sad.
I can be alone
and dress
like a soft grunge blogger
with heavy eyeliner
just for me
and i get to pick the music
at 2:38 am
It seems the better my life gets, the worse my writing is
689 · Jul 2013
Gardens
Jill Stinehart Jul 2013
It's called "falling" in love for a reason.
I used to be a tree,
Strongly rooted in the ground
Independent.
All alone.
Now, I am a mere blade of grass.
My roots intertwine
with those of another
just like our fingers
when he's holding me.

But if he were
To be ripped from my life
I would be uprooted as well.
This tree no longer stands tall
But my lawn assures me that
Love is well worth the risk.
616 · May 2013
Untitled
Jill Stinehart May 2013
In the morning she stumbles out of bed,
Gets ready for the day with a brain full of dread.
Sixteen hours of torture and hatred and malice
And then, back to bed where it fades into blackness.

She covers her scars with pants and a sweater.
She wishes that somehow her life could get better.
She walks out of the door with her head down low.
Her “friends” pass her by without a hello.

At lunch (twelve hours left) she sit quietly and pretends
she doesn't exist, she does her best to simply blend.
She's home (eight more hours), still working through the stress
of another day gone, and her life's still a mess.

Homework, then dinner and being brave
for her family.  She smiles while hoping for the grave.
"Four more hours, and then I can sleep."
That's what she thinks when she's trying not to weep.

With one hour left, she pulls out the blade
Her spirit is broken.  Her skin is frayed.
As tears mix with blood, sleep doesn't come.
One hour turns to three or four and then some.

The sleepless night turns to morning, and it's time to start again.
Sixteen more hours of hopelessness filling her head.
“One more day,” she whispers to herself.
She does it every morning, puts her self-hatred on the shelf.

She goes through the cycle, still wishing for dying
but makes it through fifteen hours without even crying.
Until one day, she's numb with nothing to feel.
It's like watching a movie.  It's all so unreal.

Now, she cuts not in sadness, worry, or strife.
She cuts to bring feeling back into her life.
She paints scars on her skin like an artist at work.
She welcomes the pain, like a friend, with a smirk.

Death is not her goal, but would she really care
if one day she was finally broken beyond repair?
593 · Jan 2014
A Sad Occurrence
Jill Stinehart Jan 2014
I keep thinking missing you will get easier.
It doesn't.
If I could give up flowers and all beautiful things
to get you back,
I would do it in a heartbeat.
That is,
if my heart would start beating again.
Until my blunder,
my veins were rivers
and my heart was the ocean,
vast,
thriving,
gently beating with the pull of the tide.
So I thought I was okay,
And I filled the ocean with sand
and cut off the rivers
and all I can do is make sad metaphors
for the pain I feel.
I'm sorry.
579 · Jan 2014
Throwing Away My Phone
Jill Stinehart Jan 2014
I've been wanting to text you.
I want to tell you that I miss you.
You texted me
but all we said was hey.
I want to tell you about everything
the way I used to
I want to tell you that
all I've written about is you
and all I've listened to is
your favorite song
by your favorite band
and that I can't eat
because for the first time in months
my stomach is empty of butterflies
and I can't sleep
without you saying goodnight.
But I won't tell you
because you don't care.
So I'll text you back
and make small talk
and I hope you know that it's killing me.
520 · May 2013
Repetition
Jill Stinehart May 2013
Repetition gleans the joy from our work and forces despair into our sorrows.
We're born;
we work to make something of our lives;
then we work to sustain our lives.  
No choice is given to us.  If we wish to survive, we must work.
We are given the illusion of freedom.  
Our rights say that we are
free to speak, and they guarantee
the right to the pursuit of happiness,
but our fates are decided from the moment of our birth.  
“You will go to school. You will get a job. You will start a family.”
Even the ones who speak against
conformity play into this, the greatest conformist act of them all.  
The world appears to be ignorant of the suffering and destruction this has caused.  
People everywhere
hate
their jobs but refuse to quit because they would have no means of supporting themselves.  
We are tested on only six subjects
as if they could encompass the genius of us all.
i wrote this a few months ago when i was in a philosophical mood and was questioning the structure of society and the purpose of being and all and i just found it
500 · Feb 2014
goodbye
Jill Stinehart Feb 2014
One of these days,
I swear
you'll text me
and
I won't reply.
438 · May 2013
Just Speak
Jill Stinehart May 2013
Do you see her?
The girl across the room
with forlorn eyes
and chipped nail polish.
She probably worked
really ******* her nails
but she's nervous
and standing alone
with no one to talk to
and nothing
to occupy her mind.

"I should talk to her," thinks a boy
watching from across the room
"I can't talk to her"

"She's too beautiful
and I do not have the courage
and maybe she wants
to be left alone anyway"

Little does he know,
she wants him to talk to her
because although she would never admit it
she does not do well
on her own
and loneliness
is making a permanent home
in her heart.
Just now posting some stuff I wrote a while ago
437 · Jul 2013
Nonsense
Jill Stinehart Jul 2013
Sorrows are easy
to write about.
Infinite amounts of metaphors
can be made about
darkness
and sadness
and strife.

But now that I am happy
how can I continue
with what I love?
Where is the fun
in describing my joy?
Will you be
bored?
There are only so many ways
I can tell you I'm in love.
I love him.
I love him.
He makes me
love myself.
If I tell you
can you please just
be happy for me?
I like writing about what i feel and i used to be sad all the time but now that I'm not it feels like I have nothing to write about idk man
Jill Stinehart Mar 2014
I can't even be mad at you.
I keep writing down what I want to say to you
and then deleting it all
as if it will help me delete the
anger and sadness and heartbreak and remorse and loneliness
but it doesn't
and after all my words are erased
the whole you left in me when you walked away is still here
and you still aren't.
407 · Jul 2013
How
Jill Stinehart Jul 2013
How
I know you like the back of my hand
because although I see you everyday,
although I have known you forever,
there is no way I could ever describe you
in a way that paints a picture
and leaves out nothing,
and I do not want to leave out anything.
I want to remember every freckle (there are so many of them),
every vein pumping blood to your heart,
every word,
every day I spend with you,
but sometimes the things you see the most
are the least familiar to you
or perhaps
when you know someone or something so well
words limit what you can say.
The back of my hand is not just my hand:
twitching with life, it is a part of me.
You are not just a person:
bringing me to life, you are a part of me.
I used to look the blue currents under my skin
and hope they would burst,
but now they remind me of your translucent skin
and the way I can see every vein in your arms
and the way your arms make me feel safe from myself
and I'm okay.
Dr. Tim would be so proud I'm writing woop woop
385 · May 2013
Friendship
Jill Stinehart May 2013
"Don't care for those who
Don't care for you." But what if
I need them to care?
yay haikus
350 · Jan 2014
Day 7
Jill Stinehart Jan 2014
I miss you.
I love you.
I'm sorry.
The three hardest things to say
Describe everything I feel.
I know you don't like that girl you're hooking up with.
And she can't possibly love you,
not like I do.
But I hope you go to her house
and you kiss her like you mean it
and she kisses you back
and I hope you feel how wrong it is.
I really hope you think it's wrong
And I'll be drunk
or high
and definitely alone.
I thought I was the one leaving you.
Was I really just setting you free?
In case anyone was wondering, it's been a week since I broke up with my boyfriend.
Apparently tomorrow he's going to this girl's house so they can hook up.
So basically I am sad.
290 · Jan 2014
Untitled
Jill Stinehart Jan 2014
I never thought leaving you would make me feel so alone.
I thought I would be fine without you (I'm not).
There are a million things I can/should be doing.
It all seems pointless without you.
I tried to keep busy, carry on with my life,
but that hurt too much.
So I'm trying not to do much of anything (it still hurts).
The sad part is
you would take me back.
At least,
I think you would.
But how can I tell you how wrong I was?
Would you understand my intentions?
After you see what a mess I've become,
could you still see me as you once did?
I don't think so.
So I'll be alone with my writing
and sad music,
and you'll move on
and be happy
and listen to rad music
and eventually,
you'll leave me (what's left of me).
can you tell i just got out of a relationship
i only wrote two poems about it
(plus the ones i'm not posting on here but whatever)

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