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Joanna Grace Jun 2015
I am part of an existence comprised of life and death. I am part of an existence that I can’t wrap my head around. I am inside of a world no one wants to understand. I am using language as a tool to clear my head. I am living a life that could easily be a lie. But what really is a lie if each one of us will die. I am a recycled particle of everything that has been. This universe is a blender in God’s kitchen. Maps are dishonest. And I am honestly losing my mind.
Joanna Grace May 2015
Maybe the world is still Eden, but we assumed evil
Joanna Grace May 2015
in my garden
there's a feeling
of your fingers buried
beneath the snow

your hands as strong
diamond blades
but now we need to go

in my living room
the universe
leaks in through open windows

i try to dig you out of our suede couch
but the cushions fall too low

my old bedroom
hums a cleaning tune
of polka styled Sundays

you never understood
my floral sheets or any of my ways

in my driveway
bottle rockets lit
shooting past our skulls

you couldn't look at me
or anything that screamed romance at all

finally i see the bible green
craft woven through the fields

all i see is our lord savior
lighting cigarettes revealed
You're happy, breathing, loving, and hurting me
Joanna Grace Apr 2015
take my word for it
we're both worth it
in your hour of implosion
our time keeps going

midnight, the familiar smell of
strange boys trying to hold you
your mouth a cauldron of poison
touching all the things you don't want to

loosing yourself in dark skies
won't bring the stars any closer
old photographs fill your mind
how can he change that quick
i'm not so sure

older boys don't know the things
our silly schoolboys taught us
like how to hold your words in
to make other heads combust

regret will hold your hair
as you prepare to throw up flowers
from the dances you went to
in his green suit
now April Showers

I regret most of it
looking deeply into his eyes closed
next time you fall and scrape your knees
know that the pain may be predisposed

put down the drink
come lay with me
what can we build
our strategy

to use this pain
and smear the blood
across the sheets so tragically

(i wish that you were here with me)
Joanna Grace Apr 2015
to me you speak proverbs
and Hymns
and Hallelujahs

If God isn't real, i know there is still a deity in you
a broken deity
a light that lived many lives
a cackling joker
if you may

i cry and listen to simple songs
that remind me
you may have kissed the most beautiful face in the world
and then i cry more because
to have felt true love in this world
just makes you a sucker
and we both fell victim to euphoria

we both fell victim to big thoughts and small gestures
and big smiles hiding small lies
i like to believe nothing is little
but i am sad

i love that you remember calendar dates
because you only keep track of the things that you care about
but you can't put a date
on the day we both let these men deteriorate us

decay is gradual

i love that you value repetition
in clothes, routines, and words
but we lost ourselves in the Nights We Can't Remake
and we keep driving night highways in search of
the past pieces of our friend group

but they choose pride over fellowship
so they can chain the ones they want to marriage bands and empty vows

thank you for teaching me
that you can not try for brilliance
instead it gravitates toward you
through honesty and observation

you are the most interesting story my life will ever get the chance to read
Joanna Grace Apr 2015
Time heals all wounds, cuts, bruises, broken bones, organs (specifically hearts)

Time heals all of these with a force called love (tolerance)
Medicine (alcohol)
Prescriptions from your loved ones ("just get over it already")
("Find someone else")

Time pushes decisions on you
Do we fight for the past?
Do we fight in regret's slow growing army?
Do we only go down fists clenched?
Do we waste away?
Do I sit along the shore ( bedrooms, basements, classrooms, places I spend most time) and overlook my pretty little shells ( the best people in my life)
Waiting for the shell I threw back (you)
To wash up once again

After all there are so many shells in the sea
And so many shores
Joanna Grace Apr 2015
Writing hurts and it helps
It hurts to pull your brain through time machines to relive your life in slow motion
But it helps you find the truth about your sickening unconscious
With a full page
You can feel empty
For at least one second
Until burdening thoughts return
To run the track of twisted reality
Once again
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