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 Apr 2015 m
 Apr 2015 m
it’s interesting to think about all the right people who might’ve come into your life at the wrong time.
but then again,
i often wonder if time could’ve saved or wrecked us at all.
maybe from the start, we were destined to be nothing more than strangers.
even if i had been weighed down, glued to one spot,
nomadic tensions silenced,
it seems likely that, still, our friendly smiles and cordial jokes would’ve been
limited, somehow,
by unseen barriers,
by the cruel overseer that is fate.

i think i meant something to you, once.
not a lot, but something.
and now,
now i’m just there.
a solid. something that takes up space.
you still sit close to me,
but not as close as you did when we first met.

and i wonder, sometimes, if i did something wrong,
if there was something i could’ve done, or not done, to change things,
to make things better,
to stop us from drifting silently onto the end of the growing list of tragedies my life’s friendships have been.

but maybe there was nothing i could do.
that thought, while terrifying, is perhaps the most comforting one.
after all, it is better to be left helpless from the start than to be burdened with the knowledge that the stones you threw became part of the landslide.

i hope, maybe, that we can salvage what’s left,
perhaps even grow it into something better.
but somewhere inside, i know that’s fool’s talk.
i doubt i ever meant much to you, anyway.
i always was, and always will be, just another shadow,
another stranger,
another change of season.
i suppose i was your winter —
a barrage of snow and ice that danced in clumsily,
not bothering to think about what would happen once spring came.

i hope you’ll remember me when i’m gone.
even now, it’s nice to think that i cross your mind as much as you cross mine.
but my hopes seldom match my reality.

so, still, i am just another.
i am nothing, and in being nothing i suppose that i, too, am everything.

but i will never be your everything.

and i could say that i regret that,
but perhaps i’m still holding onto that last bit of hope.

always the optimist,
and yet even more so the pessimist.

i thought you might be both, too.
i thought we might find a way to complete one another,
much like how the land completes the sea.

but i suppose i am left the earth without its ocean,
the ground without its rain.

it’s a horrible thing, detachment.
my roots never quite find what they’re looking for in the soil.

i had just hoped you would be different.

written 4/26 - 4/27/15
i'm back, finally. i really am sorry for being gone for so long. hopefully i'll be posting more often now. all my love - **.
 Mar 2015 m
Nessa dieR
Time heals all wounds, they say,-- but -- heartbreak --I--s a wound deeper than most. What if that was the first thing she has ever --lo--st? They said she was too nai--ve,-- too young.  And it hurts knowing they were --d--ead wrong. It hurts her knowing it ended real bad. It hurts trying to understand. She remembers the lips she once had tasted, and she remembers t --h--e     t--im--e... all of it wasted. She remembers the passion, the love, the way time would fly. And now all that's left is hatred, the blood, a final good-bye
But I loved Him
 Mar 2015 m
aubrey sochacki
it is three in the morning again
and i'm clinging to the t-shirt you gave me
i've whispered your name thirty seven times
to the dust on my nightstand
and the ink stains on my bedspread.
i imagine you cling to her warmth
you no longer have to lie next to
my stone cold, anemic body
i shiver at the thought
or maybe it is the fact
that i have not eaten much
this week and that the weather
is quite frigid for the month of march.
i pull your t-shirt closer to me, trying to
create some sort of heat source. i haven't
had the thermostat on since you left
because i do not have the money to pay
for such things.
the musky scent of you no
longer lingers off your t-shirt,
my old roommate threw it in the wash
so i threw her out.
I cling tighter to your t-shirt
causing my knuckles to crack
and the dry, crisp skin on my
hands to split open
the pain doesn't hurt anymore
i am used to this pain
 Nov 2014 m
Ember Evanescent
For calling me all those pretty things
for months
and months
being the center of my thoughts and conversations
being the guy I tell my friends about
because I have never liked a guy the way I like you
and no guy has ever liked me before at all
you are pretty much beyond out of my league
and yet somehow here we are
telling me you want to take me on a picnic
being so wonderful
being a writer and a poet
being gorgeous and handsome
being wonderful
such a wonderful person
making me fall for you
then after WASTING
so many months of my time
when I have to call my friends
and admit to them
that you texted me
and told me you were in love
with some other girl
in "love" my ***.
Don't make me laugh.
...or cry.

I met her by the way
she is the mother of all *******
and also doesn't wear actual shirts
just these loose pieces of fabric with slits along the sides
that show everything
that she refers to as a top
I've seen bikinis that are more modest
but whatever
I'm just in a good mood
because you dropped me
so quickly
like it was nothing
and watched me fall
all my friends sharpened their battleaxes
and called you all sorts of colorful things
but I was still sad and disappointed
but I am in a good mood
you know why?
Today I saw her making out with this guy
she is either dating him and NOT dating you
so you lost her
or she is cheating on you
so HA
now you know how it feels to be replaced
you **** well better not try and get me back
'cause now I realize
back before you let me go
I thought I didn't deserve you
because you were so wonderful
and I was worthless
now I know I was right
I don't deserve you
because no matter how much I loathe myself
and I really do
Even I don't deserve
a worthless waste of space player like you
what a waste of my time.
 Nov 2014 m
Ember Evanescent
We look at storm clouds through the window side by side
And all you can see is storm clouds
I see metaphors in everything
But you really don’t
It’s just finished raining and the sky is a dim murky gray
I point out the beautiful raindrops on the window pane, my favorite sight
All you say is: Yeah, so?
I see beauty in the littlest things
But you really don’t
You have never complimented me on anything other than my looks
You only ever tell me I’m pretty when I have make up on
You barely look at me in the mornings
When I wake up with a natural unpainted face
Sipping my tea and reading
You’ve never read a single one of my poems
And whenever I cry about anything no matter how serious
You make an excuse to leave
You order me a salad every time we go out to eat
Without even asking me first
You never let me drive your car
But you toss your stoner buddies the keys every other day
You use the words music and noise interchangeably
You call me overdramatic a couple too many times
And it is getting old
Not funny anymore
Well, actually it never really was
And yesterday I bought a pretty rose for our apartment’s kitchen table
After you finally came home from work
You stripped off the thorns
The ones I left on purposefully
Then right after
You whispered a very hollow and cold: I love you
You kissed me with my hand in yours
Ran your thumb along the skin on my knuckles
And told me my skin was too rough and dry
One of my many imperfections that I am most sensitive about
You told me to go put on cream before you held my hand again
Is that what you are doing to me?
Stripping off my thorns?
So that, Derek
Is why your things are all packed up and left outside our door
Because unmetaphorical you
Who never REALLY got me
Who never REALLY liked me
Who CERTAINLY never loved me
Couldn’t handle my emotions
And tried to change me to fit
Your perfect little image of me in your mind
Calculating, icy, stone frozen rocky you
That I thought was so wonderful for the longest time
Are getting kicked out of MY apartment today
There is supposed to be a thunderstorm tonight
So I can play a little of my “noise”
While I watch storm clouds
And see more than what they are literally,
But what they mean symbolically
Not wear make up without feeling too ugly for you
Look at beautiful raindrops on the window
Drinking tea and reading
NOT eating salad
Writing poetry that you won’t refuse to read
Because you won’t even get the chance to say no
Since I won’t be inviting you to read it
Be as thorny and overdramatic as I feel like
Cry if I want, without feeling like I’m being a burden to you
Making you uncomfortable
Make my world of metaphors that I live in
And buy a new rose
And KEEP the thorns

Repost if you are PROUD of your thorns
i want you to tell me i’m beautiful, every day until i believe it. the truth is i was never beautiful, not until you said it, until you lied about it. i felt something when you said those words, something i’ve never been before. i’m different after you and i don’t know how to go back to being who i was.
monday 10th november '14 ~ out of the two of us you are the ******* beautiful one
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