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Leah May 2019
I used to say your name like a prayer
over and over in my head
sitting curbside next to a sewer drain
dropping cigarette butts into the abyss as an offering.

it’s a type of madness that I revisit
from time to time.

different names, different prayers.
cigarette butts and sewer drains.
Leah Jan 2016
and to my dead friend Andrew;
I'm sorry I was late.

I'm sorry I wasn't of more use
in your sorrowful state.


I remember days and days
and times and times.
I remember almost nothing
of every second I wish I could remember
like it was yesterday.

and when I see your mother,
or your sister,
your dad and,
when I see your brother
walking the tiles along the tree;

I have always said it,
I have always meant it,
I wish it was me.


and when I see patrick
or james
your grandparents,
your aunts,
bria on facebook;

I should've been there for you more than I was.
and it will haunt me always.


you weren't there,
only for your funeral,
on any other day,
despite your pain,
I could confide in you.

and I loved you.
and I love you.

not in the way
I see
love, now,
in every day that passes
and see it die;
in every night that unfolds,

but in a way in which
I know I never appreciated
while I had it.

with every sin I commit
and every mistake that I make;
I tribute to you.

we would've all made them;
and been wiser for it.

as every saint is imperfect
and every lesson learned
is somehow worth it.

if all I can remember
is trees climbed
and mudhill slides;
then I;
will hold on to them forever.

and if ever I hope
I will you see you again.
Jan 2016 · 353
ba ba black sheep
Leah Jan 2016
today I went and bought a 6 pack
we had a blizzard rolling in so I
drove off and decided,
"my first legal buy", and some noodles.

and I looked at just about every 6 pack
the packaging, the price, the abv.
you were such a beer snob
and yet I loved you for it.

maybe I would've found any excuse to love you.
maybe that's what love really is.

I don't remember much of that month,
anymore.
but on your wall I can see
all of the things I bought and drank
when I felt loved and so much better off.

and for whatever reason,
the black sheep lager, I remember.
I wasn't with you, but I was proud of you
for it,
for picking it out.

maybe I would've found any excuse to like it.
maybe that's what love really is.

but anyways,
I kept thinking, which is never good,
that the beer was awesome
that black sheep was the height of summer
that black sheep brought me close to you.

each and every time I saw it on your wall
I thought
this isn't over
it happened
it's real.

well it was,
and it wasn't.

maybe that's what love really is.

but the beer
the black sheep
it doesn't taste at all
like I remembered it did.

like all your favorite beers, it is bitter.
like all unrequited, half-forgotten loves,
it is bitter.
Leah Jan 2016
you would die wearing a blue bra
and with a ****** in -
(no, but wait, that wouldn't matter.)
your last meal would be a chicken salad sandwich that you bought at the gas station for $5, and a bag of buffalo wing chips.
(you could do worse.)
I haven't paid my rent yet
or the heat bill or the-
(you'd save yourself a lot of suffering.)
do you hear that wind?
it's snowing, now
Niagara Falls is higher
(and this is less wet.)
and what if I survive?
(would it matter?)
eight days past my 21st and -
(you made it to Nietszche's.)
what if things get better?

what if they don't?

maybe they'll think I fell.
Dec 2015 · 333
I will not wait.
Leah Dec 2015
having every other time
earned my automatic forgiveness;
I cannot find a way to make you feel
the anger that burns me up from within
like a boiling fountain deep inside my guts
that spills scalding tears I cannot stop.

and I will not wait
for you to need me;
just so I can let you down
to see if you will hurt
the way I have.

no, I will not wait.
I will never wait for you again.
Nov 2015 · 364
white drugs
Leah Nov 2015
past three a.m. you don't exist
except for this time when you
thought you could walk in and
exist here.

listen, these amphetamines
make me far too honest.

you can't be here
while I'm jawing out
because
I'd love to talk to you.
Nov 2015 · 270
june
Leah Nov 2015
the summer days when
my bracelets graced your coffee table
were by far the best
that I ever had.
Nov 2015 · 304
if
Leah Nov 2015
if
what will come after this?

if I manage to graduate
and make it through january,
you will all still be
studying, on campus, in college.

I will be a puppet, with strings cut.
I think I will have nowhere to go.
but at least,
and this is at the very least,
because I will need things that you don't
like a job and some money
and something to do
that doesn't involve laying in bed all day
crying over the reality
that everything I knew, will be over.

at least
if you bothered to invite me
to the bars
I could go.
at least
if you don't forget that I exist
then maybe
you might ask me to come along
and act as if
by finally being able to go out
I'm finally able to be like the rest.
Nov 2015 · 260
friday's migrane
Leah Nov 2015
I have already told you;
there are sleepless mornings
when I can taste
every poison lacing my cigarette

and I wouldn't mind except
for the way that they sift past
a throat already rubbed sore
from all of the screams kept silent inside.
Leah Nov 2015
at the point of every morning
where I'm too tired to think of anything else
you swim into the part of my heart
that doesn't want you to be there anymore.

I have cried during too many sunrises,
to justify ever crying for you again,
so I must regretfully quit this business,
and try my luck somewhere else.

when I think, or thought, of us together
I think of june the way I thought of june in july
it was and always will be something that
brought me a happiness I didn't deserve.

I can almost understand the way how
we will slowly drift apart forever and always
'like empires and old loves'
but rome wasn't rebuilt in a day.
Leah Nov 2015
you've betrayed me for the first and last time
I guess I had never thought that
there'd be somebody innocent
enough to tell me all the things that would
hurt me as if they were nothing; unfiltered.
but there is, and he has.

you were my first friend in a new place
and I have trusted you more that I should.

it was never you that I came to bother
when I was lost or lonely
or too drunk to make it home.
it was never you that I came to bother
when I was despondent or depressed
or too in love to take care of myself.

I heard you scoffed.
I heard you made a fuss.
at the very idea of the one thing that
made me happy at least for a little bit
at least for awhile.

and there is no revenge I can take
on someone who wouldn't care
if they never saw me again.
so I suppose I'll just have to wait until
this life turns around enough until
the point where I truly forget you.

but you were my first friend in a new place.
I have always been unquestionably thankful
for you, and for all that you have
accidentally done to help me.
I never thought that you'd
think of me this way.

I will ***** at you in a few days,
and then that will be
goodbye.
Nov 2015 · 291
laid up
Leah Nov 2015
I can't rip out the part of me
that remembers a time
when things were better
between us.

and so I think,
that for a little while longer at least,
I will have mornings like this.
Leah Nov 2015
when I am dead
you will read all my poems
and hate me
only a little bit less
than I hated myself.

there are late nights
and early mornings
when I can taste the toxic chemicals
that lace my cigarettes
and this is one of them.

and if you ever come across these words
I hope you can forget
the voice that could never speak them aloud.

[sleep never comes anymore,
  and I am afraid that I'm losing my mind.]
11/5/15
Nov 2015 · 673
of playlists and poems
Leah Nov 2015
no more june songs
it's november now and
I celebrated daylight savings
with two days in bed
thinking of you
and reading poems
I would've been better off
never writing.

no more june songs
it's november now
it gets dark at five
and one of these nights
I'll delete every poem
that you inspired.

no more june songs
it's november now and
they'll never be able to prove
that I loved you.
11/4/15
Nov 2015 · 1.9k
homesick in barcelona
Leah Nov 2015
I swam in the mediterranean
and you mattered more.
10/25/15
Nov 2015 · 466
brooklyn.
Leah Nov 2015
I want to hold all the parts of you,
that I never knew existed.
and keep them close to my heart.

I want to see New York City
the way you grew up in it,
the part of you that still lives there.

I want you to take me to Brooklyn,
and I want to see you smile at me,
the way you used to smile.
10/2/15
Leah Nov 2015
I wish I had a typewriter
or a gramaphone.
we could let the records spin.
you & me.
I'd forgot punk or indie
as far as you knew
and nothing would have a label.

I don't wanna graduate.
I let it all slip right past me
just enough to say I'm trying
you've heard it all before & more & worse.
I'm asking, please don't save me
tell me I don't need to be saved.

it was June wasn't it.
and we can't go back.
the rides before the flight
I knew I knew I knew
across the ocean I'd lose you.

there's something cross continental
about my courage
to try and tell you just how I feel.

this is swallowing Xanax and flower power
this is so lethargic it shouldn't even count
for anything other than the absolute truth.

it was June wasn't it?
I settle for winehouse and empty bottles
I wonder if I've tried enough

what words would get me there
what the **** can I say
to make you understand?

give me a shot of *** and a shot at your heart, and I'll only miss one of them.

for ***** sake
9/30/15
Nov 2015 · 5.2k
far cry
Leah Nov 2015
the lovesick little ******
wears a bandaid on her trigger finger
and bites her split lip
while aiming.

she is trying to go higher
past the tree line
and figure out just where to aim.
she points, & shoots.
10/4/15
Nov 2015 · 765
he didn't, I didn't
Leah Nov 2015
there are songs
that belong to jack
like tiny vessels

and they will always be his
because
you've never left a mark on my neck.

but could you?
will you?
I'll make you.
before this is all over.

I'll make you stain my neck.

before this is all over
before this weekend is done
I'll make you stain my neck.

the songs that belong
to people you've never met
are theirs.

but my neck is clean
"my lungs are fresh and yours to keep."
stain me baby;
I think you maybe want to.
10/2/15
Nov 2015 · 666
bullfeathers
Leah Nov 2015
gimme that elmwood walk where we don't acknowledge each other;
my lips feel on fire and I
count the steps
for every sidewalk square;
1,2
3,4.
9/26/15
Leah Nov 2015
I handed you an angry orchard
to where you sat in the backseat
welcome to our great car driving tradition
we were all sad to see her go
even me.

I don't mind if
she curls up to you in the backseat.

she's sitting on a bus back to New York
missing you.
and you're sitting in the backseat
with us, while we drive you home.
two of your best girls here.

I didn't mind that
she curled up to you in the backseat.

no, I didn't mind at all.
9/16/15
Nov 2015 · 322
dreaded ex
Leah Nov 2015
today I watched the movie
and Nina was here;
I think that
if you love her
I could understand
because she at least
deserves you.

and the movie said that
high school love
can never last
past college
or at least
that's what they
wanted us to think.

but I have met her.
and I like her.
I would rather you love her
than me or deb or whoever
because she understands you.
she loves you, still
she has always loved you.

I wouldn't have ever understood Brooklyn.
in 2009; I would not have
understood you at all.
no more than you could've understood me,
the way I was back then.

I met you at just the right time,
in the right way.
when we were both ready.
when we could both be friends,
and easily.
I am so grateful for it.

no, truth be told.
I like her.
I like the idea of what you both used to mean to each other.
I like how you cleaned you room for her.
I like that you still can love.

I like that she smiles and laughs
and leans right into you
because she feels safe.
she is a part of who you are:
and I love her for it.

the thought of her
sleeping in your bed
costs me absolutely nothing;
I won't lose any sleep
knowing somebody
appreciates you
they way they should.
9/16/15
Aug 2015 · 242
thinking of june in august
Leah Aug 2015
you gave me one month of happiness.
and that was it.

wide awake with heartbreak
and a stomach ache.
8/27/15
Aug 2015 · 1.4k
rum and nocturne
Leah Aug 2015
my favorite movie
clueless
my favorite song
nocturne
and you would never see them through
and so you would never know me.

tonight I asked you
when you last saw me sober
and you couldn't give me an answer.

tonight, I told you
just how many bottles
of *** I go through
in a week.

that night that I cried
over you
is a continent and a month away
but it existed.

I listen to nocturne
and blues.
and I could've spent this night
alone on your sofa.
but instead I spend it alone
on my floor
because here
I play Chopin
for myself
and not for you.
8/11/15
Aug 2015 · 269
rio alhandiga
Leah Aug 2015
I will not come back with my nails bitten down.
not even for you.

I've been listening to the front bottoms
looking at the spanish moon.
7/22/15
Aug 2015 · 1.4k
catalunya
Leah Aug 2015
I deleted your number for the last time
on the sand at Barceloneta beach.
there is something in the word
Catalunya
that makes me want to wear colors
and forget you.
7/19/15
Aug 2015 · 267
letters left unopened
Leah Aug 2015
I don't care about Monday's weather
because I won't be here
while you're sleeping
I'll be arriving at an airport
and when you wake up
I'll be across the Atlantic

I'm skipping ahead to the part
when I come back home
a month from now
to see if anythings changed
between us.

and I'm doubtful.

but I'm going to leave that note
somewhere where you'll find it
when I'm already on my plane.
and if you read it
maybe you'll think
of how
I shouldn't try to forget you
and maybe you'll be happy
that I'm going to miss you
every bit as much as I will.

you know I sleep here more often than not;
it's not my home
but I just feel like
I'm happiest here.
6/25/15
Leah Aug 2015
whatever it was we both know it's over
and I never so much as even
got that kiss

I never wrote
those happy poems
because deep down
I already knew
I'd end up writing this
6/19/15
Aug 2015 · 151
sentiment
Leah Aug 2015
this morning
I did not wake up
in your bed.
and I am all the much sadder
for it.
6/12/15
Aug 2015 · 183
masochist
Leah Aug 2015
drag a knife down my spine
I had forgotten pain
and now
I need it
6/9/15
Aug 2015 · 319
voluntary amnesia
Leah Aug 2015
I want to forget today
but never forget this feeling
because knowing
that this type of pain existed
could've kept me out of a lot of trouble

and it'll keep me far away from you.
5/31/15
Leah Aug 2015
too hot to sleep so I
stayed awake for three straight days
stole this poem
from Sherman Alexie
and he was right;
I opened my bedroom
window tonight.

I forget
who to love
until you are right in front of me
and I always make sure
that you are right in front of me.
5/18/15
Aug 2015 · 168
abbottsford
Leah Aug 2015
I am in love
in my ****** little cobweb room
I lay in bed
look at the ceiling
and think of you.
5/1/15
Aug 2015 · 201
spring fever
Leah Aug 2015
tomorrow
I will
text you pictures of the asylum
wake up
in time for work
and tell you about
the night before.

it is such torture
to love you
and I do it anyways
4/25/15
Leah Aug 2015
I spent this morning crying off my stomachache.
as it stands now you give me the shakes without a word.
I can't get warm or comfortable
I can't feel safe.

every time I think of you
I think of the way
you keep throwing
the way I used to love you
in my face.
Leah Mar 2015
at night I can fall asleep by counting the rolls of fat on my stomach
a steady, calming, everyday weight that doesn't feel as bad as it looks;
but sometimes what I feel seems foreign, and I am restless
because I once had a flat stomach and I can remember how that felt,
almost.

in the mornings I wake up,
get out of bed
and mark the start of each new day with the very first collision of my thighs.
I think that I don't hate my body as much as I should.
I feel sorrier for whoever has to see me like this than I do for myself.
these are things I tell myself; I think I may believe them.

I notice my round stomach trying to escape the waistline of my jeans
I have picked and pulled at the stretchy skin that drowns my arms
I have sat down and gaped at the remarkable resemblance that my thighs have to a pair of lumpy, fleshy, potatoes

somedays I say " it won't look that way when I stand up"
those are good days.

& I remember all of the clothes I have given away to christie
two beautiful coats that I had picked out myself not all that long ago,
and they were loved very much
and worn very little
and they were bought by my mother
two beautiful coats that press my arms so tight that I can't move them
not even to take a drag off my cigarette or unlock my car
they look like they were made for her.

my jim morrison shirt that was black&white;& I bought it at the boardwalk on venice beach out of the back of a pickup truck barely thirty feet from the ocean
my jim morrison shirt that I cut last spring to the midriff and beaded it myself for an hour on my dorm room floor, had my roommate hem it & never wore it again.
it looks like it was made for her.

& there are days when she comes home from the thrift shop,
with full plastic bags of dresses, and lace, and florals, flannels and blouses
and she'll say "lookwhatIgotisntitnice?andofcourse you can wear it too."
and I don't know if she actually means it
sometimes I think she does & I don't know how that makes me feel
and I don't know if she actually means it
but we both know that I'll never ask.
Feb 2015 · 303
offstage october
Leah Feb 2015
somewhere after
all the shots of captain morgan
somewhere before
I consoled myself with the keg
the scene was set

saturday nights unfold in acts
like a play on a stage

stage one
was when
I decided that instead of
staying in bed
I would leave

stage two
is when my sister came up
I took a shower
started drinking

stage three
was tremont
and I cornered you on the couch
and drank some more

stage four
in which
the lights were on
but no one was home

stage five
my sister corners you
sits you down
and spills my guts

and somewhere offstage
I was pressed down in bed
and barely awake
I just wanted him to get off of me
but I didn't have the words to say it

and somewhere offstage
I was carried home
put in a taxi
and found my way to my room

and somewhere offstage
I was screaming inside
not in control of my body
but knowing I needed to tell you

and for the final act
as the curtain closed
I sent you something that said nothing.
10/20/14
Feb 2015 · 488
december placeholder
Leah Feb 2015
late at night
when the dextromethorphan
turns on me
I can't get your name out of my head
12/1/14
Feb 2015 · 228
holidays
Leah Feb 2015
breakfast is a cigarette

an accidental toast with another empty bottle

it hurts the most when it's repeated

just the mention of your name
was enough to send me into
what they thought was a suicide
but was just my sobbing in the shower
I guess I was too loud

my eyes are green, and red
how festive
sometimes I think
I have the best and worst
understanding of Christmas
12/25/14
Sep 2014 · 490
unjustified romanticized
Leah Sep 2014
history belongs to the victors.
and so;
if I get through this,
I could say,
that my hair wasn't cheaply dyed and ratty;
but a perfect bottle blonde.
and the way that it fell across my shoulders,
as I slowly put on my leather jacket
in the dark,
was something meaningful,
and something beautiful,
instead of a last resort.
Sep 2014 · 232
limerick?
Leah Sep 2014
I would like to write a poem about my weight;
but I don't think that I could bear it.
Sep 2014 · 246
below zero
Leah Sep 2014
if I don't make it through the winter,
if the 21st century is no guarantee of my survival,
and I fall ill, fall victim to the frigid winds and snow,
I will consider it my sacrifice to Buffalo;
and I would have found poetic justice,
in both being born,
and dying from,
winter's barren hands.

if I don't make it through this winter,
if you find this trampled down poem upon my floor,
and I am not there to hide it,  or decide what to say,
I will consider it the price I pay for each day,
and every night, spent waiting,
with bated breath,
for wanting to leave;
and staying instead.
Sep 2014 · 265
the clock's class
Leah Sep 2014
sometimes
in class
I feel like I just slipped
out of the black space
of an empty ceiling tile
sat down
and existed
for all of an hour
Leah Sep 2014
dropping every vile line I needed,
I needed to keep you at a distance,
for a year.

from what little I remember,
I said too much.
from what little I wanted,
I gave up too much.

delaying the inevitable isn't working,
even though I want it to.
vain to the point of forgetting, all the
little lies I tell myself to stay sane.
in the very best way I couldn't do it,
nobody is worth feeling for again.

even you.

doesn't this mean I should give up?
even when I have before?
visiting your living room,
leaving flannels by your bed.
if only I could stick with my denials.
never admitting what's left unsaid.

I've spelled it out.

when I was younger and fresher,
a little less lost,
and could still see straight,
over the wall I built to keep everyone out.

I spelled it out.

I could still see you on the other side.
and thought about letting you in.

doesn't it seem scary to you?
everything I know would change
very few people know this
looking at you from across the room
I imagine I am by your side
never imagining it could ever happen
Sep 2014 · 2.3k
netflix queue autumn
Leah Sep 2014
no more.
no more coming of age indie movies.
no more love stories, love songs.
no more wanting what I can't have.

there used to be a time,
when my doubts would come bursting into my life, loud and unmistakeable.

and now when I crawl into bed at night,
I sometimes notice them there;
sleeping soundly, because I'm not.
lying peaceful, dormant.
accepted and tucked in.
because I'm not.

I could embrace them.
and still be alone.
or I could kick them to the curb;
and disappear.

no more.
no more summer nights without a care.
no more night walks without a jacket.
no more comfort, no more rest.

my doubts will stay sleeping,
so long as I don't.
Sep 2014 · 381
only lovers left alive
Leah Sep 2014
after a day in bed,
an indie film.

a glass of captain morgan on ice,
or three.

we discussed film theory
on the porch.
cigarettes in hand.

I'm willing to admit that I am lonely.
maybe that's what today has been about.

isn't it so much an easier form of torture,
to wholly love those who'll you'll never meet, never know,
but may fully deserve?

after years alone,
you can get used to it.

we find ways to cope,
we get high in bed alone.

I want to be immortal.
I want to dance to old records.
I want to be half dead and feel alive.
with someone I haven't met yet.

I'm willing to admit that I am lonely.
I'm willing to admit that I may die alone.
Sep 2014 · 322
from a junior.
Leah Sep 2014
it may not be somewhere as far or exotic as Ithaca
and it turns out that a new life is never anything different than your life, except now.

the sounds of the city are just as independent as they were for you.
just a little closer to home.
and my ***** window pane is just the same as yours,
the beer cans in my driveway are just as empty and full of memories
a little bit later
but I'm a little bit younger
and still full of potential, I hope.

it doesn't feel like my jealous sophomore soul,
but rather a home.

it's not often now I wonder what could have been.
growing up is somewhat like growing into the notion that you will never have exactly what you are jealous of.
but you can always come close.
Leah Aug 2014
on that day it was cold and had a breeze for once,

and it ran through the trees and the holes in my sweater and into my heart.
and I passed a bench in the sun where I used to sit,
knowing I had the time to stop and write and let the wind surround me and blow my hair.

but I paused and kept walking.
sometimes it's all I can do.
I saw the shadows of my friends on the grass and the concrete where they used to walk and lay.
I knew that they'd be back and so would I.
but we'd never be the same.
the last of my half cigarette went out.
I burnt my hair trying to light it while I crossed, leaving campus.

while my throat stayed raw
I watched the patients behind the fences of the asylum.
I always wondered if maybe I was meant to be there.
and I had my headphones in but I never put on any music.
the wind blew my dress higher up my thighs.

on that day I knew it was over.
I knew my dreams had blown away.
and I could cry.
and I would go back to my bed.

I would buy a pack of cigarettes today and smoke everyday for the rest of my life.

that change wouldn't come.
that I would be in this city for the rest of my life.

that I was the one who wanted to leave more than anything and that I was the one who was keeping myself from going.

that it would always be this way.
7/16/14
May 2014 · 239
he bit me
Leah May 2014
he bit me and
left a mark on the throat
I had been singing with

every brush of my hair to my shoulder
is a reminder of a stain I can't brush away

a lingering fog has hit campus
and I wonder what kind of old woman I will grow into.
May 2014 · 334
wow splendid daze
Leah May 2014
they didn't abandon me.

straight blades
good soldiers
team players
because they can make eyes bleed too

in a good way
salty water
streamed down my face
even though I didn't mean it
or feel it deep inside.

the tears came.
they just came and wept.
12/20/13
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