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Payton Jul 2022
maw
i didn't want to be back here
how come im back here

you were the one that brought me here in the first place
showed me this place of feeling
broke down my walls and carried me away
to this place of colors
both light and dark

and then some how we saw it for what it was
and grew together
made it out alive
carrying each other on our backs until we'd
made it across that impossible abyss

but now you've taken me back here and why
when it was a fight to the death to get out
why would you toss me back into this maw
with no escape
no you
Payton Apr 2021
today has been so long and so tiring; i think i should lie
down. the anxiety has me feeling like a stranger
a lot lately. it’s not the only thing getting me down
it’s always the same sad songs that i’m listening
to that make me feel alive it’s usually always music that brings light
back into my life but lately, music isn’t my only friend

sometimes, i wonder if you really are my friend
i can’t help it, i know it’s the anxiety telling me a lie
in the same way my depression tells me i should “eat light”
my mental health has turned me into a stranger
but it helps to know you’re listening
it helps to know i’m not alone while all of this is going down

whenever you hit me up, ****** up and down to hang, i’m always down
sometimes its not me, but you rather, who is in need of a friend
i know what its like —how it helps to know you’ve got someone listening
and of course i am always happy to —even if i’m not happy, and i won’t lie,
i’m not happy, but i could try to bring you some light and though stranger
things have happened, it would be enough if i could be your light

and you could be my light
guide me through the dark, lift me up when i’m down
or even, just keep me company while i reckon with this stranger
that is the result of my mental health, just being there, being a friend,
talking to me for hours on end, when sometimes its all I can do to just lie
in my bed, quietly listening

and i know i spend a lot of time listening
but its comforting and it makes me feel light
somehow, it banishes briefly, the lie
my brain tells me, trying to keep me down
of course, the lyrics to this song fit —"thoughts of a sober friend”
i don’t mind and i’d even say for you to be sober would be stranger

i remember when you were just a stranger
i’m glad you kept talking and i kept listening
and im glad this happened the way they did —you being my friend
and us bringing each other some small sliver of light
in a world of darkness that seems to go down, down, down
we splash through the shallows of the expanse, chanting “don’t believe the lie”
Payton Apr 2021
today has been so long and so tiring; i think i should lie
down. the anxiety has me feeling like a stranger
a lot lately. it’s not the only thing getting me down
it’s always the same sad songs that i’m listening
to that make me feel alive it’s usually always music that brings light
back into my life but lately, music isn’t my only friend

sometimes, i wonder if you really are my friend
i can’t help but stop short when i catch you in a lie
or saying something insulting or being devoid of light
it may be the anxiety speaking, but you feel like a stranger
you’re always doing the talking and i’m always doing the listening
but there are good times too so i push the red flags down

whenever you hit me up, drunk at 4am, im always down
sometimes its not me, but you rather, who is in need of a friend
you go on and on and deign to ask if im still listening
and of course i am, i always am, even if im afk —i’ll lie
and say i did because it would be stranger
to admit it —no, i would rather leave off that light

but that’s just the thing, though right — light?
i give you so much, yet you give none, i bring you up, but you bring me down
at this point i’m not sure which one of us is in fact the stranger
at this point i’m not sure which one of us is in fact the friend
when you’re good, i’m bad; when you’re bad, i’m good; when i’m bad, i lie
and say i’m good because its not like you’re listening

on the other hand, sometimes you are listening
and its those days when i start to feel light
because it seems like things are changing, like you’re changing —a lie
i tell myself over and over again, while i watch you drag me down
of course, the lyrics to this song fit —"thoughts of a sober friend”
when you’re sober you play the friend, but when you’re not, you play the stranger

i’m starting to think that if you’re going to keep playing the stranger
then I’ll keep you at an arm’s length away, always listening
but never leaning in, never getting wrapped up in you more than a friend
should ever, never letting you steal my light,
never letting you drag me down
again, never believing you when you lie
Payton Mar 2021
In the pedestal bowl rests oyster and artichoke and chilies
She has rinsed and now carries them carefully, as if they are the keys to the kingdom and they are
If thou art a Grecian goddess, then I be the sophist, the bush tender and the like
How I long to be a handmaiden, though—servant in the shadows, attendant awaiting in the alcoves
How long does the maid spend freely in her bedchambers? How much time is spent warming her pearls and pendants and armbands and rings?
How often does she go to the food stores and pluck from the cornucopia, the food of love?
How I yearn to be the chambermaid, warm water and oils and rags ready when it came time to wash the day off.
How I desire to be the one advising her attire, dressing her ******* in silk and linen.
How I yearn to come with pomegranate, fig, and frond to fan her while she gives pleasure, fruit in hand.
How I envy the handmaiden who knows her as closely as she knows herself.
Payton Mar 2021
If I were never again to look upon your face, more magnificent than pure moonlight, I shall pluck out my own eyes,
that I might never look on anything else again,
that I might delight in your beauty in my minds’ eye endlessly.

If I were never again to feel your skin, like silk beneath my caress, I shall cut off my hands,
that I might never feel another beneath them, that I might never feel myself beneath them,
that I might relish your touch in distant pleasure always.

If I were never again to hear your voice, that sweet melody to my weary ears, I shall sew them shut,
that I might never hear another honeyed sound, not in music, nor moans, nor mundane mouthings,
that I might preserve forever the last enchanting utterances to pass through your rose lips.

If I were never again to smell you, that rich, earthy scent that drives me mad, I shall plug it up,
that I might never soak in a pleasing smell, that I might never let the stenches of the day-to-day,
keep me from forever adoring the varying, yet haunting fragrances of you.

If I were never again to taste you, those sugared velvet lips, I shall take out my own tongue,
that I might never enjoy neither worldly fare nor the flavor of another,
that I might savor you in memory for all eternity.

If I were never again to have you, a painful return to the dark ages, I would cast myself wholly and completely into watery depths or rising flames,
that I might never experience time and space without you, love.
The title —αναίσθητος χωρίς αγάπη —is Greek for senseless without love.
Payton Mar 2021
I'm the kind of girl who burns through guy friends like rubber on tiers, like sulfur on matches, like gasoline and kerosine and flameward moths.
But I don't want to burn through you.
We just go together so well—like puzzle pieces.
You and I are like day and night, sun and moon.
If you only knew how it eats me up inside, keeping my cool.
I feel this tiny spark dancing in my heart and it threatens to rake my body in flames, ready to pounce on me, licking and biting at the first sign that I'm falling for you.  
I'm really trying to hold my fuse right now, but one second we're joking and laughing and in the next you say something that tugs at me and I feel my hold on it slipping.
If I don't burn you first, this fire in my bones will certainly consume me.
Payton Mar 2021
Steel at my back
a welcome intrusion,
confirming my own suspicions, permitting my desires
—sharpening them, even.
Fuel to the flames.

Silken petals drip
sweet, honeyed molasses dew
nocturnal flower blossoming
—firelighting below Diana’s gaze.
Spindle to depression, kindle and spark,
we set the world ablaze.

Caught like a butterfly in the spider’s web,
trapped, held mindlessly, mercilessly betwixt
pleasure and pain —saccharine release promised only
from the combining of silk and steel, catching fire
and melting into one.
This poem was written in 2020.
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