you make me a better person
and it ain't no lie
i'm smiling through my teeth
its pretty ******* clear
i like me better when i'm with you
you read me like a book
and see through the walls i put up
and the **** i do
theres a side door
rusty blue handle
you can come through it
and in my mind we lie in some neverending dream of
cloudy grass and lemonade
where we can just be
cause i'm pretty scared
people like us aren't like us in front of
but i wish i didn't have to bite my lips
as fellows find me a suitor
to take me to a ball
where your eyes will be ingrained in mine
and after, i'll take you home
and we can just be
just you and me
will i find the courage
or will my knees merely meet yours
in some navy blue darkness
will your hand be holding mine
will i be fine
i wish i could tell you
how it is so hard to see your grey face and dark eyes
and know i can't do anything without telling the one true secret
a father and a daughter play snap on a whittled table
bandages around her spine
hot milk can't soothe the grey pain
but they play until she is tired
they venture upstairs,
she is carried, weightlessly, in his arms
he is careful not to shatter the breaking bones.
when she is seven they ask her where the grey came from
she says she got into a knife fight
for she has never been one for the truth
she was taught to lie explicitly
her father telling lies so vast
that they passed into truth
sometimes her mind would create things
crystal structures sitting in her hand
a one am run
so real she pocketed them
into her mind
and she forgot that with a hammer
they would shatter
she forgot so much, that they passed into truth
a crystal lodged in the heart of the fifth girl she has ever liked.
you sit triumphant on the throne
red velvet, up there, on concrete stairs
i am a piece of glass to you
see through, ready to crack
to break, grovel at your knees
do anything that you please
and you see it.
i feel like a spy. everything is shrouded in secrecy now.
everyone says hi to me but you
you give me a glance telling me
"you will need to do more to earn my time"
i give you high 5's
your hand is bigger than mine
the prints studding my back are purple night skies.
you see right through it.
you know i would jump over hot coals to get a day with you.
****, a day with you.
if that were a drug i'd be a ******.
the idea of you, seeping into my veins
giving me a high.
withdrawal from you has become my pain.
i try to find you.
the you that came with me on the bridges of brighton,
the you that bellowed the lyrics of fuzzy 9:40 pm songs
sung an octave lower.
but you see that i'm searching
so you hide the key.
on top of your red velvet throne
you autocratic beauty.
i wonder if you know what you are doing to me
bug under your thumb, i squirm and you laugh.
give me my high, my ruler, my lover, my queen.
don't worry about the withdrawal my muse.
compared to your shots through my glass,
a little fire would be welcome.
'the unexamined life is not worth living'
isn't that all this **** is,
examine your life
only to get rid of it
get it out, get it out!
o what harms of a parasite might do
tossing and turning
your life, secrets, loves
into the anonymous world
until you are a hunk of nothing
a shell with none of those sweet sorrows to hold at night
because who is luna? it certainly
and i was sick of it for a while
i saw views and likes and follows spin around
because who am i? certainly
then i came back. full of the bile of life
ready to expel it,
to be numb '
of facing my own war
i fight battles with a system that
through my weaved words
i try to expel
but it's like a parasite
it takes a bit of you with it.
sometimes i wonder if
i could live two lives
one of them is going to have to
split off onto a far away road
so i must no longer wave at my reflection
or reflections should i say
as i am living many lives, as many people
walking on with their many days
in black jeans, tweed pants, sport shorts,
one of them bumps into another
and they all shatter.
so i have to complete the arduous task
of holding the rusty knife
and killing off the characters of my past
o what a beautiful sorrow
fact: the beluga whale can live for around 50 years.
i see everything
i feel as if i have eyes
we all have eyes
but my eyes see it all
i wish they didnt see it all
i really really do
fact: the patients of nervosa probably can't live for around 50 years.
good ol' pop is a series of poems about my struggles of seeing others suffer, inspired by a loved one's struggle with anorexia, good ol' pop is a collection for the bystander, and for the observant.