Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
2d · 23
Easy Love
MJ 2d
Love came easily to me

it was never sparse.


That's how


I touched so many others

trying to break your scarce heart.
MJ 2d
Is it the red crescendoing of trees lining the icy lake?
Or the pebbles popping under the rubber wheels of my old car?
Is it the warmth of picking up wool scarves from their summer cocoons? Being shaken out and wrapped around cold necks?
Is it this lower state's familiar weather, blending brisk wind with bright sun? The way it heats the second-floor windows in the frigid mornings?
Is it the scents of sage and roasting meat floating through the door, welcoming me home?
Or the mismatched pairs of shoes kicked under the hallway bench?

It might be this last bit of Cabernet slowly tumbling to top my cup, or the ceaseless squeak of my childhood bed.
But yes, something calls me here, back to the beginning.
Back to the autumns of our home.
Sep 19 · 22
cotton
MJ Sep 19
She thinks

she can wear those things:

Delicate.

Like nothin' *****

Ever happened.
Sep 19 · 32
playing with knives
MJ Sep 19
She set him on his mark

the bottle in his hand

Lips were wide apart

he heard her secret plan

She gave over the knife

a little kitchen thing

white skin turned red and brown

that's her beloved sting

She said let's go again

There was worry on his face

She counted to 10

He got right back in place
Sep 19 · 107
lonely
MJ Sep 19
when
I fall
to my knees
in
this emptiness
the loneliness
sounds
louder
to me
Sep 19 · 20
good bye
MJ Sep 19
First bitten kisses
that bleeding lip
ashes from our past
in this blanket
I wrapped them up
just to say goodbye
Wrapped up,

just say goodbye

Before you left
you said
please, don't cry
take care of yourself
you'll be all right
You wrapped me up
just to say goodbye
Wrapped up,

just say goodbye

Last ***** glances
from up way up high
you took me up there
birthday midnight sky
We were wrapped up
just to say goodbye
Wrapped up,

just say goodbye
Sep 19 · 41
Gone Ghost
MJ Sep 19
You are like a ghost now,

a ghost who's just tired of haunting me.
MJ Sep 19
the jelly's empty jar
the unlocked door's lean
the bed's right side
the bathroom's golden gleam

the open window's draft
the blanket's red stain
the shelve's missing plate
the lightbulb's naked string

the floor's dusty coat
the tv's big blank screen
the night's silent cry
the closet's clothesless beam
Sep 19 · 24
disappearing
MJ Sep 19
you
are   beginning
to be                    
                                    gone.

i open your
door and i  expect
to
                                         cry.    
but  nothing            
                               ­      comes.

you
are    starting
to                        
                                        fade.

my love

you
are   beginning
to
                                         end.
Apr 23 · 26
nickerson st.
MJ Apr 23
in those short summer days
i ran away from home
i kissed you in the sunshine
when you were not my own
in those short summer days
you had a mattress on the floor
and the first time i met
your mother was right there on that porch
it hurts too much
to write about it now,
how long you have not loved me
how long since you've known how....
Apr 23 · 34
piece of leash
MJ Apr 23
for some reason
small pieces of hope
continue to float
in my direction

you give me a reason
to hang by the throat
when you say "i won't
come back in your direction"
Aug 2019 · 59
Drippin' Wet Dreams
MJ Aug 2019
I
Saw him in my sleep last night

He
Held me close, kissed my eyes

He said
Honey, you're used up

broken and bleeding, staining these streets

He said
Darlin', you're dreaming

wake yourself up now, before I leave

I'm
Devil's skin with Angel's smile

I
Wished for him, just like a child

He cried
Only
You're Holy

Kissed my scars, made me weak

He spat
Sweetness
Oh Worthless

Don't make a sound
as I pull these teeth
MJ Aug 2019
This is not going to be easy. It is not a small thing. It is going to hurt, and, in all truth, it will ******* up.

Your life is going to change, and while it's not going to change for the better, you will make the most you can with this giant mess you were given. This giant mess of ****. This sadness.

You will be numb for so long, you will begin to open your skin with ***** serrated points, looking inside to try and find your mind.

You'll **** people you can't even remember *******, can't even remember the names of, people you pray you'll never see again.

When you can't take the sadness any longer, you'll develop a taste for speed, and the little orange pills will be the only way you are able to have movement and speech and a fake smile. It will destroy your body.

All of it.

But you will get through it. You'll claw your way out of the hole in the ground you once buried yourself in. It is worth it. Don't give up. Feel this pain, because it's going to be with you for the rest of our lives.

And we'll be okay.
Aug 2019 · 55
tomorrow
MJ Aug 2019
tomorrow is when all the things i write come true.

we'll wake up

smiling, and you'll say       it's happening

and i'll say yes,
quickly.

tomorrow there will be stains and spills

in the bed,
in our bed,     because we won't care
because we never ever have

tomorrow

i will touch your skin
and it won't feel so dangerous. tomorrow

the sun will come and

we'll know it's

just

for us

tomorrow

hasn't come yet        but sometimes        it feels like it's already

here.

tomorrow

hasn't come    yet

and we can't   say   that it certainly
will.
Dec 2018 · 82
In & Out
MJ Dec 2018
there were many long hard nights

you had to remind yourself to breathe


but there were one thousand more nightmares

telling you to hold your breath
Dec 2018 · 402
slide
MJ Dec 2018
She once believed
nothing
she did
would end
in applause

And sustained
shame
that stung
like a sunburn.

She once carried
thoughts
that made
her eyes widen
at night

And nursed
the demons
who knocked
at her door.
Jun 2018 · 266
We Call Ourselves Survivors
MJ Jun 2018
I.

There are men waiting for me. Waiting to chain my ankles and hang me from the ceiling of the tunnel. They have knives, they run them up and down my legs. It's cold and sharp but the blades don't pierce my skin. It feels like a game.

II.

I am on a table and it seems like surgery, but instead of using tools they use their fingertips. They go in and pull out every bad memory. I can feel the memories leave, I can feel myself growing warmer and happier with each strand of bad that is taken away. I am crying. I am crying in my sleep.

III.

Men again, but more like boys. They're younger. There's a group of them outside on the porch. That screen door is not going to stop them. They pick up bats and force themselves into the house. I run into the woods to hide, but I can see. They drown my mother in a tub, they **** my sister with a bat. They get my cat and rip her apart by her limbs. When the sun comes up, I run inside and see my mother's body. I try to drown myself in the tub, too, but then I wake up too soon.
Jun 2018 · 124
Beauty, Among Other Things
MJ Jun 2018
She

is a song he plays with closed eyes,

heartbreaking and angry,

volumes of many shameful pasts

singing through her chest.


She

is a book he reads with open hands,

her stories scrawled into skin,

like a braille

only he can speak.


She

is the box in which he keeps his heart,

****** and beating

trusting that it's safe.
May 2018 · 115
little haunts
MJ May 2018
the knives

in this house

are sharper

since you left

the bed

harder

my dreams

darker
unfinished
Apr 2018 · 86
g o n e
MJ Apr 2018
Wherever you've gone, it was a long time ago.

With a bike,
and a backpack,
Just mouths saying no.

Wherever you've gone, I can't see it from here.

Can't hear it,
can't dream it,
You just disappeared.

Wherever you've gone, seems the days are real bright.

Made of future,
and options,
No thoughts of bad nights.

Wherever you've gone, I hope you stay there.

Maybe one day,
I too,
Will breathe that fresh air.
Apr 2018 · 184
Papershredder
MJ Apr 2018
She has a drive
to share
her body


Right to

shreds


Always
been an over-

sharer, everyone says.


Swollen lips and
scarred skin,


All of that
spurious

stability,


Coaxing
them

right in
Apr 2018 · 177
OCD
MJ Apr 2018
OCD
If

I rip

My

Flesh back,



Will that

Be

Enough?



No!



And

He'll say

I

Have

No feelings



Because

He

Just mopped

That floor!
Apr 2018 · 75
I Take my Glasses Off
MJ Apr 2018
if I'm going to cry

or if I'm going to ****.

if I'm going to **** some ****

or if I'm going to lick her lips.

or if they just need to be cleaned.

that's the main one, honestly.
Apr 2018 · 169
Happy Rooms
MJ Apr 2018
For weeks, which felt like years, that small room was the whole World and every thing in it.
For days, which should have been their own, one linked and looped with the next and taught me to shame the sun.
After one week, I found out that a bed was like an aging body; the more it was used, the more I could feel its once-sturdy frame bend and sag, and the squeaking grew and the metal groaned below my sweating skin.
After two days, I found out that a bed was also the most dependable of life rafts, which safely kept me floating above the forever-blackening sea, where I’d once sworn I’d take my last wet and feeble breath.
While this one-room World swallowed fears and held trembling hands tight, it began to whisper in the night; one wall repeated rumors it heard from its opposite: warnings of the Outside and all the dangers it could bring.
“Those you pass on the road will stare with the knowledge that you are out-of-place, that you do not remember normal,” whispered the plaster on my right.
         "And the many men leaning in to corners of brick could yell or touch or chase, you don’t want that again, not again, right?” hissed the wall to the left.
        No, I do not want any of it, I replied through a hazy dream.
After their whisperings stuck, I discovered that the notion and act of sleep had the ability to slyly slip away, no matter how hard I tried to hold on.
         Sleep. Slep. Seep. Spl. Shut. Shh. Sleep? Silence. Close. Dark. Down…
When sleep became a habit of the past, anxiety became the habit of the present and the terror of the future.
For weeks, which were just one stretch of daylight, I did not know sleep, but I still knew the comforting space of World and the safety the floating bed wrapped around me.
For days, which were wholly lost and never found, alcohol seeped from my pores, while empty ***** fifths created new altitudes of the floor.
For months, which were truly months, I sat in the small World with depression’s darkness, and I found I could live with no real desire to see my toes touch the existent, dreadful ground.
Apr 2018 · 78
Touch
MJ Apr 2018
at one time
it was a simple
silly thing.

at one time
it was the oxygen
in my lungs.

at one time
it was the pulse
swimming
through my veins.

stretching
sleepy hands
down your waking spine.

squeezing
pretty skin
deeply into my own.

braiding
quiet bones
from head
to smallest toe.

wrapping
beautiful bows
with legs
around bare hips.

reaching
for that familiar hand
until
it's out of sight.

at one time
i never thought
it could
be lost.

at one time
i was numb
to the cravings
it quickly gave.

at one time
i didn't know
that i
could feel
a ghost.
MJ Apr 2018
Her and I move around one another, underneath our skin and muscle, vein and bone. Sometimes she's out on our head yelling at the world, sometimes she's between our ribs, breathing heavy through the heartbreak.
When I have to go away, she finds her way into our brain and we become tuned to a deeper pitch. Her pitch. Darker, truer sound.
She changes us-- The way we think: that bread knife cuts materials much more precious than just bread, The way we feel: **** him, **** him, **** him for good, How we speak: here is every single thing we've ever kept a secret, How we fight: these screams and curses can last for days, Even the way we ****: scarred legs spreading for strangers while wet lips taste too fast.
When I come back with hands over ears, they're all covering theirs, too. Their eyes are wide and white with glare, and I can feel her crawling back inside. Our pitch is tuned back to my own, its quiet cheerfulness buzzing through our body as I keep us hard as steel. I staple the corners of our mouth, shaping the prettiest smile we can give. I remind her how to move as I walk us through the world, she reminds me I am her as I try to sew my split.
Mar 2018 · 92
satan is a fucking angel
MJ Mar 2018
She was a bad kisser, him a big hitter. Front teeth carved on top lips, weak knees peppered in red. He wished to kiss her body, she cursed with mouth between legs. She prayed to strangers’ gods, plucking thorns from her throat. He promised to lick up the lies, swallowing sharp and ******* truth.
Mar 2018 · 105
Mimicry
MJ Mar 2018
Her heart is still half beating, her head repeating, all that way, bordered states, remember perfect days, pretending that he stays? It split, the voice, mimicking his ways, loudly, being carried, tapping, thumping, bleeding, bumping, spitting, screaming, dripping from cracked hands, drowning the faces, once soft, now numb.
Mar 2018 · 94
Because (You)
MJ Mar 2018
11 pounds lighter. 3 shades more red. Dreaming of something opposite of death. Really sleeping again. Running. Showing teeth. Using my all-time-favorite pens. Listening loudly. Slowly moving in to the world. Feeling skin. Warming my cold hands. Reconciling with the body. Complimented. Coming. Reassured. Sorry, but for once, not for myself. Watching someone watch. Thankful for this life.
Mar 2018 · 139
Lovebirds
MJ Mar 2018
it was last night when
the first
favorite memories of you
climbed
into my head.

summer's sweat
above your lip.

subtle stubble
on your chin.

bold shoulders
forever bare
in tattered shirts.

thighs stuck
to ***** bar booths.

and johnny cash
on the juke.

they called us
lovebirds
every night

just because
of the look
in our eyes.
Mar 2018 · 93
AA
MJ Mar 2018
AA
there is a type of love
that never hurts.
some whispering hope
that finds you
in a world
full of dark.
it's not something you find
alone.
it is found
effortlessly together. two at once.
right place, right time,
right one.
you just become.
year after year after year
no sight of pain
in each others' eyes.
no doubts.
only
strong hands
holding yours.
only
louder words
when yours are gone.
Feb 2018 · 128
all that she can read
MJ Feb 2018
the clenching of her worn down jaw
a waterfall of wine.

the hair in both her burning hands
a few more miles gone.

the tears that come, all loose and fast
a guess becomes a fact.

the ending of this sour end
a little she might grow.
Jan 2018 · 115
Untitled
MJ Jan 2018
Life is better than it used to be. But in a different way. She doesn’t feel lonely, like she used to, but she does feel lost which she never did before. She spends her days with books and tv shows; she likes their constant comfort. She drinks on most nights. It helps with the pain in her chest because she can’t seem to forget how much she still wants him.

She tells herself she’s damaged goods, a throw-away. ***** helps slow that down, too. Unemployment never seemed like it could be so hard, she thinks, but never, ever says out loud. People hate her for her jobless yet decent lifestyle. They call it laziness, but she knows different. It’s called aimlessness… purposelessness. Just trying to trudge on.

She goes on week-long benders with a boy. For five days, all they taste is ******* and being ******, glass bottles of ***** (because he likes that too), and fast food (delivered because they’re bedridden) if one of them remembers hunger. It’s films and television and long, long talks about anything sad and bursts of tears that dried up years ago.

After it’s over—only because he actually is employed—she walks around the house, dizzy from being in bed for days. There’s only trash and rotting food, empty bottles, all on the ground, covering every surface in the house. The air has a stench that she’s used to by now: a colorful mix of un-scooped cat ****, open cans of cat food, spilled drinks, lingering smells of **** or **** or sweat.

Even two days after, she can still smell his come inside her. She smells it with her fingers after taking plan B for the third time that month, though, mostly she doesn’t keep count anymore. She wonders if she’ll still be fertile when she’s ready for kids. She wonders if she’ll ever find someone to have children with now that he’s gone.

There are bruises on her wrists in the same spots, reflecting each other. They’re red then purple then the impression of his teeth fades. This is because she likes that. To be bitten. Hard. And hit, in the head, until her ears ring. Hit on the ***, where she also has four stretched out marks from a hand. She likes to be cut—stomach, arms (old habit), legs—but many lovers are too timid or concerned, so she takes the steak knife or the wine opener and makes them watch, softly saying, “Like this.” Sometimes they’re not afraid after that.

A day comes once a week when she decides it's time to stop drinking. To make herself available to the ache of her insides and outsides. The heartbreak and loneliness and love, still the main components of her soul. And there's also the awareness that she is entirely grateful for the ****** boy and his kindnesses. His honesty. His openness. Kisses. Hugs. Advice. For a week she's sober, trying Whole ******* 30, exercising, dealing with all the thoughts. Watching tv and reading for their comfort, trying to look ahead.
Jan 2018 · 100
hardcover
MJ Jan 2018
she breaks
boys
accidentally,
easily;
like
she breaks
the spines
of
books.
Jan 2018 · 171
#WF2018
MJ Jan 2018
I am a ******-obsessed freak. I am a violent-craving ****. I am a drunk-tryna quit, I’m a lying-******’ *****. I’m a taken-cheating mess, I’m a speed-owned shell. I am a crazy-raging ease. I’m a selfish little *****. I’m a drifting-airhead ****. I’m a full-on sack of ****. I am a rotten-pussied tease, I am an all-day-lazy dude. I’m a fowl-mouthed lady, I’m a streaking stripping girl. I’m a pushy-fast-paced date, I’m a no-date kinda gal. I am a ******* female, and we'll be free when they are dead.
Jan 2018 · 108
That's How Much He Loved Me
MJ Jan 2018
The blood
which would have spilled
from thin slits
of my skin
Was corroded
by the smile
which once
beamed from
your face.
Jan 2018 · 113
Nameless Thing
MJ Jan 2018
I think it’s there now—
that thing we searched for all that time.
Can’t you feel it?
The thumping, burning, weeping inside?
Can’t you hear it?
The whispers in sleep, with eyes open, from under those deep hopes?
I know it’s here—
for the past week it’s kissed my thumbtips.
Do you know it’s here--
for months you’ve held a body
posing as my own.
Jan 2018 · 118
Until You're Here Again
MJ Jan 2018
I wore the ring all day,
Took it off to sleep.
In my dream
he was finally close,
“Will You Marry”—
“YES.”
That quickly, so unhesitatingly.
I woke up the next morning,
finger just as bare.
I put the ring back on
and wore the ring all day,
Took it off to sleep.
In my dream
he was finally close,
“Will You Marry”—
“YES.”
That quickly, so unhesitatingly.
I woke up the next morning,
finger just as bare.
I put the ring back on
and wore the ring all day,
Took it off to sleep.
In my dream
he was finally close,
“Will You Marry”—
“YES."
That quickly, so unhesitatingly.
I woke up the next morning,
finger just as bare.
I put the ring back on
and wore the ring all day
Jan 2018 · 123
Res/volution
MJ Jan 2018
Trying to reinvent yourself

is hard.

Realizing that you need to

is harder.

But.

Loving yourself through all of it

is hardest.
Jan 2018 · 98
Untitled
MJ Jan 2018
she will not fill my spots
carved by the exploding shards
of our sharp love.

she will not occupy my trenches
dug so deeply
lined with
our savage pain.

because i
advance
in darkness.

(  a flag
has yet
to rise.  )
Jan 2018 · 113
discharged
MJ Jan 2018
i did not know you
as the kind of man
to see
bleeding holes
and sing loudly
of defeat
Jan 2018 · 492
at 25
MJ Jan 2018
without the sound of rain she is lazy. without the taste of *****, she's

awkward. without a tan, too pale; without a page to turn,

lonely. without a song to hear she is calm. with no party, she is her

own. without a shower, she's disgusting. without blindness, she's

cute in those glasses. without food she looks like she should eat,

and with no lover,

she is sort of lost. without a smile, she seems depressed. without

kissing she is ***** and with no bra she is a ****. without laughter

she is bored. without the ability to remember, she is thankful, as well

as naive. without the ocean she is suffocated, with no future she is

trapped. and without hope, she is most hopeful; without herself, she

is a shell.
Dec 2017 · 138
Chesthive
MJ Dec 2017
A humming hive
Of strong winged moths
Lived inside this chest
He blew them in
Kissing on the floor
These days they cling
To every dying nerve
Waiting for his return
Oct 2017 · 559
When Love Leaves
MJ Oct 2017
does it happen in silence, with no one noticing until the time is up, or does it happen so loudly all other worldly sounds drown out?

does it go quickly? or slow enough to hurt for years?

does it leave behind hints of its sweetness, between the pages of books, woven in with the sheets, slipping through the saddest of dreams?

when love leaves, who does it leave behind?
Oct 2017 · 165
Brainwaves...
MJ Oct 2017
my mind
is a cage
made from steel
imprisoning
nasty comments
gory images
always renovating
making room
for more.

my mind
is an ocean horizon
so open
so brutal
always being explored
each secret
mapped
and seen.
Oct 2017 · 140
strongthumb
MJ Oct 2017
inside the house
right on the couch.
lips apart
and a stone-cold heart.
replaying the kiss
from a face
i can't miss.
Oct 2017 · 142
Careful Hearts
MJ Oct 2017
i am

indirectly

&

insecurely

in love
Sep 2017 · 223
Cocaine Loves An Overpass
MJ Sep 2017
the freeway was loud, screaming below their feet, truck drivers at 80 and up, the west coast late night norm. higher decibels made them feel more properly hidden taking bumps from the bag, and she sniffed in and thought of how she wasn't expecting this night, but she was lonely, hopeful, a wreck. he sniffed harder and he tugged down on his hat, realizing just how unprepared he was for the way she looked at him.
Sep 2017 · 133
Tell Him
MJ Sep 2017
When he tells you no one likes you,
fall back to feel their hands.

When he tries to take your house keys,
chase him screaming down the street.

When he calls your ***** rotten,
paint its gorgeous portrait, hang it in the hall.

When he tells you that you're crazy,
show him what that means.

When he spits into your face,
spit right ******* back.

When he says he's oh so sorry,
don't give him that last chance.

When he tells you that he loves you,
pack your things,
be free.
Sep 2017 · 126
ulcer
MJ Sep 2017
chocolate chip cookies
2% milk
and a pint of smirnoff.
must be good
to be me
right now.


crates full of clothes
blank walls, naked nails
living with a ghost.
must be tough
your life
unwinding this way.
Next page