Mancenillier: Favorites

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

The True Confessions Of A Heartless Girl

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

jamie

The True Confessions Of A Heartless Girl

titled: The True Confessions Of A Heartless Girl

this is not an apology letter and i will not apologize about my words that reek of *****, neither will i express my heartfelt woeful regret for burying what was left of your love under black wilted roses. in September we spent four hours under a tree attempting to bind our hearts and minds but i crumpled them together with the fallen autumn leaves, leaving you staring at the exposed bits of yellow xanthophylls and orange beta-carotene blended with the beautifully bruised muscle. i’m not sorry that your flowers ended in the trashcan with the weeds, but they were crooked and fading. i’m not sorry that the love poem you requested from me was written in the cemetery on the back of your father’s obituary, and i’m definitely not sorry that the first tree i felled in my backyard was the one with our initials carved in your pinned dead heart. call me heartless, but this will clear up everything you were ever baffled about. i am heartless. no, not that type of heartless. i am literally heartless. in my chest there lies a chest of drawers which used to be unlocked and filled with human traits but somehow along the way i think the key to them ended up rusting in my bottomless pit of a stomach. i won’t ask if you still feel that tingle in your spine when my name is mentioned, but did the letters from her burn prettier than the ones from me? did your last name fit her better than it did with me? did the last petal you plucked ended with “she loves me”? i know she smells like honey and roses but i’m not sorry that i smell like roadkill and expired cheese. now it’s December and i’ve changed my name to Hollow then repainted my skin with cut out pieces of eulogies. once upon a time i was actually a teen girl with hummingbird heart beats and red apples for cheeks, but as of today i am completely out of touch with this world, painting nail varnish on cigarettes and tucking in tulips with the weeds. her sad words may be written on textured paper but mine will stand up and punch you in the eye. most of the time we learn that you have choices in life, but all i ever know is that for every big leap you take you’ll end up with a splintered bone and it’s just like writing your life story in permanent ink. maybe one day the ocean will freeze and you’ll find the hidden message in your coffee, but this is not an apology letter and i’m still not sorry for scalding your skin with a hot iron rod when we were twelve years old. see you in the pool of regret; i won’t be there, since i’m lacking a heart.

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

vinyl, the

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

briana hailey ferenczy

vinyl, the

before I understood what constituted as love I understood that there was a hole in my upper arteries where your fingerprints laced my vessels and scraped the blood clean from my veins

I knew what you had taken, and that was the entirety of loss, you caused a high that pressured me down to a flat-lined level; you'd broken no falls, dealt no hands, glued back no ties

that's why I always knew when it was you pathetically knocking at my door, you, waiting to break me down again and that's a satisfaction you will never see, goodnight to you
goodnight from me

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

Frustration and sadness.

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

Two Parts of a Broken Heart

Frustration and sadness.

When you watch the one you love the most become unhappy.
And there's nothing you can do about it because they won't let you in.
They don't want to share with you,
even though they know you wouldn't do or say anything to hurt them.
At least not intentionally.
And you ask and ask them what's wrong.
But they keep quiet and just distance themselves away from you.
You ask what's wrong,
They tell you they need space.
So you give it to them.
They probably just need to push you ways because they know you see everything about them.
You can see through them like glass,
and they don't want you to see how they're shattered.
So you think about them at night,
before you sleep.
About their smile and their laugh.
How you miss it.
And you'd do anything to get it back.
To breathe some life into your ghost.
And then finally,
when you think you may be getting somewhere with them,
maybe they'll tell you their secrets,
tell you what's hurting them.
So you say it..
You say it all.
I hate what's hurting you,
and I'd do or give anything to make it stop.
And you wait for them to respond,
but when they do all they say is
Okay, I'll be fine! Thanks.
And you just sit there with your eyes stinging because they are so much apart of you that when they're away from themselves,
they're away from you too.
It's like you can't breathe right.
So here I am sitting, worrying.
Wondering when you'll let me through.
Wishing I could drive to your house right now,
come through your door,
hold your face in my hands so I can see your eyes and you can see mine..
Looking into nothing but honesty,
so that if one doesn't tell the truth,
the other can see it right away.
Or maybe I'd be too chicken with such a direct approach,
knowing you don't like my finger prints staining your skin.
So I'd wait till we went to bed,
you lying on your side and I on mine.
Whispering in scratchy voices,
I'd ask what's wrong.
I'd hope you'd tell me.
Maybe if your answer was said in a dark room,
the heaviness would disappear from your words,
letting them float up to the ceiling until they escaped out the window.
I can't say for sure.
You don't open up.
And it kills me to know that,
that you can't even for me.
And it kills me more that my words probably wouldn't help you at all,
even if I said them a million times.
So I'll just repeat myself and say I'm here for you,
always.
And you'll probably repeat yourself too,
and say that you'll be fine.

Straight from the heart.

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

Confessions of a five-year-old

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

Shang

Confessions of a five-year-old

"listen to me!" his mother said
"If I see one more tear, you'll never see her again!"

the five year old boy's cheeks
still flushed
his eyes swelling like
a pop-knot
they are ****** red
his chest will surely
explode from the tension
any moment now

he clenches the tube of
ointment in his front pocket
of the new pair of jeans
his grandma bought him
on the way back from
North Carolina

the young boy wipes his eyes,
rubs the bald spots on his head,
noticing his last eyelash has fallen on
the last tear running down his
face

his grandma holds him tight, she says:
"I love you. I'll be back soon."

he can feel his mother's
needle-worn arms pulling him away.
he can smell her morphine sweat.
he can taste her oxycontin breath.

despite watching his grandmother
close the door of her 1990
green Beretta and drive
off Walnut Street and
down Oakford Ave--
the little boy
never cried
again.

(C) Shang

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

I wrote to you,

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

steel tulips

I wrote to you,

i wrote to you,
not here,
not in poetry,
not in private,
but to you,
the real you,
and you won't answer,
and i'm dying,
and you would never answer,
because you turned me off like a switch,
i'm dead to you,
and I'm dying,
you are killing me,
you are killing me
and I love you

i wrote to him apologizing for not being enough, he left me for someone else
i'm dying

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

she wishes you could untouch

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

steel tulips

she wishes you could untouch

you taught her what love was,
then left,
she would never be the same again

*s.v

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

hello

Oct 2013 Mancenillier

Aviendha Goodrich

hello

hello you and your
crooked smile
how are you and your
river of denial
are you drowning,
are you living?
are you ever really
here?

hello, love
and your blistered hands
where are you tonight
and are you still in love?
i never meant to hold such
high demands
i just wanted it to be right
i wanted it to be love
the love i'm undeserving of

words that rhyme
syllables locked in time
hello, my dear
are you still here?

say goodbye
to what once was
go and let it die.
just because.