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Martha Jordan Jul 2015
There are rules for you.
You don't make stupid decisions.
You don't take naps.
You don't lie.

Almost is such a ****** word.
I hate it almost as much as I want to hate you,
But we both know that I can't.

You almost made me feel something.
When you held me in your bed,
Arms wrapped tight like you were scared of drowning
And your heart almost beat for mine
The center of my chest was still stone.
And when you held me in that cold disgusting room
Whispering that it was okay for me to be weak
I smiled, a terrible, painful thing to witness
And I almost believed you.

You almost made me trust you.
With your strong, capable hands gripping my jaw
Forcing me to face you, to accept what you were saying
And ******* it, I wanted to!
I wanted to follow for once, I wanted to dance backwards in heels
I wanted it more for myself than for you,
And you ripped it from my hands
And reminded me of who I truly am.

You almost made me love you.
You sat there, in my car
You held my ear to your heart as I stammered and you told me I was yours, and you were mine, you were mine, and you lied! It doesn't matter if it's true, if I'm not allowed to have you, then why give me your heart? I'm so angry and hurt and confused and I'm burning up in a wildfire of rage that the ocean couldn't tame and ******* It! You lied. You broke the rules and we are both suffering the consequences and I'm ******* furious! I was willing to breach the steel caging of my heart for you and I moved too soon and I've ruined everything and you lied.

You don't make stupid decisions.
You don't take naps.
But you do lie.

And so did I.
Beneath my eager smiles and delicate wrists and love bites and every inch of me your favorite color, I am a void, I am cold fire, I am stone.

You almost made me whole.

******* it, ******* it, ******* it.
Martha Jordan Apr 2015
The muscles in my face
Can they atrophy from lack of use?
It seems that my heart has
Not strong enough to feel
Only to produce a beat.

For the first time in years
I long for my own bed
Don't touch me.
Don't look at me.
It costs too much.

The void left inside
It's taken too much of me
I've crumbled away
And the tide leaves no trace.

I am numb.
I use my writing as a journal of sorts
To catalogue my emotions
At pivotal moments.
But there is nothing to organize.
I suppose
This will be my last entry.
What is the point?
Martha Jordan Dec 2014
My chest feels like it's been carved out with a spoon. There's nothing left; no beating heart, no churning stomach, no fragile ribs or frantic lungs. Just a void where you used to reside.

And I climbed a mountain to forget you. I picked out the debris from my diaphragm and from my palms as I dragged myself up what used to be communication, and now is just a monument to how ******* crazy people are. My feet slipped on red rocks and even though I was victorious, satisfaction did not fill the crater.

We held our last communion, and I finally felt at peace. But wishing for all the happiness in the world curses someone else with just as much grief. God, do I hate myself for causing him grief.

I thought that I hated myself, but now I know. There was no creature as foul as I, and there is no poison as strong as the one I make for myself. All I wanted was to make someone happy. All I wanted was to feel normal again. It's like you make my cheeks ache with smiles, and all I can do is twist knives in to your heart. You almost had me thinking that I was whole again.

But I know. I know that as toxic as I am to myself, I am just as deadly to everyone else. I will destroy everyone I touch. Why can't I destroy myself first, before I cause anyone else such pain? Am I really so selfish?

I know. I know that you love me. And I'm sorry that you do. I'm sorry for anyone who has been persuaded to love me.

I can string lots of pretty words together. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

I managed to feel, with your help. There's something residing in that cavern that used to house my heart. A throbbing ache that taints my blood and freezes my bones. It's probably not what you wanted me to feel. But it's almost a comfort. I understand this pain. I understand trapping it inside of me, and shutting you out so that you don't get caught in the fall out.

I know you don't want to be shut out.

But I am selfish.

And this pain is mine alone.
Martha Jordan Nov 2014
Sometimes I have to remind myself
That as close as I live to the mountain's majesty
I am not made of stone.

Despite the sands of time that collect
under my eyes, dragging down into a landslide
of bruises

Regardless of how cold and hard my hands feel
as they guide warm flesh towards
hidden despair

There is still blood in my veins, channeling
through a heart heavy as the earth they
poured over an early grave

My very bones erode with their own weight
The gravel in my wrists is agonizingly

You said I have such large, pretty eyes but I fear
these petrified jungles are threatening to drown me
and the monsoon provides no relief

I've an avalanche of grief that promises rest
My cradle or my grave
or both.
Emotionally exhausted.
Martha Jordan Nov 2014
I have some very destructive tendencies
I'm a bad judge of character
Whether the the character is my own or not
Begs to be determined.

I tried the pretty, pleasant method
Of letting the venom from my veins
But these emotions have succeeded in their task
Of rotting me from the inside out.

The floor embraced my pen
And my ears were lovingly teased
I tried to fall into the high from my headset
But your passion did not sate me.

Elemental damage was never my strong suit
As prone as we are to wildfires
You'd think the liquid cauterizing me
Would hurt less than these ******* thoughts.

And tonight the truth made its way to me
My shadow understands; his love is pure
I'm a cruel, witless *****, a scourge in my own right
But he still dries my tears.

I can't even pretend I'm not hurt
So I'm voiding my lungs tonight
Peppered smoke promises relief
But I'm soon discerning the lie.

We are back to square one but
All the pop music these days is too melancholy
I've had altitude sickness before,
But this time it's different.

And I smile,
a painful thing that I'm glad there's no evidence of
I told you these things are rare, like you
This inspiration at the cost of my heart

But this is my salvation
When you move from prose to poetry
That's when I'm done with you.
My habits die hard
But unlike you, the feelings, the talent,
the slow agonizing death by fire,
the bad character
are all mine.
Martha Jordan Nov 2014
Catalyst for change; a long dormant dream that wills its way into a nonexistent reality

Rend your bonds; with all the strength in your calloused hands that used to mold with mine

Yearning for freedom; from fear, from pain, from the crystalline core that shreds your lungs every time you breathe and scatters diamond dust down your veins

Sinking too fast; **** the natural death that weighs you down and drags you through an ocean of tears

Take your time; the gaping hollow in your chest should not become a magpie’s hovel, filled with a glittering assortment of the finest refuse

Argumentative at best; facing a broken mirror and finding the barrel of a gun

Languish is for the weak; your hands are claws and your teeth are knives. Cut the diamonds from your veins and spill yourself on the world.
word prompt poetry
Martha Jordan Feb 2014
I've got a lot on my plate these days.
I glance around, find an empty booth, and slide in.
I hate my job.
The owner, an older Chinese man, smiles and brings water and a menu.
Money is tight, it's always tight.
Mongolian beef today, I think.
I have no passion for life, my dreams just confusing mashups of the past.
Wonton soup like always, the fried strips melting into the broth.
My friends are gone, lost to time and distance and I feel so alone.
The owner brings me a gorgeous looking plate full of food, I thank him.
The love of my life finds more excitement in his computer than in me.
Tender beef, saucy peppers, perfectly steamed rice.
I search books for romance, fiction won't tell your secrets or get jealous.
Half the meal goes in a box for later.
My bed is as cold as my heart, no sleep will deter my exhaustion.
An almond cookie makes the check easier to pay.
Maybe I should be on medication. Maybe I should break up with my boyfriend. Maybe I should cut my hair. Maybe I should stop eating. Maybe I should move back home.
I pay at the counter and thank the man for an excellent meal as always.
I tuck my credit card into my wallet, my feelings into the deepest part of my mind so that I can make it another day without falling apart.
At least I have enough leftovers for dinner.
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