Meg B Jan 12
Sometimes I think he’s too good for me
He’s too kind
And there are all these words
That come out of my mouth like
Vomit
Because I’ve been alone so long and
Don’t know how to just let him be nice to me.
I am controlling,
But he’d insist I’m fiercely independent.
I am difficult,
But he’d tell me to never change.
The day after we had met,
He had said just that,
Yet I am constantly wanting to do the opposite.
I’ve spent so many years blaming myself for my own abandonment
That this all seems like a strange but beautiful dream.
Even so, somehow,
with just two words in the quiet of the morning,
He makes me feel like everything




“Hey, beautiful.”
Meg B Oct 2017
SOS
Why is it so hard for me to love myself?
Things that I see in others
I see with such admiration,
but when I see myself,
it's as if I've become blind.
What I know of so surely as good
is somehow bad as it pertains to me,
and what I recognize as existing in someone else
suddenly becomes unrecognizable within myself.
I focus so earnestly on my feelings for you
and for them
and for everything, everyone, every cause around me;
so, then, why don't I focus on the same
for myself?
How easily can I tell
a woman abused that it wasn't her fault,
that she should bare no shame,
yet somehow, all the absuse that I suffered,
I was the cause, I am to blame.
I know they say, whoever they is,
that you can't love anyone till you love yourself,
but most days I feel I love everyone
except for myself.
And it's truly strange,
because it seems to come in waves,
and now that I'm toying with the idea of
loving again,
I am struggling to wade in the riptide.
I can't drown in you if I can't stay afloat,
I can't swim with you until I find myself
(a life boat).
Meg B Oct 2017
Insides on fire,
You light me up like kerosine
And I never thought it would
Feel      So       Good
To be burnt alive
Meg B Oct 2017
I've scrapped the first
fifteen versions of a poem
I don't want to write or
maybe I want to write it but I'm
afraid I won't like it or
am I just afraid of what I might
say,
of what my subconscious will
convey?

Ink drying up like dried blood
while the blood in my veins
pulsates and my
head throbs as I try to decipher
how much of what has happened
to me is actually because
of me.

Is it me?
Are my experiences mine because
I made them so,
or did I happen to just
stumble into the darkness?

A sour mashup of
self-love and self-loathing,
it's like I have two minds intertwined
double-analyzing double helix
radioactive brain DNA

Am I great? Am I awful?
Am I even worthy of such extremes?
Where are all the adjectives to
describe me?
Can I write about it if
it changes daily?
Is it possible to know yourself perfectly and
also not at all?

Questions generating more
questions,
hypothesizing Eye
must seek before
I find.
Meg B Sep 2017
An insatiable hunger
that rips at my insides;
the more I get, the more
still I'm left wanting.

Mostly served in snacks,
rarely a full meal,
but I want you in five courses
with a glass of wine to pair.

I crave your
lips and fingers on my neck;
salivating at the sound of your voice.

I am famished for every inch of your body, starved for the  intricacies of your mind, ravenous for the layers of your soul.

I yearn for another taste of you,
each moment somehow more delicious than the last.
Meg B Aug 2017
I am paralyzed by fear.
I am paralyzed by doubt.
I am paralyzed by the questions I don't want but need to ask.
I am paralyzed by the answers I don't want but need to know.
I am paralyzed staring at my pillows as my body hangs sideways off of the bed.
I am paralyzed by the feelings I almost wish I had never felt.
I am paralyzed by my past.
I am paralyzed by past lies and how they're seeping into my present psyche.
I am paralyzed by the love that I've felt.
I am paralyzed by the potential love I'm now unsure I want to feel.
I am paralyzed by the future, by what it holds.
I am paralyzed by you.
Meg B Jul 2017
I saw her in the most perfect sunset
And then there she was in the fullest moon;
She is gone,
Yet she still fills the room.
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