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mia manchester Jan 2017
we have gotten to know each other.
you have seen more to me than you might have liked to, but i have seen more of you than i could have ever
dreamed of.
your body and it's crystals and it's galaxies,
not always like the ones that i saw in my dreams because in them i remember your eyelids closed for me,
but in this world my lips are not on them but rather in front blowing
eyelashes out while my mind wanders into bottomless voids of
and i thought my love poems did not mean anything.
but you make every single word worth it.
every syllable.
mia manchester Jan 2017
i would love you until you died
until those eyes staring up and down my body
until blood trickled down those bottom lids I used to kiss
mia manchester May 2016
you know that i love you,
but maybe you should start praying for real instead of caressing each of my ribs under dark motel light when I lay on my back for you, words of religion rolling off your tongue treating each bone you touch like beads on a rosary instead of a frightened girl's body
and i don't know when this started but you're starting to scare me with your fiery tongue and your hands in my mouth and around my neck
and you know that i love you,
but i am no longer afraid to lose you
  Feb 2016 mia manchester
"what's worse?"
I ask
a little pebble,

"Indulging in sin
or decaying within?"

of course,
he doesn't reply,
he never has or will—

but at least he hears
my faint cry
and listens, real still.
  Feb 2016 mia manchester
you are eighteen and you're in love
with a boy who hates his birthday.
you don't know it yet,
but the world gets so much bigger than the back of his car.
you think he needs you to be happy and so does he
but both of you are wrong.
it'll take you almost a year to stop crying.
and then you don't talk for another three
and when you finally do,
he thinks he still knows you,
but your heart is heavier than it was then.
and you **** him because you're lonely
but it isn't the same.
neither of you can fake love.
at least he still makes you laugh.
you'll pretend it's enough
because at least he's a body.
at least you're not by yourself.
at least you're alive
and you're good at *******.
because bodies are distractions
from the things we hide inside them.
you have him inside you
and he wants to gut you of your ugly, your sad.
he scrambles for an excuse not to stay the night
and you laugh.
you know what this is and how it goes
and you both love someone else.
you swear you won't **** him again
but you do anyway because you're still lonely
and you like the way his hands fit around your neck.
you **** him because it's good for your art
and you get bored of your own hands on your body
and you're fine with letting him feel useful.
and you think about when you were sixteen
and how *** was supposed to be special
and it makes you cry
because you're not who you wanted to be.
it makes you cry, because the world got so much bigger
after you left the backseat of his car.
the world is so big and you don't know
how it ended up on your shoulders.
you would have died for him.
you have been ready to die for every person you have ever loved.
you have dreams where he dies
and you can't save him.
you have dreams where people die
and you can't save them
and you're the one who tied your hands.
your mangled heart and all its bleeding.
nobody asked you to die.
what good is all the love in your chest
if you don't leave any for yourself?

- m.f.
mia manchester Dec 2015
but my body still shook like a
under his weight
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