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netanya janel Nov 2016
You're everything to me, I mean that more and more each time I breathe it out.
And I'm unfolding from my skin, each time she fills your lungs.
The hopes I held onto with concrete fists, were never enough to keep you here.
So why do I try so hard to paint you in shades of grey, when I know you could care less?
I want to tear apart my skull so you can take the pieces, so you'd keep the parts of me that'd last forever.
The gears inside me stopped turning and my skin's been getting cold.
I took a knife to see my insides but I couldn't reach the bone.
  May 2015 netanya janel
grace elle
I loved the walls I told my story to every night, they were so very, very white. They ended up with holes and cracks in them but they taught me how to love, they taught me French was a language of passion, and they showed me your reflection in five years, they showed me your foreboding fears and drug laced tears.

It didn't look too good for you.

I wrote my poems along the cracks, I tried to fill the cracks in with pieces of my heart but it wasn't big enough to fill them and we all knew it from the start.
Now my chest is empty and I'm growing a new one and watering it with things that don't try to **** me.

I'd rather shoot myself in the head and end up dead than end up with a hollow soul again.

The paper I sleep on has leaks from where my chest and my mind try to meet up in between and I just end up throwing up black ink at 3 a.m.

I would rather drink bleach than end up back in this town after I've been released.
There are footprints all over this little cage from everyone we used to hate and all the people you wanted to date and now I just lie awake and awake and awake and it's all fake.

The rhythm from the rhyme is satisfying when you remember why we tried to rhyme, how we taught ourselves to survive off of empty pens and shredded paper, and I remember how many times I told my mom I wanted to die that night.

The walls know my secrets, I tore them down, my heart leaked out like the tears from my sieve-eyes on all of those tragedy filled nights, my best kept secrets are long gone now and I'm sure I'll get asked once or twice about those secrets that float through the shadows of past, but I look at them as more than sand in an hour glass, something like the sand on the shore that the sea eats when it gets sore.

The welcome sign has our names on the back of it but you can cross mine out or cover it up with someone new because my heart isn't here and my heart isn't through and I'm feeding it a hopeful story about a girl that once knew you.

I forgive, I forgive, and you'll probably never forgive me for how easy I can forget.
netanya janel Apr 2015
I spilled open my heart
Dug a blade through bone to find you
Blood and fury spilled out and
I screamed your name into the dark
Brassy glow of the light in the next room
Reflected off the burgundy
Pooling around my toes
I splashed it aside
Searched for your name
But the thick hot mess
Started to disappear
Vision blurred
And finally I saw your name
But it wasn't within me
And frankly
It never was
I spilled for you and now I'm through
No goodbye
Just empty and alone
netanya janel Apr 2015
there's a hole inside my head
it's been there since day one
and i'd hoped you'd help me fill the void
even though that's not enough

i'd hate for us to be apart
but i know you hate my touch
i buried myself underground
so the dirt would fill me up
  Apr 2015 netanya janel
tc
there’s a lullaby the wind chimes used to hum as i sat outside my house. i observed synodic epiphanies in the sky until all i could do was make a dot-to-dot of your face out of the stars that were almost as intangible as you are and as you always were.

i always found myself searching for traces of you everywhere. the sound of your voice as a symphonic ultrasound echoing from the wind chime to me, just for me. your effervescent hazel eyes (you always insisted they were brown but i’d studied them as a psychologist studies mental health) but you never came.

and trust me, i waited --
i waited for so much as a murmur or a rustled blade of grass when the world stood still and i waited in the morning, the afternoon and i waited all night.

i waited all **** night in nothing but a pair of leggings (you told me i looked “pretty sweet” in them once) and your jumper, the jumper you left at my house on may 16th. hummingbirds were the highlight of your morning and the highlight of my morning was always you.

you made scrambled eggs with milk and only a dash of pepper because too much gave you an itchy throat and then you took my hand and we slow danced along to the sound of the microwave; it was like a heavy duty drill begging to explode but we didn’t care.

i wore your jumper then the way i’m wearing it now, except i’ve tucked my hands into my sleeves because yours aren’t there to hold anymore.

i always found myself not only searching for traces of you everywhere but also searching for you in everybody i've ever met (and probably everybody i ever will meet). where’s that succulent sense of humour? where’s that desirable distaste for all humans besides me? you were intangible but somehow tangible to me and i mused over your ability to turn me from a servant into a queen but my gratitude overwhelmed me too much to question it, or you.

your name is euphonious;
i swirl it around my mouth like expensive champagne.
my stomach can tolerate neither.
netanya janel Mar 2015
tbh
honestly
I thought I broke myself when you were gone and I was sitting in my room alone staring at the corner of the wall waiting for it to breathe back into me the way you did when you held me close
honestly
I thought you were a figment of my imagination when you were there and I was sitting in your room staring at your face and tracing the lines of your mouth with my fingertips
and honestly
you never had to say you hated me or loved me because words meant everything and nothing and all that mattered was your hand on my neck and your fingers laced in mine and the uncorked bottle of wine in the kitchen
  Mar 2015 netanya janel
tc
I'm not an artist but I've opened up galleries with your name painted all over the walls

they're a souvenir encoded in brush strokes of downward spirals and rose tinted tunnel vision

the lights are blaring and my sight is blurred by tears and the street lamp flickers, almost sympathetically

a street lamp can understand, so why can't you?
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