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ash mckee Mar 2018
there is a reason people don’t live in pristine houses
and don’t have ideal relationships with everyone they meet.
there is a reason for having emotions beyond happiness.
and there is a reason why some questions are asked and answers aren’t given.
sometimes, things are meant to be worn and torn and broken.
the world is not perfect,
and that is good.
if life is going to be worth living,
there must be differences
and disagreements.
anger and sadness and all those things we feel
but would rather not acknowledge
exist for a reason.
people are meant to grow and learn
and change
and have their own opinions.
wishing for everything to be a certain way just because it would be easier
would take away everything that makes it all worth it.
ash mckee Mar 2018
you were like fireworks and thunder in the distance:
some sort of earth-shattering sound that left me breathless and with that tiny rush that made me feel alive.
ash mckee Mar 2018
I want to cover every inch of myself in paint
I want to mask my skin in colors and patterns
and make myself disappear
I want no one else to ever see
the plain white walls
inside of me
ash mckee Feb 2018
when people ask me why I’m not religious,
I tell them stories
of all the people I have ever believed in.
I relive the memories
and the heartbreak
and I explain how each of them
earned my faith.
they were my friends;
they were tangible
and they were real
and they left me behind.
so, what am I supposed to expect
from some god who hides their face?
I've had enough
of people putting on masks
and lying to me through their teeth.
at least I can look them in the eye
when I tell them
that I don't believe in them anymore.
ash mckee Feb 2018
my eyes are searching for you in the crowd.
I can hear, rather than feel, my heart race.
I'm afraid that my thoughts are far too loud
I try to steady my quickening pace.

press one hand to my heart; one to my lips
so hard that I can't distinguish the change
between the soft pulse in my fingertips
and the one hammering in my ribcage

my vision is blurry and unfocused
and my head hung low with longing and dread
I mumble a hello you must have missed
because you stumble right past me instead

love is a tragic kind of beautiful
it's the kind you miss if you're not careful
ash mckee Feb 2018
you are crossed out words and crumpled papers and
you are hands held tight through hallways and under desks

you are black coffee at the break of dawn and disney movie dates in the basement on saturday nights

you are rivers of glass and autumn leaves and mustard colored sneakers and flannels

you are soft music
when you want to lose yourself in lyrics
and drum your fingers to the beat

you are the greying sky after sunset
when the world starts to fall asleep and the moon becomes the brightest light in the darkest sky
you are the moon

you are sleepy smirks and silent laughter:
you are a puzzle I have yet to solve

you are silver wristwatches and sapphires

you are quiet conversations and bright constellations

you are the calm after the storm:
broken glass of different colors
pushed together to form something entirely new

caffeine highs and painted hues
crimson hearts
first I love yous

you were the hope I lost
and the hope I needed
and you were the hope I thought I never deserved to have
a companion piece to "a study in myself"
ash mckee Feb 2018
I am notebooks stained with coffee and blots of black and blue ink and
I am pages ripped and torn out of frustration

I am friday nights spent watching old movies and sipping hot cocoa from some old mug that caught your eye

I am black eyeliner and ocean waves and
soft grey v-necks and stockings

I am the songs you play
when you want to hear the
melody and not recognize the tune

I am fairy lights at midnight
when the clouds obscure the sight of the stars
I am those stars
and sometimes, I am the clouds

I am dark red nail polish to match dark circles under eyes:
I am mysterious in uninteresting ways

I am dented silver crowns and rubies

I am sweater paws and fatal flaws

I am beautiful chaos:
chipped paint and pulled threads
one tug away from unraveling

broken hearts and waterfalls
rose petals
2 a.m. phone calls

I am the love you gave
and the love you took
and I am the love I found in myself
after you were gone

— The End —