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L Aug 2014
faces like yours aren't meant for touching
and i'm beginning to think that closed-casket funerals were created for you
and sometimes the overwhelming desire to share something of yourself with someone--with anyone--is too much to bear

and suddenly i understand every spraypainted feeling under every freeway
or sharpie sentences scribbled in bathroom stalls
or muttered comments or notes in library books or songs on repeat played a little too loud
and i understand why pretty girls write stories on their arms

you were never the type to tell the truth
you were always talking
you never understood the way i looked at my feet when you laughed or how i spoke in hushed tones


some days are better than yesterday and some days make me question tomorrow
some words make me question you

today i wonder what the bigger sin is

is it your lying?
or my hopeless belief in words i know aren't true?

words are meant to be spoken and hands are meant to be held and love and sorrow and anger are meant to be felt and enjoyed and EXPERIENCED
and everything has meaning
everything but you
  Aug 2014 L
R Saba
spent years wandering halls
cutting the "i" from my sentences
forming words from vowels
and emotions from consonants
hard and solid, but nothing
without that internal structure

guess that describes me pretty well
all consonants, harsh "t" and definite "d"
and the ever-slippery "y", like me
never making up its mind

felt like a half-learned language
still do, really
like someone forgot to learn the proper nouns
forgot to turn the sentence around
grab the sound and speak it

there's an accent colouring my life
awkward and stuttering, unsure
and never fluent enough
to step in time with the music
for long enough to make it matter

words from vowels
and emotions from consonants
hard and solid, but nothing
without that internal structure
oh the English language
L Aug 2014
I'm in a semi-committed relationship with a boy who lives in the ground
He had the prettiest eyes I've never seen (does that make sense to you?)
Do you believe in flower-shaped pupils or irises the shade of the moon? I do
A girl told me once that bouquets look best clasped in skeletal fingers
I'd like to think that to be true
Because that's exactly how I imagine you.
I think eyes are mirrors and fingers are paintbrushes
No one is what they think they are and everyone's a liar
Listen to me. Don't fall in love with a Virgo no matter how many mountains their voice has moved.
Girls with eyelashes like butterfly wings have daggers for tongues
If you can't see shaking hands he doesn't love you, believe me
Even though you see yourself in him -- it's because his eyes are mirrors
Even though you see him in yourself -- it's because his fingers are paintbrushes
I don't feel electricity when we touch and I'm beginning to think that's our flaw
Your hands don't make my skin tingle
I can feel you tingle and shiver and gasp but I don't and perhaps I never have
I like the way he never leaves and I hate begging you to stay
Today marks two months with you and six months without you
And I'm not sure how I feel about that because I miss you
I miss you but I love you but I'm stuck on you too
Do you love me? Miss me? Still love me?
I'm in a semi-committed relationship with a boy who lives in the ground because he's the past I buried
Some things should stay in the dirt and he's one of them and I'm one of them and you're not.

*******, you're not.
L Aug 2014
Today was interesting. I primed my walls. They used to be pink. Now I'm painting them grey. This is symbolic, I think. What would the girl who picked out the pink paint ten years ago think about her choices now? I don't know. It's pointless to ask. She won't answer.

The paint can looked like my fishbowl. My fishbowl is empty now. My fish died. He was purple. Until he died. Then he was grey. I poked him with a pencil. He felt funny. Definitely dead.

The fish was purple and then grey and dead. The walls were pink and then grey. Are they dead? Is my room dead? I think it might be. Or maybe I'm dead. I don't really know.

I feel dead sometimes. Today I ate a lollipop. I think I went numb because next thing I know the lollipop is gone and so is half the lollipop stick. It tasted like cardboard. It hadn't hurt me so far so I finished eating the cardboard-flavored lollipop stick. It made my stomach feel funny. But I wasn't numb anymore.
L Aug 2014
I can't let myself think about you anymore
Or your hands
Or where you put your hands
Or the way it felt when you put your hands on me
Or the gentle sighs I exhaled because it felt so good
Oops
I'm thinking about how it felt
And That's Not Allowed
I can't think about that day at the amusement park
Or us getting lost
Or why we got lost
Because I put the map in my back pocket
And told you if you wanted it you had to get it
I can't think about the photo booth there
Or the reason it took us twenty minutes to take one picture
Such a bad picture of such a good day
Oops
I'm thinking about it again
And That's Not Allowed
I can't think about the car ride home
I can't think about when we stopped for dinner and your parents went inside to order
We stayed in the car
I can't think about that
I can't think about the countless movies we pretended to watch while our eyes were too busy getting lost in the moment
Or how it felt to have your lips pressed against my neck
The stubble on your chin tickled in a good way
Your neck tasted good
I hope mine did
I can't think about you telling me to be careful
Don't leave a mark
And me ignoring you
I wanted to leave a mark
I wanted a piece of myself with you
I can't think about the long hugs when your hands wandered down from my waist to my hips
And sometimes (every time) even farther
Or the way you pulled me closer
And closer
And c l o s e r
Until I could feel you
Really feel you
For the first time
I can't think about the first time I fell asleep on you
You were explaining the origin of your last name
Your stupid last name that I thought would be mine someday
Oops
I'm thinking about it
And That's Not Allowed
I remember where I was sitting when you told me you liked me
I remember what I was wearing when you said I was your favorite
I remember it
But I'm not allowed to think about it
I can't think about the way you smelled--
Like sweat and febreeze and something spicy I could never place
Or how soft your hair was
Or how rough your hands were
Or how I got lost in your eyes
Those big brown eyes
I loved them
But ******* I can't think about them
That's Not Allowed
I can't think about your voice
It was my favorite lullaby
Or the goofy side your never let anyone see
Anyone except me
Why me
Why did you need to break me?
I miss you
I love you
But I can't think about you anymore
That's Not Allowed.
L Aug 2014
Bad boys don't always come wrapped in leather jackets and cigarette smoke
But the scent of your Newport 100s stayed in my hair for weeks and weeks
And I scrubbed and scrubbed
And it didn't come out
It wouldn't come out
I remember your breath but not like yesterday
I wish your *****-stained lips had been on mine yesterday
I wish I didn't strain to remember
I wish I didn't beg to forget.
Last night I found myself smiling at the thought of your touch
I pinched myself
SNAP OUT OF IT WAKE UP NO NO NO
Reminding myself of the marks you left is worse than when you actually left
I'd like to think you were my knight in shining armor
But your armor was stolen and your knighthood was feigned and I'm just as dumb as the girls in fairytales for ever believing otherwise
You called me your butterfly
I never expected you to destroy my wings and leave me stranded
Your scar is still there, right there on my cheek, did you ever notice?
Did you ever see the others?
Did you ever care to look?
Your father never taught you how to treat a lady
Your mother never let you see her cry
And I never saw what was coming until it was too late right in my face no way to dodge or run or scream or get away
I wish I had gotten away
I wish I had known that not all bad boys own motorcycles and not all bad boys sneer and not all bad boys look like bad boys at all
Because you were a bad boy
And I still can't believe it.
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