L: Poems

Jul 2018 · 238

lucy

L Jul 2018

lucy

when people ask my favorite color i say yellow because it's easier to say that than to try and explain that my favorite color is the soft gradient of pale yellow into bluish purple that you can only really see at 5am in the summer

Jun 2018 · 4.4k

alaska

L Jun 2018

alaska

i feel like i’m made of glass
and last february,
you broke me.
i shattered.

you didn’t know
and you didn’t care
and you just. kept. pushing.

i broke into a million jagged pieces
and you
you took some of them with you.
i can’t get them back
and i’m not stupid enough to try.

you shattered me
and i was careless enough
to cut myself in the wreckage.

nothing was the same.

you broke me when i said no
and i thought
maybe
i could put myself back together
by saying yes--
again, and again, and again.
to strangers.
to friends.
to anyone who would listen,
and now all of my bridges are in flames
and i’m getting burned.

do you know what happens to burning glass?
i do.
it’s happening to me

and i’m starting to fly away in the wind,
slipping through my own fingers
like sand on the beach.
scattered so far
and so wide
that finding my way back together is like searching
for a single grain
on the ocean floor.

i'm drowning in my past
searching
for a lifeline
reaching for anything--
for anyone--
that will take me
that will tape me back together

#**** #recovery #survivor #broken #sad #alone

Jun 2018 · 451

împărțită

L Jun 2018

împărțită

broken souls don't mix.
you'll both walk away,
wondering--
why are some of your best pieces
headed the other direction?

broken people attract broken people
because broken people need someone
to understand their brokenness.
you can be happy
and broken--
but you can’t be broken
and together

sometimes learning to let go
is more important than fighting to stay
and sometimes no matter how hard
you try
to force things to work--
they
just
won’t

don’t let yourself be fooled
after all, if it were love--
if it were love--
he’d be here
and
at least for a moment
you wouldn’t feel so alone

Jul 2016 · 443

psych 1110

L Jul 2016

psych 1110

when i was in seventh grade i thought i was thin
i had never looked at my body and thought it wasn't good enough or compared myself to anyone else or gave a **** about the numbers.
when i was in eighth grade a girl called me fat
it resonated with me. it bounced around in my head every second of every day and i began to look at other girls and see that i wasn't like them, i wasn't thin, i wasn't perfect, i wasn't good enough.
when i was in ninth grade i started to believe her
i hated my body every night i would lay awake and pinch my fat and cry until i fell asleep because i hated myself and everything about me
when i was in tenth grade i stopped eating
i remember the first day like it was yesterday, i took more food than the other girls and for the first time i noticed. i didn't eat like a girl and maybe not eating would make up for the years i'd spent as a whale.
when i was in eleventh grade i knew i was thin
but i didn't care. a girl saw me in the halls and told me i should be a model and all i heard was "keep starving, get better" so that's what i did and it made the hunger pains and fainting spells feel almost worth it.
when i was in twelfth grade i decided to get better
better is a nice way of saying fat (it was a mistake and that's all there is to it)
when i went to college things got good again
and by good i mean bad, at least i think i do, because i got thin and unhappy but i was unhappier before so at least i was thin again, right? no one noticed and no one cared except a university counselor who spewed a bunch of textbook ******* about loving myself until i finally quit calling her back.
now i don't know what to do
two options before me but only one in my hands and it represents the girl i will become. "you could be a model" or "you're so fat" are phrases i say to myself every day and i wish it wasn't that way but it is.
dear future me:**
are you better? or are you thin? because you know you can't ever be both.

Jul 2016 · 380

i'm sorry

L Jul 2016

i'm sorry

your touch is burned into my skin and i
can't get away. you're in my dreams and
every time i close my eyes it's like you're
right back here, in my room, in my head,
in me. silence has become my best friend
and my biggest fear. i have become silent
and afraid. silence brings back every little
memory. your hair was soft and frizzy. at
first i found it endearing. that did not last
long. you were gentle through it all, and it
really confused me. how could something
so gentle be so wrong? i wasn't silent then.
you knew what i wanted, and what i didn't.
maybe if i had been silent things wouldn't
have happened. maybe if i'm silent now i
can pretend it didn't happen. maybe if no
one knows and no one cares, maybe then i
can stop knowing. stop caring. stop seeing
your face everywhere i go. stop flinching if
i ever hear your name. it feels like you stole
my voice. you're gone, but you're still here.
you'll never leave and you'll never listen to
me. i said no. you said yes. and that's what
mattered.

i don't want to feel like this anymore. i don't want to feel anything anymore.

Mar 2016 · 405

i miss vodka

L Mar 2016

i miss *****

I just feel numb all the time it's like I'm in my body but not really it's like my body is a prison slowly draining me of anything worth speaking of.
Do you ever feel like your body has betrayed you? I have. I do.
Nothing looks the way it sounds and people don't think before they speak anymore. No one cares and nothing matters.
If I go back to that place would she still be there? No.
There's a playground I think about when I want to die and I like to imagine that the happy version of me has lived at that playground ever since she left me but I know she's not there. I killed her and her absence is killing me.
Every ounce of me is stuck in my head and my chest is empty. I think too much and breathe too little and I think I'm going to die.
When the world stops making sense, start making nonsense. You'll never know what that means because I'll never tell.
Endings are harder than middles but the middles still ****.
Goodnight.

Mar 2016 · 321

wtf

L Mar 2016

***

let the lights come over you
and eat your soul away
and nothing is like it used to be
and you like it that way
sometimes when he says goodbye you wish he meant it
and sometimes when he says hello you can't help but regret it
he never seems like the man he is
lies aren't always told with words
and sometimes all you want is a hug.

Mar 2016 · 392

i'm not on drugs but i'd probably be happier if i was stoned

L Mar 2016

i'm not on drugs but i'd probably be happier if i was ******

what does it mean to matter
what does it mean to be needed
why does everyone know the answers
why don't i
what does it feel like to belong
what does it feel like to fit in
why can't i understand
why am i here

nothing matters
and i've never felt needed
my questions go ignored
and so do i
i don't belong
i am a piece of the wrong puzzle
things are confusing
and i'm leaving today

this is such **** and i'm really sorry

Feb 2016 · 390

808 and counting

L Feb 2016

808 and counting

you took my bad life and made it good
something in your hands stopped mine from shaking
something in your smile stopped me from breaking
and everything was better.

writing about happy things is really hard but i really love him and i've never been happier

Feb 2016 · 284

fuck you

L Feb 2016

*******

what can i do to be unseen
unseen but still heard
how many days do i have to stay silent
the sound is deafening
and i am defeated.

this is about a boy who doesn't know what no means, and i don't know how to get over it.

Jan 2016 · 1.9k

vulnerability means something different now

L Jan 2016

vulnerability means something different now

nothing is the same with the lights on
your face can't hide anymore
and there are earthquakes in your hands

vulnerability means something different now
you're exposed and sometimes it feels right
sometimes it feels like nothing

nothing feels like the day you said hello
and goodbye
all at once

nothing feels like sleeping together
together
but so alone

leave the lights on
nothing feels like the shadows after you left
nothing feels like you

and vulnerability means something different now
and i see your face every time i catch a stranger's eye
and i wonder if i turned the lights on

would they see my face
would they see my past
would i feel something again

nothing is the same with the lights on
and everything feels like you
everything feels like you

uiefjdknmls;skjfbkvjnldkc;mkdjwefnvdsc **** me please

Jan 2016 · 921

cinderella

L Jan 2016

cinderella

you get inebriated and scream at your walls to love you back
smashing bottle after bottle on the face in the mirror yelling "*******" and meaning "love me"
telling your pastor you're a ***** whose only price is someone who will listen
you'll take your clothes off for anyone who asks but hide from anything that makes you feel real
don't show them your crying eyes
don't tell them what you think about at night
just let them use you and it will all be okay
"it will all be okay"--
the words bounce around in your head like a pushpin in a balloon because what if it's never okay
stop--just keep going
just keep lying
smile, don’t frown, it will all be okay
maybe this time will make it okay
maybe this time will be different
maybe this one won't leave more holes in you than he can fill
maybe it will be okay
every man you meet becomes the next needle on your compass and you always end up lost
their eyes are your looking glass and their gaze captures everything you want to be
but crooked mirrors from crooked souls warp your view
and you wonder why your perception is skewed
distorting the things that they’ll never love thinking maybe it will be okay
maybe they'll stay
you're vulnerable on purpose
they know it and you don't care
you let them have you
all of you
soon there is nothing left
you drink to find yourself again
you get inebriated and scream at your walls to love you back.

different but honest

Nov 2015 · 1.1k

house of cards and gusts of wind

L Nov 2015

house of cards and gusts of wind

listen, there's a fire deep inside the places so unknown
where the orphans and the rejects found a place to call their home
and it's crumbling to the ground
watch now, loners and their lovers must avoid the flames below
while they hold their breath and hands and disappear into the smoke
and they're fading quick, like ghosts
nothing looks the way it should and footprints trail across the street
dragging soot and ash and sorrow on the bottoms of their feet
someone smells of gasoline

there's a flood within the mothership and no one inside swims
noses struggle and make bubbles and their lungs can't seem to win
water overwhelms and drowns
memories of a brighter moment thrown aside by crashing waves
someone used to love the ocean and the salty sunny days
oh my, how things have changed

nothing was the same

you look down at your hands and notice drops of gasoline
you'd think the smell would wash away like water you released
your home was trying to grow legs and longed to finally be free
your only happy healthy hideaway was so far out of reach

you had no choice
but to **** and drown and hurt
you had no choice
you watched the home you just built burn

something about destruction pulls you close and draws you in
losing everything you've known before it leaves just means you win
nothing's changed, you've always been this way
lighting matches, digging your own shallow grave

Nov 2015 · 354

Untitled

L Nov 2015

Untitled

I don’t expect you to understand me because right now I can’t even understand myself. It’s like I’m purposefully pressing my self-destruct button. No, it’s like I already have it pressed and I’m fighting myself every single day to keep my finger on it. To not let it up. Because as long as it’s not released it won’t go off. My life is like a grenade and I’ve pulled the pin. I don’t know why. Sometimes – scratch that, oftentimes—I sit awake at night and I think about how to die. Sometimes I almost follow through. The button slowly inches upwards under my finger. I’m not always strong enough to keep it pressed. I’m almost certain that things will end for me. My pain here seems to far outweigh the pain of those I’d leave behind. I’m scared of myself. I don’t want to hurt anyone but I want to die. I want to die. How am I supposed to reconcile that? My brain is broken. I’m broken. I don’t see a cure, but no one else sees the cracks. I feel like when I shattered—and who knows when that was, I could’ve been born like this—when I shattered, I think some of my pieces went missing. How can I fix myself if I don’t have all of the pieces? How can I ever be okay again? I imagine myself as a teapot that was dropped because it burned. Now I’m a leaky good for nothing pile of porcelain that will never do anyone any good. It hurts to feel like this. I just want to stop hurting.

Sep 2015 · 2.8k

criss cross

L Sep 2015

criss cross

of all the things i've ever loved
you deserve it most,
and i am inadequate.
if drinking's a sin
and drugs are expensive
how am i to numb this?
i've never craved anesthesia
until tonight

school taught me about bones
but it never mentioned
how caged they would make me feel
i'm trapped in this body
restricted by the only thing that's truly mine

no one likes a broken mind
everyone pities the girl with scars

and i don't understand
why some are born happy
and others with a deathwish

and maybe i'm not meant
for this life

Apr 2015 · 904

haunted

L Apr 2015

haunted

so here i am again
staring at nothing
wondering where it is that i went wrong this time
and your last words echo
over and over and over
"don't call back"
you're a ghost now
and i still see you
walking the halls at night
doing the things we used to
laughing the way we used to
loving me like you used to
it's haunting
and i feel chills from nowhere
like your hands are still on me
still moving me
still holding me
like i know you never will again
and i haven't slept in weeks
and the middle of my bed
is relearning how to hold just me
because i can't stand sleeping on my side
while yours remains vacant
and i can't stand to look in mirrors
because my eyes are the same
vacant
and empty
and your clothes still hug my frame
like i wish you would
they don't keep me warm like you did
and you didn't leave reasons
and you didn't apologize
and i was left to wonder where i went wrong
but you got lucky
you don't see ghosts at night
or hear phantom laughter
or feel chills in the dark
because you weren't left to wonder
you just left

Mar 2015 · 383

selective atheism

L Mar 2015

selective atheism

i don't believe in silence. sometimes my mind won't shut up and when it will, something else won't. i don't believe in nothing. you can't think about nothing and you can't do nothing and you can't want nothing. those are lies our minds tell us when they run out of sensible things to say. i don't believe in forgetting. memories are more than chalk drawings on sidewalk. they don't wash away when the weather changes. you can scrub and scrub until your fingers bleed and you will still see his face every time you blink. i believe in noise. i believe in thoughts so loud that your high school history teacher asks about them. i believe in thoughts so intruding that you begin to question if they're coming from someone else. i believe in something. i believe in liars claiming otherwise. i believe in something so strong that you're scared to admit its existence. i believe in remembering. i believe in tattooing your favorite moments onto your heart in clashing colors and obnoxious patterns so that every passerby can imagine them with you. i believe in holding on to your favorite days so ferociously that God himself couldn't pry them from you.

Oct 2014 · 533

I don't know why I can't see

L Oct 2014

I don't know why I can't see

My heart is cold and my eyes are tired and I don't know why I can't see
I don't know why you can't see
My hands are shaking my lips are quaking the thoughts don't come the words aren't taking and I don't know why I can't be
I can't be what I see as me
Time flows and he goes and she won't throw words from her throat into the air I'm in despair I can't displace what's in the space behind my face
I don't know why I can't see
I don't know why I can't be me
Shallow breathing heartbeats receding the gentle pleading to keep you from leaving the spot that ought to hold my thoughts behind my face but still I race to fill that space with who I am
I don't know why I can't see
I don't know who I'm pretending to be
Tonight I fight with all my might to find a light to make it right but I don't know who I'll say I am I don't know what's in my plan and I don't know why I can't see
I don't know why I want to see me
Happy days and sleepless nights and times without even a slight clue as to who I should try to be
I don't know why I can't see
I don't know why I can't see

Aug 2014 · 1.1k

original sin

L Aug 2014

original sin

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 · 546

a letter to three boys

L Aug 2014

a letter to three boys

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.

Aug 2014 · 1.3k

I Always Shave My Right Leg First

L Aug 2014

I Always Shave My Right Leg First

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.

Aug 2014 · 1.0k

the long list of things i'm no longer allowed to think about

L Aug 2014

the long list of things i'm no longer allowed to think about

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.

Aug 2014 · 722

butterfly

L Aug 2014

butterfly

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.

Aug 2014 · 459

you'd hate me for writing this

L Aug 2014

you'd hate me for writing this

sorry
im sorry you dont want to see the way I look at you
im sorry you cant stand the sight of me
im sorry about the way things ended im sorry for the fighting and yelling and betrayal
im sorry for the things that I said
im sorry for the way you feel
im sorry that I threw three years away and im sorry that I ever kept count
im sorry for loving him more than I love you
im sorry for not being able to change that
im sorry that you wanted me to
im sorry your friends still mention my name im sorry for the memories it triggers
im sorry for the dumb birthday present and im sorry i got mad when you called it dumb
im sorry for telling you things you didnt want to hear about people you didnt want to think about
im sorry im one of those people now
im sorry I do those things.
im sorry for calling you by your full name
im sorry for being the reason you hate that name
im sorry for every goodbye I ever said to you
im sorry for not holding your hand or giving a **** when you gave a ****
im sorry I hurt you
im sorry you hurt me
and im sorry you hate the word sorry
that's my fault too
and im so so sorry.

— The End —