thee woman Jul 15
My words aren’t perfect
Sure as not kind
But I wish someone could
Realize the words that
I speak or the
Words that I write
Are just glimpses
Of what goes on in my mad mind.
I must confess I do want to stab you with my words and peel back your eyelids and watch you cry, engrave my angered soul into yours, and watch you lie awake wondering what goes through my mind.  I confess another - as much as it bothers you, it will bother me, knowing the eighth ugliest part of me has escaped, and widespread.
And that eighth does not care, for
It’s just a glimpse of
My mad mind.
thee woman Jul 10
j.h
my first crush committed suicide.
i remember the hurt at a young age
from chasing him around his living room
begging him for a kiss.
from my young age i knew i wanted him
in my life forever.
through his weaves and gagging
running around the furniture and up the stairs,
losing him sounded foreign then
and having lost him now, still feels the same.
our fathers drank and our mothers giggled
born three months apart
our future planned together
both saying "i do"
uniting us all together.
life flew on by
us both fighting with ourselves
and downing the bottles underneath the bed
loaded and silenced
family portraits painted in red
long life memories all put to rest.
only one made it out alive
but it's hard to breathe
out of us how was it me
and you in a little box
where a diamond ring should be.
my mind keeps wondering
when will i stop chasing you
then my heart replays
every time you turned a corner
you looked over your shoulder
and how you smiled at me.
i miss you
thee woman Jul 9
i beg of others to write me
write me in the light of a million stars
where my body holds too much depth
but enough essence to stretch me across
the midnight skies
where my scars look like stars
and my tears assemble meteor showers.
write me what you see
like i am the epicenter of your galaxy
write to me how you think i am, a
light in your eclipse and not a closeted-sin.
describe me as if you're an astronaut
discovering a land too beautiful to behold
one deserving of precision, caressing,
and patriotism.
a place where you exceed all caution
indulging in the feeling of extraterrestrial,
seeing it as something quirky and otherworldly
and not wonder why it's labeled inhabitable.
write of me from down below the stratosphere
where the stars look less bright
and the sky more gray.
for those who feel less than beautiful

— The End —