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Dec 2017 · 364
The End of Good
Sarah Garcia Dec 2017
The End of Good
I was so good for so long

I was good when I was 10
I was good when they would fight about the other woman
I was good when I pretended I didn't know the truth

I was good when I was 13
I was good when they were stressed from work
I was good when they said it was my fault
I was good when I believed it was my fault

I was good when I was 15
I wasn't top of my class
I couldn’t get the scholarship
they couldn't pay the bills
but I was good
I was good when I let it be my fault

I was good when I was 17
I was good when they fought about the other man
I was good because I was a punching bag
I was good because I didn’t scream
I was good because I didn’t tell anyone

I was good until I was 18

When I realized I didn't want to be good anymore
because the bruises on my body
and the scratches on my face
and the nights I spent drowning my screams in the overflowing tub
and the blood seeping through my pajama sleeves
and the empty prescription bottles
and the Christmas morning I woke up with a headache
because I didn't take enough pills to not wake up at all

were never going to be good enough.
Continue reading...
Nov 2016 · 430
a funeral
Sarah Garcia Nov 2016
a funeral
I attended a funeral today
alarmed by how much I could relate
to the body in a casket
however,
envious of the way death chose her
over me
but what’s new?
standing in the middle of the street
headlights approaching
my body is numb from the cold
a familiar feeling of nothing
that still hurts
the headlights slow their haste
I stay for a moment
disappointed in their choice
perhaps another time
we’ll meet again
Continue reading...
Oct 2016 · 771
fall
Sarah Garcia Oct 2016
fall
it’s gradually getting colder;
sweater weather,
two statements that remind me of you
the other day
a girl told me she sat in her car
waiting for a stop sign to turn green
without the slightest clue as to how much I could relate
in both the literal and figurative sense
I refuse to drink coffee anymore
I can’t look into brown eyes
I used to think Monday mornings were the worst
now every morning is a proverbial Monday
without your presence
this bed is always empty
even with me in it
this house is not a home
just a structure
filled with empty bottles
that echo your name
and faded photographs
that bear a strange resemblance to you
Continue reading...
May 2016 · 456
depression
Sarah Garcia May 2016
depression
at 10 years old you're telling the therapist you don't want to live anymore.
your life is constantly like reading the last page of a book and being disappointed in the way it ends.
it's the rain pounding on the roof at 2am.
day old flowers that someone has carelessly thrown in the trash.
lavender bruises on your knees.
your mom's tears when she finds you crumpled on the floor.
pill bottles of endless opportunities.
sleep is not your friend. but then again neither is being awake.
the constant reminders on your wrists even on a good day. but do you really know what a good day is?
reading obituaries and feeling envious.
fake smiles are part of your everyday attire.
  watching the person you love walk away like there's only one channel on the television.
they couldn't understand why you just wouldn't be happy.
170 miles an hour on the highway makes you feel alive.
funny how when you're closest to death your happiness is at its peak.
coincidence? I think not.
Continue reading...
Apr 2016 · 577
vacancy
Sarah Garcia Apr 2016
vacancy
empty rooms remind me of you
empty pill bottles have become guests that overstay their welcome in my home
your empty promises are my lullaby to drown out the silence of the night
I call just to hear your voicemail in case I forget what you sound like
as if I'll ever forget your voice the day you said goodbye
most vacant spaces bare a strange resemblance to my heart since then
Continue reading...
Apr 2016 · 470
I want...
Sarah Garcia Apr 2016
I want...
I want your hands to be permanently fitted around the edges of my mattress
I want you to know what your name sounds like in every octave of my screams
I want you to kiss the carpet burns on my knees
I want my heartbeat to run through your veins with your hands wrapped around my throat
I want you to know every square inch of my room in the dark
I want the missing puzzle piece to my bedroom to be in the shape of you
I want to memorize every inch of your body in every light
I want your fingerprints to be permanently impressed on my thighs
I want my handprints to decorate your mirror
I want you to say my name when the waiter asks for your order
I want the neighbors to know when I've spent the night
I want to know what it's like to be a piece of art pinned against your wall
I want to record the symphony of our bodies colliding and listen to it when I can't sleep at night
I want to be an abstract artist who sketches on your back and calls it "lust"
I want you to go to church to repent the sins of the night before
But I want you to know what heaven feels like
Continue reading...
Apr 2016 · 434
a stranger
Sarah Garcia Apr 2016
a stranger
I see no resemblance of you
in the body that used to be yours
Continue reading...
Mar 2016 · 451
19 days
Sarah Garcia Mar 2016
19 days
I have no concept of time anymore
ask me what today is
I’ll say
19 days since you left
the impressions of your fingertips still linger on my skin
the words on the page only form your name
ironic because all books have an end
so I guess I’ll stay on this page forever
I swear I hear your voice calling my name
but the wind settles and it is silent again
I hope you read the letters I wrote to you
but I can’t seem to remember if I ever sent them
I can only recall
the bloodstains on the carpet
and my screams echoing off the walls
Continue reading...
Mar 2016 · 510
sweet nothing
Sarah Garcia Mar 2016
sweet nothing
I had a dream
that you called
to tell me you were waiting outside my door
uninvited
unexpected
after months of unreturned calls
you took my hand the way you used to
and pulled me to your waist
whispering sweet nothings into my ear
that’s all they were
just words
that meant nothing
with a faint sweet aftertaste
left on your tongue
that I couldn’t get enough of
I woke up
to the familiar scent of dried blood
an empty bottle of pills
and sweet nothings echoing in my head
Continue reading...
Mar 2016 · 392
Untitled
Sarah Garcia Mar 2016
Untitled
and now she’s screaming
at the top of her lungs
because she can’t bear to lose him
and she doesn’t have enough tears inside her
to drown herself before he goes
Continue reading...
Mar 2016 · 389
The Sea
Sarah Garcia Mar 2016
The Sea
The sea reminded her so much him
The way all of the people who passed were drawn to it
It is so beautiful in every light
The way the sun revealed its depths in shades of blue
And then at night, when there is no light to reveal its mysteries
the way it crashes against the rocks on the shore is the only indication of how it feels

She loved to be in the sea
The way the waves enveloped her body
That is the closest she’d ever get to him again
Its hands wiped away her tears but each time she reached out to hold them they slipped away

She let the sea fill her lungs the way he had once before

The sea reminded her too much of him
Continue reading...
Mar 2016 · 544
the difference between us
Sarah Garcia Mar 2016
the difference between us
He forgets her name after three beers and several glasses of whiskey.
She can’t sleep because his name is the only thing on her mind.
A stranger takes his hand; he doesn’t care to know her name.
She muffles her sobs with a pillow, unaware of the reality of her fears.
He takes her to his apartment and touches her like he knows her name.
Another morning, she wakes up alone.
He wakes up next to another girl with another name he doesn’t remember.
Continue reading...
Mar 2016 · 787
through a taxi window
Sarah Garcia Mar 2016
through a taxi window
maybe it was a fit of nostalgia

or the way the light reflected off the glass

but I swore in passing

I saw you

and for a split second

my heart stopped

whether out of fear or joy

I cannot say

however

at second glance

it was a stranger

so perhaps it was you after all
Continue reading...
Mar 2016 · 430
4 a.m.
Sarah Garcia Mar 2016
4 a.m.
I woke up
to the pounding of the rain on the roof
with the cruel misconception
that it was your heartbeat
I lay
listening
as the raging storm reminded me
of the way we used to ****
I admit to the sick thought
that I hope you call her my name in bed
and I hope it leaves you wanting more
and that the rain streaming down the window pane
reminds you of my face
when I watched you walk away
Continue reading...
Mar 2016 · 739
sunday mornings
Sarah Garcia Mar 2016
sunday mornings
I’m waiting for the night
that I can sleep all the way through
without waking up in tears
because of the dream that I had lost you
and the day that I stop looking out my window
waiting for your car to pull up the driveway
you used to say
“I want to be all of your Sunday mornings and Friday nights and every day in between”
now here I am on a Tuesday night
and I’d rather slit the veins in my wrist
than feel the pain in my chest
because of the vacant space in my drawer
where your sweaters used to be
and the toothbrush you left by the sink
that I refuse to move
in case you decide to come home
but I deleted your number in my phone
to pretend that I was in control
yet it’s the first combination my fingers type
when the bottle is empty
on a Saturday night
but I know on Sunday morning
you’ll be waking up in a bed that isn’t mine
Continue reading...

— The End —