Sarah Simonian: Favorites

Jul 2013 Sarah Simonian

Alyssa Rose Naimoli

I wish I was beautiful,
with diamonds in my eyes,
and flowers in my hair.

I wish I was sweet,
like the scent of subtle lavender,
and cherries on my lips.

I wish I was delicate,
like watercolor stained glass,
and you, holding me like I might
flutter away any second.

I wish I was lovely,
with my heart on my sleeve,
and adoration on my face.

I wish I was graspable,
like something soft to get you by,
yet something hard enough
so you'd never say goodbye.

I wish I was beautiful,
with light pink fingertips,
and a smile on my face.

I wish I could identify,
with all the words you call me.
But I am not as pretty or,
as fragile, or as lovely,
as you say I can be.

Jul 2013 Sarah Simonian

these words aren’t about you

Jul 2013 Sarah Simonian

Chris

these words aren’t about you

These words aren’t about you.
They’re about the person I let rent space
inside my heart.
They’re about the times I wished I could go back
and say to them, “No it’s okay, you can stay longer
I don’t care if your payment is late."
Because having you there was enough.
But these words aren’t about you.
They’re for the person still hiding behind these drained eyes.
These shaking fingers.
These weak limbs.
And I’m still not sure which is better;
to feel everything at once or nothing at all.
Because sometimes it is both,
and you are the gushing waters drowning my lungs.
And sometimes it is neither,
and you are the words I wish I could take back.
We always left so many of them unsaid,
letting our bodies do the talking.
But now I wonder how many conversations
we’ve had with each other when we
thought we were asleep.

Jul 2013 Sarah Simonian

5:40

Jul 2013 Sarah Simonian

Sin

5:40

sometimes I trace the bottoms
of my fingers and down my palm,
I draw circles around my wrists

silently reminding myself
that there are no cracks,

that I am whole.

I run my eyes along the ceiling,
scanning desperately for a sign,
thinking maybe ghosts carved their names

between the ridges and the miniature shadows.
I sink my head into my pillow,

hoping maybe I will get
swallowed without a sound,
and I will drown,

like I almost did when I was eleven,

and I banged my ribs and burned my lungs
with black, dead water.

sometimes I have these moments alone

where your slow breathing
still won't calm me, not even the humming
of planes gliding through sky.

its 5:40 AM and my world is silent
but my mind is screaming.

— The End —