Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
scully May 16
It's a funny thing to lay next to someone, to sleep with them in a bed.
I can start off close and drift away in the summer heat, morning  brandishing my dreams until it rattles me awake, gasping for sunlight. I can account for the missing space between our bodies, getting drunk on the warmth of his skin and waking tangled up in his curly hair. I can count the stars and talk to the moon while I trace my name into his palm with a finger, listening to the sound of his even breathing and the steady drum of his heartbeat. The world is quiet when my lover is asleep, my heart takes a deep breath and the soul pauses. I exhale all of the days worries in the middle of the night when he takes my hand and pulls me closer to him. In the spring time, we wake up further apart than we are used to, and my sleepy head turns to face him, and it's like waking up all over again. That moment where we are remembering the bed, the person in it, coming back to life, and he runs his hand down my back and kisses my forehead. "I've missed you," every morning, like a daily prayer for our survival, for another day of bliss.
this was going to be longer but I think ive said enough
scully Apr 18
My grief and I are well-acquainted.
Two strangers sharing the same body.
How else to explain grief but as a mirror?
The grief and my body.
The grief or my body,
It is my grief every time.
I torture it,
I lay in it,
I set it on fire.
A still burning star,
A still living thing,
A still life of my first night alone.
The room is still, too.
It does not breathe
It does not turn over, reach for my hand,
Cough, or flutter its eyelids open onto my face.
It is just a room with two bodies.
I hold my grief,
I do.
I hold it until it stops bleeding,
Until it too is a lifeless thing,
I hold it.
How many more times can I say I miss you
without flinching?
How do you write about what it should've been without sounding like an *******?
Without losing yourself in the fantasy?
Like a hymn,
I give my grief to God but it doesn't go anywhere.
This is where the poet in me stops breathing,
And it hurts,
It hurts,
It hurts to breathe.
Pulsating through my body like adrenaline,
Fueling these poems with empty traces of your name.
The grief opens my mouth and says your name.
Over and over,
Chanting pleas of worship.
How are you still standing?
The grief knocks me over,
Like mid-day waves against the rocks,
And now I am a hollow body of devotion,
I tend to my grief like a garden
On my hands and knees,
and watch it
Grow into weeds.
At least there is life here somewhere.
I lay in my grief.
Two bodies laying in the dirt.
How can you just stand there and watch me die?
scully Mar 17
I AM WAGING WAR UPON MYSELF.
THEY TELL ME IT TAKES GRACE TO REMAIN KIND IN
CRUEL CIRCUMSTANCES.
IF THATS THE CASE,
THEN I AM HATEFUL,
I AM HEARTLESS.
I AM SPITEFUL.
GRASPING TO THE RUINS OF WHAT WE USED TO BE,
THRASHING LIKE A WOUNDED ANIMAL.
SHARDS OF GLASS PEAKING OUT FROM MY RIBCAGE,
IF YOU COULD SEE ME NOW.
IF YOU COULD SEE ME NOW.
IF YOU COULD SEE
ME NOW.
I'VE ALWAYS BEEN ONE TO CLING TO LIFE,
TO SEARCH FOR A BREATH IN LIFELESSNESS,
TO HOLD OUT FOR A HEARTBEAT.
I USED TO THINK IT WAS A CONVENIENCE,
TO FIND LOVE IN EVERY THING I SEE.
WE LOCK EYES AND I CAN HANG THAT LOOK LIKE A PICTURE ON THE WALLS OF MY CHEST.
I USED TO THINK IT WAS A SACRIFICE,
TO BLEED FOR EVERY MAN I TOUCH.
BUT I CAN'T BE TAMED,
I CAN'T BE HELPED,
THIS HAS MADE ME UNRECOGNIZABLE IN THE FACE OF KINDNESS.
BECAUSE YOU WERE SO CRUEL THAT I HAVE BEEN FIGHTING A WAR SINCE YOU LEFT.
AND I AM SCREAMING THROUGH THE BULLET WOUNDS,
DEPRAVED THE WAY YOU MADE ME.
BUT THIS TIME, I AM CHANTING A DIFFERENT PRAYER.
I AM SCREAMING INTO WHAT IS LEFT OF OUR LOVE:
"I WILL NOT DIE TO KEEP YOU WARM.
I WILL NOT BURN FOR YOU"
scully Mar 10
I can't write poetry about you because I refuse to be honest.
I've been writing like there's someone looking over my shoulder,
someone policing my thoughts.
but there's not, there's not there's not there's not and there are some things I'd like to say to you.

1. I can feel the first time you laid eyes on me in my ******* bones. like a predator. i wish I had known what I was getting myself into. I have dreams where I go back and scream at myself to turn around, to go the other way, but I can never hear myself. these are the dreams that keep me up at night.

2. I remember all of the good parts so vividly that I see them when I blink. laying out in the summer grass, wandering around with no shoes on, racing each other home, you'd win of course. I remember smoking cigarettes on your deck and sneaking into your basement to drink cheap ***** with you and pass out in your arms.

3. I remember all of the sober moments, too. The ones where you made me sit outside in the rain, kicked me out of bed and made me sleep on the floor, yelled in my face and rattled off a list of all of the horrible things you see me as. I can recite that list like poetry. I do it to myself every night.

4. When I say I need you now, I don't mean it. not really. what I really want is the version of you who would do anything for me, who looked at me with so much love, and I let my mind trail away and then I start to laugh. because I remember that the person I need so badly was never there to begin with. the person I need so badly was a reflection of your bad intentions. a mirror image of the damage you were about to unleash.

5. When I cry and my heart aches to go back and do it all over, its because ive convinced myself I deserve it. this grief has so little to do with you, and so much to do with the fact that I could never protect myself from you. I want to go back and hold that 17 year old girl so gently and tell her that she can be safe from you if she could be strong enough.

6. the first time you hit me I left town and moved 300 miles away. you slept with someone else that night. when I found out, I watched my favorite movie on repeat three times, I cried, and I vowed that when I came back home I would stay away for good. when I came back home, I ran straight into your arms. we didn't break up for another 9 months.

7. on my 19th birthday, you screamed at me for so long that I thought your voice would give out. you locked me in a hotel room and refused to let me leave. you had *** with me your way and then cried in my arms. when I asked you why you were crying you said, "because I hate you." I will remember that day for the rest of my life, and every birthday will be stained because of it.

8. and still, I wish that you would see me in a bright white light. I wish that you romanticized the way I loved you like I do the way you loved me. I wish that you could illuminate all sides of our love and look at it under a microscope, to see every crack and tear inside of it but its still a beating thing. its still a living thing.

9. except its not, and its something I remind myself of every day. there is no "home" to go back to, there is nothing to run to, only from. there is nothing more than the nothing that is left. and some days, I take comfort in this. and some days, it eats me alive.

10. I have a new home now. and its warm and its always safe, I dont ever have to bar the doors or shut the windows of this home. and it kills me that I am hanging onto you so tightly, but he loves me through all of my worst nightmares. he is doing what you could never do, what I deserved all along. so I wont thank you for the hurt that you inflicted upon me, but it lead me here. and I am so appreciative for where I am, and what I have, and what I know now, thanks to you.
scully Feb 2
I'm sitting in a cramped chair, throwing popcorn at the screen.
"I don't know what to say" - he says, and I'm laughing.
"It's okay," I tell him, and I'm about to spill over.
It's so close he can see it in the reflection of my eyes.
"I know what we are-
and I know what we are not."
I can't bare a sequel to this awful film. I can't stand to look at it any longer.
Are you making her promises you can't keep?
He's running his hands through his hair, trying to find something interesting to say,
to bend the will of someone else and knock her over just to catch her.
Did you rehearse these lines at all?
It hurts the way that love isn't supposed to, and it reminds me of when my mother told me: always be the first to leave.
Cut to:
I'm standing in the shower, washing him off of me.
He sticks to me like blood, and it stains the water red as it circles the drain.
It's a scene I haven't played before, and I'm trembling because the cameras are following me like a raincloud.
I was the bird, and I know that much.
And I gave myself to him softly, as gently as I could.
I gave him a suitcase full of bad memories and said, "here. hold this."
And maybe that's selfish, but its okay because
I'm not the main character of this story. I don't think I ever was.
I think that this story is about you.
Lets go back, shall we?
The cast resets, the cameras pan to the first time I walked past.
Boy meets girl, and he wants everything he can get his hands on.
He's hungry for experiences, things that he can only dream of doing while other people do them.
He wants to be a person who does something- anything, so he falls in love without looking at me.
Without seeing me.
Is it love if you're dangling the telephone cord over my head?
What about wrapping it around my throat?
He wants to be the kind of person who writes about love, so he tries to be everything that he thinks love should be.
But,
I'm standing in a spinning room and I hear someone yell,
"Cut!"
The cameras turn off, and I can't see the way his face contorts into something unrecognizable.
But he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds and calls it poetry for you.
Whats the difference between bleeding out of agony and bleeding out of love?
Cut to:
Us, sitting on the floor, and he's trying to wrap his arms around me so completely that I fade into the outline of his sweater.
But it doesn't feel like comfort, it feels like choking.
And I can't breathe in the space that is left in between us.
Are you trying to close the gap, or are you trying to suffocate me
So I stop making noise?
The reviews are in:
Girl Falls for the Same Trap Over and Over Again.
A tragedy,
they're saying.
A real shame that its not what it could've been.
I scribble out "my love" and write his name at the beginning of an apology note I don't finish.
I don't have anything to be sorry for,
But my love is laying open on the pavement.
He's staring at it saying,
"We can fix this."
But he won't touch it.
And I wonder what is so disgusting about me that makes him turn his head away, makes him flinch.
I wonder if I can pinpoint the moment he decided I wasn't good enough, if I could go back and say my lines better.
Give me another chance to be what you were projecting onto me.
I can be a blank screen, you can use me to watch your own highlight reel.
Its a good scene, so I cry the way that an audience is supposed to.
I clasp my hands to my chest and try to will air into my lungs
For days.
I can't play this role, I can't fill these shoes for you. I don't even know who they belong to.
"Is this how you see me?" He's asking,
And I can't tell if the pain in his voice is recited from memory.
The audience laughs, because its funny, the way
The girl gave him a bird and watched it die in his palms.
I was the bird, and I know that much.
Everyone's eyes well with tears as the credits roll,
Or maybe its just mine.
Thank you for keeping up the act for so long.
scully Jan 26
What would you like to hear?
If not to listen to the song of my voice,
If not to watch the way my eyes dance over your face,
Trying to memorize each piece as if I'll never see it again,
Then what are all of these words for?
I am breathlessly craving your touch,
If you let me,
I will inhale all of the smoke and exhale all of your secrets
So we can watch them dance away like fog over water.
I can tell by the callouses on your palms,
You've been auctioning off your love like its a yard sale.
Can you find some use for all of those old love poems?
All of the times you thought you got it just right,
How many trains stations did you have to sit in before you finally came home to my heart?
And I'll admit,
I am ardently confessing my wish of forever.
I will hand pick you promises and tie them up in a bow,
We can stick them in a glass jar and watch them grow.
Can you bleed for me, if I water this love until it sprouts thorns?
You told me,
In love, there is no point in being anything but ravenous,
No use in loving someone if it doesn't exist on the brink of tragedy,
The edge of dangerous.
Tell me,
If we take one step too far,
Will we become nothing but two bodies
Haunted by the space that is left in between us?
Will I be pricking my fingers on the stem of our forever
Like a lesson to be learned?
Leave the wild things where they are.
Let love flourish in all directions, the raving thing it is.
When you think of the future, is my hand still in your palm?
Or am I across the sea somewhere?
The sea,
You are swimming there too,
Are you looking for me in the waves that crash against the rocks?
Does it always have to be so violent?
And you laugh,
Because if it isn't life or death,
It isn't love at all.
scully Dec 2019
Sweet, like the way a flame feels on your skin before it starts to burn.
Slow, like how I fell for you in the middle of fall and kept you safe all winter long.
Don't worry about this darkness, baby.
The darkest day is almost over and the light is coming.
The light is coming.
And you tell me,
"Please never fall in love again."
And how could I? How could I find something that matches your laugh,
Or your lazy hands on my skin when the sun peaks through the windows,
or the smile that emerges when we kiss for too long and you can feel my touch wandering around, looking for scraps.
You are not like him in the best ways.
You are so gentle that it makes me feel breakable.
If you want to shatter me to pieces just have mercy. I'd rather not hear the echo of it breaking,
But I won't stop you from destroying it.
Oh, my love, this is going to hurt.
Those thoughts are a like a memory, they don't last in the illumination of your love that feels so final, so imminent like I am walking to my own grave but you are waiting for me in the dirt.
Every place, even a hole in the ground, is home when you are holding my hand.
We could never speak anything but melodies;
Anything but devotion in the spaces between breaths.
Finishing the gaps of your sentences,
You trail off and I'm there to voice the verse.
Our love dog eared like a book reread a hundred times over,
I keep coming back and reading my favorite parts aloud.
Our love like one of those movies where they say,
"if somebody gave me the choice right now, to never see you again or to marry you, I would marry you."
Tender words to throw around, to spare
I could never get tired of the way you talk about me like a metaphor for something divine,
Waking up in the middle of the night to profess my love for you,
If only to hear it come out of my mouth,
If only to watch that look spread across your face in the darkness.
That look where your eyes are to the ceiling and I know you're thanking god.
I wake you up just to kiss you and you never mind the interruption.
Our love like a hundred similes for heaven,
When you break my heart it will hurt like hell.
But we're not there yet, I'm skipping to the finale, I'm reading
Our story backwards out of fear for how it ends.
Those last pages,
Those blank pages, staring back at me, begging me to write
Some soft closure, an end that doesn't spark like a match and light
This chapter ablaze.
Let me hold onto these charred pages, I can find the ending somewhere in the smoke,
But I'm not looking for it anymore, I leave the poems unfinished
And the book open wide.
I'm trying to write a love poem that isn't caked in sadness and you show me how to move my hands just right.
You show me where to touch and when to kiss, you teach me
All the mechanisms for a happy ending, and you hold it in your hands like a gift you're giving to me every morning.
This anecdote like a never ending tragedy that all love is destined to become.
We are not All love, we are not People, we are the main characters for the greatest adventure ever written.
We sing poetry back and forth and neither of us are bleeding.
I will reread this over and over,
Keep it in my back pocket for the train,
Let the rain soak it and the sun dry it completely,
Destroy it,
And when it falls apart in my hands
I will get on my knees and scrawl my favorite lines in chalk on the asphalt.
I will write them in the smoke of mirrors, in our coffee cups,
On our pillowcases.
I will tell this story,
Our story,
Over and over like a lesson I am trying to learn.
You move my hands just right across the paper and it looks like love.
Next page