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18.2k · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Sometimes you say
I have oceans in my eyes.
Not once have I thought
That so.

My eyes are thin
And grey;
They are no "silver lining".

The green that lines them
Is not seaweed,
But the mold of a past

You have told me my eyes
Are reflective.
But they simply harbor the
Colors of lonely skies
And mismatched loves.

You have described beauty
And freedom
Within my irises.

But I can't see them
Unless there's a layer
Of glass between.

I don't see the oceans.
8.3k · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Your skin is comfortable
Beneath my palms.
Tanned from one-and-a-half

I am captivated.
I want to curl up
Within the pores.

It smells of experience
And trials;
Sad and sweet.

Your skin is soft
From years of having
To be tough.

I am in love
With your skin.

I am in love with you.
5.2k · Aug 2014
Kisses (Actuality)
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Chills run down your spine  
Caress with a caress, tender
Breaking a physical valve, meander
Touch to touch, unkeeping of the line
Unplanned, a mystery thick as pine
Feeling, shaking like thunder
Nothing short of splendor
Heart breaking without time

Pulling away from rush
Far from appeasement
No longer engrossed, no longer heated lush
Cold like the words he meant
Stinging like fireside brush
Kisses from fervent

*14 April
3.8k · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
We have
A pair
Of demons
That constantly
Cover our
Eyes and
Rip open
Our chests.
They wrap
Us up
In chains
And yank
On our
Throats. We
Are always
In a
Duet with
Our devils,
And they
Know every
Step. We
Trip and
Fall, but
I will
Not hide.

My devils'
Duet will
Not be
My death.

I will
Not let
Them push
Me. I
Will not
Fall down.

The duet
is over.

*I win
918 · Aug 2014
Birthday Cards (Nostalgia)
allissa robbins Aug 2014
It all kind of
Blurs together,
The mishaps
And "what if"s.

The well-wishes
Of old friends
Etched carelessly
With bleeding ink.

Looking through
Yearbooks, trapped
Behind cartilage cages.

When you think
About it all too
Hard, your lungs
Do a flip-flop.

But when you don't
Think about it at all,
Your skull feels bare.

Is the name
Of the game.
829 · Sep 2014
Lines of Conversation
allissa robbins Sep 2014
Between the lines of conversation, you have the words. The fragments of thoughts that seep through letter after letter combination. Emotion and experience placed in the minute spaces within the letters. Each phrase is a cracked door. Opened ever so slightly, but enough to catch a glimpse of its contents. Between the lines of conversation, you have your Leo Tolstoys and your Virginia Woolfs. You have an idea of the artistry of living. You have the ability to keep breathing. Between the lines of conversation, you have the hesitations and the “Wait a minute”s. You have the slow, heavy “I love you”s. You have “I miss you”s and “Don’t forget about me”s. Between the lines of conversation, though, you also get your “*******”s and your “Leave me be”s. You have relentless chasing and lonely nights. Your messy break-ups and flaccid first loves. When you have a conversation, it is more than thin letter arrangement. It is response and meaning and power. Between the lines of conversation, you have the words. The fragments of thoughts that seep through letter after letter combination. You have life.
763 · Aug 2014
Sea Worthy
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Casting lungs into the sea

Suffocating beneath touching glances

Caress each troubled thought

Wait for the breathing to come back

Normal again

Stretch the edges outwardly

Breaking sea glass eyes

Secret places in the dark

Wait for the breathing to come back

Normal again

Defined flames

Of cascading salt

In my lungs

Wait for the breathing to come back

Normal again
709 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Sweaty palms, face up,

Succulents and cold coffee,

My eyes are drooping
620 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Sun-crested eyes

Bold, low lungs

Digging to the core

Of the earth

Towering edifices

Hesitating a little

Swooning to the ends

Of my hair
600 · Aug 2014
The Moon
allissa robbins Aug 2014
The Moon is yellow tonight. Perhaps from the grey clouds that blenket half of her fragile countenance. Perhaps fromt he fear that the gravitational pull that radiates from the earth may break. But it's probably result of the reflected birth of the Sun. She probably misses the dear Sun with every ton of her being. The Sun fills every crater with warmth. He makes her feel new. He holds her in his light, keeping her safe always. The Moon calls herself "just the moon", though. And much to her protests, the Sun continues to present her in the brightest yellow light every time she's full. He shows off God's creation to the universe. He makes her feel special. He makes her feel beautiful.
568 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
I write about you

A lot now

A lot more

Than I probably should

But my thoughts of you

Submerge me

Into an ocean

Of warmth
538 · Aug 2014
Untitled No. 9
allissa robbins Aug 2014
I still taste

The wax of your ChapStick

I still smell

The fresh shampoo

I still feel

Your hands on my hips

Pulling me tighter

As we join lips
530 · Aug 2014
Untitled No. 10
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Accompanied by

The smell of grass

And you.

Serenades by

The sound of sierens

and your breathing.

The warmth of your skin

touching mine.

Our lips joined

By a string of calm.

Our sighs

Could cause riots.

"I love you"s

Don't bother me


Eyes closed,

Shivers shared between us,

There is no voice...

...except the occasional giggle.
492 · Aug 2014
Lonely Does Not Mean Alone
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Your lips taste like

Blue carnations on Sunday mornings

Smell like

Freshly sharpened coloring pencils

From that expensive crafting store

Your eyes feel like

Dozens of swans’ feathers

Making up the fluff in my dreams
480 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Pressing my skin tightly,

Wrapping cold, short fingers around my edges,

My middle,



Images echoing out of my lips and

Into my ears.

“Stop doing this to yourself”,

“I can’t,

I don’t know how”.


After glass

Of water and tea,

Hopes as thin as the substances

I religiously put inside me.

Trust wearing down,

I’m stuck between two alternates,

One better than the other,

I know what my choice would be.

I gave up that choice

When I let myself go.

Started off lucky,

Never thought I’d face something like this,

At least not at 18.

I’m clutching my sides,

Staring at the space between them,

Trying to make a decision.

The decision is no longer mine,

I’m stuck until the judgment is

Finally placed.

God, help me.
461 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Closing the day, going back to remembered dusk and your heart on a spoon,

Dreamland is a little too far among the gray things, but

you see the day's tears like the end of a dream, its kind

but sorrowful temperament. You seek out

the loss written in the head's tears on the silk flowers

of June's permanent pair of spectacles.

The beauty of her remembrance clouds the outline

of the far body of chlorophorm that

fills your lungs, making the dusk less obvious

and your heart jump to your throat. So now

you're sitting on the closing of the deep things that kept

you so broken for so far and your dusk is Dreamland again and

the lids above your dark regards drop slowly over,

454 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
The clock doesn't move
On these sort of nights
When the yearning
To be in your arms
Is the strongest

My arms are buried
In the lime green sleeves
Of the shirt that smells
Of your skin

My skin turns the purple-yellow
Of your affections

My affections for you
Are bottomless

Bottomless thoughts of you
426 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
My heart is a *******
I’m cold as ****
And I’m lonely
And my stupid head is an ocean.

I’m lost as ****
And I am trashing
Old art pieces
From two years ago.

Toe-nail polish
Is stuck in my lungs
Because I can’t help but breathe it in.

The fumes attack
When I’m half-asleep.
And something strange
Knocks on my bedroom door.

But of course
I don’t answer it
Because I’m a ******* chicken
With goosebumps ripping up
My spine.
408 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
i have seen the silhouette of me, the shape of my charcoal black outline, tripping over sticks and stones, not once staying down. i have seen myself push people away only to beg them back in. i have seen the shell of me damage herself, tear herself apart, repeatedly all because someone made her feel like she deserved to hurt.

i have seen the silhouette of me and she’s long long gone. it’s me now, my insides pouring over, revealing even the slightest charismatic piece of evidence that maybe

just maybe

she isn’t so terrible after all.
408 · Aug 2014
big sap
allissa robbins Aug 2014
I love
the way you
smile with all teeth
and your cute chuckle laugh.
I'll love you for our lives.
and your sweet smelling skin,
feeling you by me
through my whatever.
my love,
401 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Learning things

That make you

Squirm where you sit,

And bounce off

The things that make

You cringe,

Selling your soul

To preserve your


Mismatching your

Glass eyeballs

And tearing your hair,

Putting pressures

On the canvas of

Your brain,

The presence of

Your unorthodoxies

Clouding your ears
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Chapped lips

And something not quite tangible

Leaning over the side of the bathtub

Nose running

Laps around my drooping eyes

Letters forming words

That slip from the thing

In my heart

And periodic cries

In my throat
382 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
You had me at hello

Your curiosity held me close

Your fall-out caressed my skin

Your availability took my breath away
371 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
"Love" is the tide.

We are simply parts of

The shore.

Our hearts are grains of

Sand, collected and becoming

A shared entity.

“Love” is the tide.

We lie around waiting,



For the waves to take us



For the salt to kiss our lips,

But the taste lingers a


When the tide gets high,

That’s when we lose ourselves.

We drown in the salt and

Sea plants. The weeds

Wrap around our lungs

And take our oxygen.

The ocean conjures up

A storm of

Stinging eyes and


“Love” is the tide.

We long for it to sweep

Over us—

To consume us. Waiting,



For the breeze to push it our way.

But humans don’t

Have gills.

We can’t breathe beneath

Masses of H20.

So we drown within

It. Blanketed in the waves.

358 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
I am the pressed

rose in your book

of secrets

The shocking color that

pulses through your


The grey skin that

slithers off your

perpetually dry fingertips

I am the scratch of

the pen being

used as we speak

The way the calloused

mountains look

when you drive me

353 · Aug 2014
I Loved You (Actuality)
allissa robbins Aug 2014
My skin crawls,
I can't help but write.
To you and her and my mother.
“I loved you"
I can't help but write

I can't help but paint
"I loved you"
Onto my head and heart.
I can't help but paint

I can't help but sigh.
Onto my head and heart,
I dispel the warm wickedness

I say "I fell in love with you"
To you and her and my mother.
I fall in love with other humans:
My skin crawls.

*16 April
351 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
I want to feel my life

I don’t want to see it from the other side

I don’t want to be free of it

I just want to be free of all of this

I’m not alone

Although I feel it

Although I am swan-necked,



I have Him with me

He knows my story

He knows I’m stronger than I feel,

But sometimes—just sometimes—

I feel totally empowered,

but I’m stuck powerless
344 · Aug 2014
A Prose Poem Pt. 1
allissa robbins Aug 2014
I love

the sound of the ocean

when you brush through

your short hair.

I love

the murky peridot

***** sitting beneath

your blackened eyelids.

I love

the gray things,

the soft things,

that fuzz up my image

of him.

I love

the dusk

and how it outlines

your coming.

I love

the cold ice

in your sunflower glass

that's long past melting.

I love

the spirit's breath

that keeps every time

you go.

I love

the subtle


wrought by

your evening curves.

I love


and your casual likeness

and how

you have accepted me.
336 · Aug 2014
It's A Long Night
allissa robbins Aug 2014
The brick lining
Of my fist-sized heart

Is all crumbling
On the outside.

But the foundation
Is sound.

My "I love you"s
Are solid--


And my "I miss you"s
Are sad.

My roof is

And my windows are

But I feel every bit
Of us

With my soul.
319 · Aug 2014
Untitled No. 8
allissa robbins Aug 2014
You’re in my veins now,

You dumb, dumb boy

From the moment we first touched

No, maybe it wasn’t the first time

It was probably the first time you touched my heart

Through our fingertips

Bad noise reverberating through our

Struggling ear canals

Bouncing against our agitated skulls,

The last inkling of the night flushing our cheeks

You’re in my veins now,

You pump through my system, past my heart

You swim under my fingernails,

Crusted with day old paints

My smile finds its home

When your name sounds

Honestly, I’m stuck

And I hope you know that

Because you’re in my veins now,

And there’s nothing I can do about it
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Freeness, lightness, something extraordinary
Unsure, wobbly footsteps across pavement
Pressure pushing you on

Stopping on the edge
of the field of knowing what's
going to happen next
Defying sense

Thrusting firmly into nature
Against the human machine
Nurturing the idea
Of pushing your spiritual limits

Catching yourself right before
You fall off the sidewalk

But with a greater sensation
The dark provokes not fright
But evaluated wonder

Fooling the gravity
Of yourself
And where your steps land,
You walk with your eyes closed

*16 April
288 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Pressing coal into

Pairs of lungs          

Shoveling spoons of

Fresh-boiled sadness

Down the throats

Of wilting flowers

Clasping cold fingertips

Around the veins

Of already choking fish

That swim in your blood

Sharpen the stakes

Of an older kind of love

That burns still

Beneath you
allissa robbins Aug 2014
I do a lot of writing

while in odd places

or waiting for the bus.

I do a lot of writing

when my heart is in a billion pieces

over a boy I never knew.

I do a lot of writing

while I try to paint something beautiful

but all that comes from my fingertips

is a dusty bouquet of dandelions.

I tried to do a lot of writing

when you told me you love me

but my heart could bear the weight

and my fingertips could not produce the

magnificence that you held in your mind.

My writings all **** now

but I'm perfectly okay with that

if that means I can keep you in my sweater pocket.
270 · Jul 2016
intertwining, endlessly
allissa robbins Jul 2016
it weaves in and out of your preoccupied consciousness
then the towers crumble into that sweet sweet sanity
and the flowers all bloom with the intelligence

it weaves in and out
through the pores of your fingertips
where lavender oil is spilled over a mountain

it weaves in and out
through the crevices of your solitary mind
your last breath becomes of it

your last chance to redeem your father’s stance
it weaves in and out of your arteries
pumping like roses

your legs separate from your talents
your passions become something extraterrestrial

it weaves through your education
and leaves your nail polish sticky

it differentiates the grass from the moon
constantly spilling, pouring
from your mouth

your heartaches become minute and simplified
but are constantly ****** into your very frontmost

it weaves in and out of your preoccupied consciousness
then flowers into separate entities
similar futures

it’s always on your head
and in your soul
what you’ve become
268 · Aug 2014
I Wrote a Thing About You
allissa robbins Aug 2014
My cracked lips and dry

throat greet you.

My mind sails away

from the physical

claim of self.

I’m against the wall

of the solitary confinement

of feeling.

A glass of red water

is sitting on my bookshelf.

Books are piled

on my soul.

Bigger perceptions,

simple tools of the

brink of creativity.

My veined eyes

greet you,

are calloused

with night of


Juxtaposition of an

orange in  my


keeping the words

down like medicine.

"Don’t keep it all

in there,

you’ll surely die.”

But some days,

some times,

I stop caring.

You’re my reason.

I greet you with

pale hands and

shaking knees

cracked lips

kiss you.

All of the sad

and distress

pour into the body

I most love

to hold.
265 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
It's not the way you look at the cleaning lady

and how her hands move while winding the vacuum's cord.

It's more like the way you ask her

what her name is.

And she answers with a tone

that tells you more than just the answer you desired.

Her story is far different from what you'd imagine,

her lungs sharing each breath with you.

You asked her for her name,

you got a lifetime of regrets.

A few broken heart strings

like the keys of an old piano—

their sound soft, but not quite manageable.
254 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Connect the dots

that are the freckles on

my skin.

Close the lids

that open things

are in.

Hold the books

that my eyes never


Learn the rules-

the fragilities-

of a broken man.
254 · Jul 2016
allissa robbins Jul 2016
cigar smoke
In my lungs,
no alcohol in your
we live on
stupid caffeine headaches
and doing bad things
to our bodies.

goodbye became
all too real,
all too soon.

neither of us was ready
To let the other one go,

but you are on a journey
i don’t fully understand,

i just know that
sometimes the flower
has to grow through snow

to become
her blossom.
allissa robbins Aug 2014
I’m not going to miss anything about this place. Its yellow grass, prickly plants, beating sun. There’s nothing here that I will genuinely miss and I don’t know how I feel about that. Everything here is brown—not a casual, descent brown. It’s a murky, ***** brown that has become the representation of everything I detest. The weather disgusts me and the people are even worse. The sun has become an enemy and whenever it comes out, I want to die. When I think of Arizona, of my hometown, I think of depression and my weight issues and my disgust with my body and who I am. When I think back on the houses and apartments I’ve lived In or the schools I’ve attended, I can’t help but fall into silent, stinging tears because it’s all been everything I’ve never wanted. I think of my first grade and I get angry because I didn’t ask for my anxiety. I remember all the soccer games I played and I realize that I never wanted to feel ‘big’ in my own body. And when I talk about all the empty tea mugs and bottles of health drinks lying around my room and in desk drawers, I always come back to the lighters and ash that have littered my very core. I’m not going to miss this place because all I’ve gotten out of it is sleepless nights and shedding skin. Summers were never my element and every day I continue living under the canopy of despondency, is one more summer I have to face. I’m a burning building. And Colorado is the only thing that will put me out. I don’t understand why people correlate fire with self power because whenever I think of fire, I think of the hunger that the flames feel. The hunger for something more than what they are already getting. So maybe I’m just the fire. Not the building. My hunger lies within every atom of my being because I need more than what I’m getting. If my life is only made up the ***** brown of the Arizona buildings or of the first grades and soccer games, then I don’t want to live anymore. Somewhere inside me, though, there is a hope –a very small piece, but hope nonetheless –that my life hasn’t entirely begun yet and I’m just going through the rituals of some sick god. But still my vision keeps getting clouded by yellow grass and burnt out cigarettes. And my hope gets buried again.
245 · Aug 2014
I Miss You
allissa robbins Aug 2014
the sun keeps

shining through the

thinly-paned glass

covered, caked in spots

from the rainy days where you and i were in

separate times

separate lives

i was thinking about the

spots of classic arizona dust

and how you were sitting with

other boys

laughing and living

and i received that message

on that day

we know what it said

inspired, three words

clouded skies

clouded eyes

i knew you were out there--

while i was thinking of you--

out there, you were

thinking of me too
242 · Aug 2014
I'm Sorry Pt. 1
allissa robbins Aug 2014
I'm sorry

that I left my shoes

under the dining room table

even after you told me

they were getting in the way

of your vaccuuming.

I'm sorry

that I missed your

17th birthday party

even after I told you I could make it

and was excited because we haven't

seen each other in a while.

I'm sorry

that my dress rises a little

too high

whenever I bend to pick up

that black furry cat that's

constantly meowing at you.

I'm sorry

that highrises and architecture

and green plants with big leaves

and little flowers

excite me on my

worst days.

I'm sorry

that I told you that

I loved you

and I would always be there to

paint portraits of aliens

and flowers for you.

I'm sorry

that I'm not so special anymore

and my hair needs to be cut

and my skin is a little dry.
238 · Aug 2014
The Sun is too Bright Here
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Slip your fingers

Down the throat of your coat

Carry your confidence on your sleeve.

Hush the voice that is telling you

Tearing your ears to shreds

Of long forgotten cups of milk

And saucers of Mac and Cheese.

Carry your compassion on your chest

Like a badge of courage

In the world of history and ecclectic memories

Of warded off demons

And tired mothers.

Carry your pride

Under your shoe soles

Let it hide under there for a few months

So that the devil can't find you.
229 · Aug 2014
I'm Tired
allissa robbins Aug 2014
It smells like rain drops

But my mind is in pieces

Separate from you
228 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Bad noise circling the charcoal

Around your thickly lashed eyes

Your desk is as cluttered as

Your head

Graphite scars lining your wrists

Empty sketchbooks waiting

For their own life stories

For the wind's influence to sweep

Lovely things across their pages

You say you're an artist,

But you hurt entirely too much

For your watercolor heart to not be

Don't worry about the past,
They throw their speech at you

But you worry more about the future

And how "art students don't make enough money"


"You'll never amount to anything doing that"

And those thoughts are what

Positively kills you
226 · Jul 2016
allissa robbins Jul 2016
between the lines of conversation, you have the words. the fragments of thoughts that seep through letter after letter combination. emotion and experience placed in the minute spaces within the letters. each phrase is a cracked door. opened ever so slightly, but enough to catch a glimpse of its contents. between the lines of conversation, you have your Leo Tolstoys and your Virginia Woolfs. you have an idea of the artistry of living. you have the ability to keep breathing. between the lines of conversation, you have the hesitations and the “wait a minute”s. you have the slow, heavy “i love you”s. you have “i miss you”s and “don’t forget about me”s. between the lines of conversation, though, you also get your “*******”s and your “leave me be”s. you have relentless chasing and lonely nights. your messy break-ups and flaccid first loves. when you have a conversation, it is more than thin letter arrangement. it is response and meaning and power. between the lines of conversation, you have the words. the fragments of thoughts that seep through letter after letter combination. you have life.
225 · Aug 2014
allissa robbins Aug 2014
Green fingers

stroking broken heartstrings

Loving you

pulls at the edges of my fabric


Lots of moons

float across the

crystal blanket

You're wrapped in it,

grasping a bottle of

undefined knowledge

Blackest coal

of your outline
217 · Jul 2016
birthday cards
allissa robbins Jul 2016
it all kind of
blurs together,
the mishaps
and "what if"s.

the well-wishes
of old friends
etched carelessly
with bleeding ink.

looking through
yearbooks, trapped
behind cartilage cages.

when you think
about it all too
hard, your lungs
do a flip-flop.

but when you don't
think about it at all,
your skull feels bare.

217 · Aug 2014
Untitled No. 7
allissa robbins Aug 2014
It's the kind of thing

That catches in your throat

Right before you are asked to speak.

It's the kind of thing

That stops your breathing

Right in its tracks, stone cold.

It's the kind of thing

That has your heart pumping

Gallons a second.

It's the kind of thing

That I find my brain yelling

"NO" about.
216 · Jul 2016
allissa robbins Jul 2016
i. benevolent
humanity is made.
humanity is made to protect.
to learn
to experience
humanity is calm.
humanity is experience.

ii. reprobate
greed is made.
greed and rage become playable.
sour as lemons.
humanity is greed.

iii. hollow
where is our god?
suffocated by his own creation.
the earth is sad
our god is bitter and lonely.
gravel, garbage
replacing ivy.
humanity is god.

iv. metamorphose
we will leave.
the earth will be here long after.
our god will cry
we will move on.
our bodies will grow new.
we will become the god
the earth.
humanity is change.

v. divinity
our holy tears will litter the ground.
we degrade our home.
make it small
in turn making ourselves small.
only getting what we give.
walking without kindness.
or charity.
humanity is experience.
213 · Aug 2014
A Prose Poem Pt. 2
allissa robbins Aug 2014
I wish I could hold

that baby behind me

in the grocery store checkout.

I wish I could keep

the poem you typed up

on your typewriter for me

that you lost on our first


I wish you could grasp

the soft embers

that glow beneath my cold cheeks

whenever you say



if the modd discovers my cowering,

I wish you could hold me

and whisper.
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