MaKenna

MaKenna Mar 2018

There was a girl with jet black hair who introduced me to pain and called it ‘a good time’
Her smile looked like the light at the end of the tunnel, right before the train hits you.
I found myself touching things she used to touch, looking for echoes in her fingertips.
It only led me to shattered glass and abandoned halls.
I’d shout her name watching her absence sink into the corners of the wall.
Growing up the doors started slamming themselves to save my sister the trouble.
I started sweeping my heartache under the living room rug because she complained about the mess.
When I moved out, I should’ve let that pain in my closet on the second shelf. Instead I tucked it inside my chest, and tried to breathe around hurt.
My innocence was lost and there was no map that told me where to get it back.
I tried to elude anyone who could see past the painted on smile.
I wore a mask for so long that it became another layer of skin.
I disguised every tear as allergies and every cut a cat scratch.
My sense was persuaded by whoever’s aroma smelled most like security.
My discomfort was overlooked but still lingered in my subconscious.
I keep tracing my shadow but by now my silhouette is a statue.
And I wish I hadn’t flinched every time someone raised a hand, or wince every time I was touched.
I wish the night terrors didn’t push me to sleeping in the closet.
But it was all apart of the healing process.
I have an empty space where my wishbone should be.
There’s an emptiness in my chest but I learned to fill the spaces with more love and kindness.
My story remains etched in my heart with a copyright mark because nobody can take it away from me.
I’ve spent my whole life living in a cage, but now I’m finally free.
My journey’s ongoing, and the deep undercurrents of pain and grief are pulling me through the in between.
Now it’s been two years and the trauma I’ve held tight to has loosened like a tight balloon, it’s draped across my ribcage.
I press on the emotional bruises and the pain is dull and withering.
I came out kicking and screaming but I made it out alive.
Try to think of the healing that comes out of pain.

MaKenna Mar 2018

Lust for Life

He tastes like tobacco and cherries
His touch seeps into my thoracic cavity
His lips pressed against my back,
His hands tucked between my thighs
He sends shivers down my spine.
My mouth moving slowly,
from his clavicles to his chest.
Jazz music plays softly.
I am his resting place for pleasure,
Hidden in the basement of his desires.
And I crave his touch,
And I crave his kiss.
And I want him with every fiber of my being.
Again and again.

MaKenna Mar 2018

Scene From a Playground

We’re fighting again and I don’t know if I’m shaking because it’s cold outside or if it’s because of this chill you left in my bones when I watched your taillights fade.
You’re always leaving me behind.
I don’t know what I can do to change your mind.
All these voices in my head make it hard to speak.
I cannot formulate into words how much you mean to me.
It’s always overcast in my mind, dark gray and pouring rain.
I’m sorry I couldn’t find the words say.
I’m breaking down into fragments,
I begin to wonder if the pain will ever subside.
This isn’t supposed to be a beautiful poem about missing you, this is me trying to speak to you through the metaphors dripping from my tongue.
This is my way of telling you that your absence is a stinging pain seeping into my bone marrow.
Every night I have dreams where you leave me.
But I wake in a cold sweat with tears in my eyes, and always find you across the bed sheets.
I want you to know that every time you leave, you’re the only one I want to run to.
It’s always going to be you.
My love for you is deeper than all the love you’ve ever received all combined together.
I had never opened myself up completely to someone, not till I met you.
I’ve never allowed myself to be so vulnerable and bare for someone, but I want you to reach all the cracks and crevices in my heart.
Everytime we fight I wonder if this time is the last time, like you’re going to give up on us and let it all go.
But maybe if you knew how much I loved you, the worries that sink deep in the left side of your brain wouldn't force feed you till you ***** all the rage and anxiety.
The emotional bruises stop aching when your fingertips meet them.
When I sink into your entrails, everything’s okay. And I feel safe with you again.
This is a poem about how I feel like I’m not good enough for you, like there’s something greater out there dying for your touch.
Sometimes you turn into a different person, your eyes go cold. But I love every face you have show.
And I sustain myself on the idea that you’re irrevocably in love with me despite all the bad things that keep us fighting.
You’re not the light at the end of the tunnel, you’re the one pulling me off the tracks.

MaKenna Mar 2018

Eggshells

I stand still as you seep into the marrow of my bones,
and I watch as osteogenesis takes place.
You inflict emotional bruises,
And I push my fingers down on the purple and yellow you-shaped bruise on my heart.
As you put holes in the walls of my chest,
I feel the drywall settle in the pit of my stomach.
I should’ve acknowledged the warning signs,
the way you adopted jealousy and rage.
I dismissed the red flags,
as if I was colorblind.
I paid homage to your body,
underneath the sheets.
I was your ***** little secret,
hidden under lock and key.
I fell to the floor in tears,
Assuring myself that if I’m hurting this deeply, I must be loving so deeply.
You made the hurt a place I could live in comfortably.
You cut me into the shape of your past lover
with a double-edged sword.
As if their habits were my spinal cord.
This isn’t the man I know you to be, but I tilt my neck to the slightest degree in hopes that I can find remnants of him left in your silhouette.
I broke my toes,
Stepping on eggshells.
Constantly afraid to make the next move.

MaKenna Mar 2018

Closure

I've found myself furthering my distance from you, because in all reality I’m more immune to your absence. We’ve spent more time apart than we ever did together. And we shared no last words of goodbye, it was all false hope intertwined with the psychological pull in each other’s head.
And I’ve finally realized that what we had was never love, just chemicals between us.
It was all ecstasy with an inevitable comedown that shattered the heart. But the spoonful of adrenaline we injected in each other’s veins was enough to put the pieces back together, as if they would ever fit the same. I found myself cutting my knees on all the broken pieces, while begging for your forgiveness. We were filled with sickness.
I memorized the atlas in your body, I traced the roadmaps hidden in your skin. I became the nerve endings moving along the wires in my body. And you were the drug pulsating through my bloodstream. What we had was euphoria, an incredible high filled with deep lows.
We kept returning to each other’s arms like waves. As if the currents could take the pain away.
I put you on a pedestal. I told myself you were God, and bathed in your tears like they were holy water. As if you could save me from the disease that centers in my mind. I thought you were the girl who shined my stars and lined my sky. I refused to see past the image I made you out to be.
You put a bookmark in my heart, expecting to find me where you left me.
The chapter ended much sooner than I wanted. I’m stuck with an ambiguous cliffhanger with no correct punctuation. I made you the main character in my story and that is where I went wrong. I became background noise in my own life. You were the puppeteer, pulling my heartstrings, assuring me the show must go on. Because the audience always applauds at the sight of our clasped hands. I started to wonder who we were keeping ourselves together for.
Our demise was abrupt. It didn’t happen slowly over time. We got absorbed in white powdered lines, and ‘having a good time’ off of nicotine and wine. The ***** on your breath was enough to make me dizzy. We put the chemicals in our bodies and there was a psychological change in the magnetic force field that held us together. My heart no longer did somersaults, I could no longer feel it thrusting against the walls of my chest. Your touch felt frigid and calloused. There was no longer a twinkle in your eyes, just dilated pupils and acid tears.
I’m stuck with a fist full of memories and an irreversible past. I no longer wish I could go back and change everything. Like the way my screams echoed in your head like the ocean roar in your ears. The way I sank my claws into your flesh, and clipped your wings so you could not leave the nest.
I’ve accepted that I was a sick person who did sick things, and you are not a victim in the scheme of things. I can acknowledge both our faults, align them just right and take my hands off the steering wheel, because losing you is like an inevitable car crash. And here we are sitting in the front seats, arguing on why neither of us bothered to repair the engine. I tried to warn you that the brake lights were blown out, but it was all shattered glass and no seatbelts.
But here I am. Sitting in the bed we made love in; asking myself why I kept assuring myself that I was hurting so deeply, because we were loving so deeply. We both ignore each other’s warning signs. Dismissing red flags as if we were colorblind.
I never believed it was possible to fall out of love till I met you. I may always love you, but now I just don’t like you. I no longer dig into the cavities of my chest to find you deep within my tendons. We’ve grown into different people and I don’t like the traits you adopted to your new persona. I know you’ll never be yourself, just a form of someone else.
So this is me accepting the reality that I’ve been using our lack of closure, as a crutch to keep me from moving on.
I know the sinking feeling in my chest will decrease when I accept that our love was a bad recipe that called for white lies and white lines. The push and pull and lost track of time. The facade we built up in our minds. I can accept I’ll never get to hear the words goodbye.
But I can finally place my heart back in my chest. It’s a different kind of pain to realize I don’t miss you anymore.
I never believed in falling out of love till I saw your face under green lights in the corner of a cafe. I didn’t have to cover you up, I had to dig deep into the layers of blackened scar tissue and remove you from the marrow of my bones. You are now permanently out of reach from me. We’re measured in the Sun's distance from the equator. In all the games we played, I told myself I didn’t mind the occasional head trip. All things set aside I’m moving on, that’s the bottom line. And I feel happier. And I feel free. I had to patch the hole the size of your fist lingering in my chest. And all of this had to leave a gaping wound, so I could begin the healing process.

— The End —