s s chanel: Poems

1.0k · Nov 2018

myles away

s s chanel Nov 2018

I want to fall into you,
but you'd rather ****** into me.
And that may be reconcilable for a second
or two
or three.
You turn late nights into later mornings--somewhere exploring skin as if there's no one else,
daring me to bring earthquakes to our footing on common ground that makes me
want to crash into you.
Yet you only plunge into me for an hour
or two
or three.
And I still push closed doors open in my hopeful head
while you can't conceive the thought of us-- or even me--
without the sheets from my bed

#friendswithbenefits

193 · Nov 2018

growing up

s s chanel Nov 2018

growing up

I used to love the way you'd say my name
Like you knew me
And now I hate the way you say my name.
You never really knew me
As more than a convenience.
Now I'm just your inconvenience.
You say it's growing up
When I'm shrinking down.

161 · Nov 2020

somewhere between

s s chanel Nov 2020

somewhere between

it's been 3 months
but I'm stagnant and stuck
somewhere between
crafting texts I can't dare myself to send so you'll never read
and
finding peace in knowing that everyday you choose
absence, silence, and avoidance

when I let you go, I stopped calculating the chances
you'd retrace the footsteps you left when walking away from me.
and healing is time.
you even told me "it just takes time".
we both lost a friend, that maybe we should've found by now
but it's been 3 months
and I'm nothing more than somewhere between
the words on my lips reading "I miss you"
and the tip of my tongue saying "I wish I never knew you"

128 · Oct 2019

Tell Me What It's Like

s s chanel Oct 2019

Tell Me What It's Like

Tell me what it's like
to feel the rays of the sun and its unending will to keep you
warm
to have the protection of concrete, refusing to crack despite your friction
to know there is a lighthouse waiting, happy to be a reminder of
home
and still shout:
"it's not enough"

please, can you tell me what it's like
to seek every buoy in an ocean and insist that it only makes you
drown
to mistake the comfort in a candle's flame for a house fire's
burn
to nurture the flower that brightens a room while asking it to
whither
and at the top of your lungs scream:
"you're too much"

— The End —