i still hold my breath when i hear you late at night
you're locked behind closed doors and you think no one can hear you, but i hear you
howling like a wolf in search for something in the night,
roaring with anger like a lion
i'd like to say that I'm not afraid of you anymore but I can't help but feel like a small child in the dark when you curse
maybe this is why I try so hard to please people like you
I'll swing a right hook at a woman before I'll do so much as raise my voice at a man and what the **** does that say about me?
take a shot if you were conditioned to keep men tame
pop a pill if you were raised to stay silent when your daddy yells
light one up if the lines have blurred between love and fear
i haven't been sober in years
Comment if you'd like.
i used to think there would never be enough people like you and I,
we were singing together when i told you that you were the only friend i needed.
but now i only think of you in past tense.
what a shame,
what a misadventure it was to know you.
I've never seen a light more blinding than the one that was forced into my vision when i heard about you,
even in all those years that we spent in the sun.
i like to think that you're not as terrible as you've proved yourself to be,
but i don't know how not to confuse compassion with weakness,
or the distinction between forgiveness and forgetting.
so many of our secrets will forever remain in this small town,
memories of us live on every part of your street.
Christmas came back around all too fast this year and
i keep finding the pieces of myself that i gave away buried in the ornaments we hung together.
i don't have enough time to pretend i'm not hurting,
and i don't have enough heart to feel sorry for you.
more than the clouds want the dying grass to know that they will pour all they have to bring them life,
more than the moon wants to bring full light to our darkest nights,
i want you to know
that i am not sorry.
thanks for reading,
take the time to comment if you wish.
hope you're all enjoying your holidays.
we are sometimes lucky enough to know people who illuminate our skies like the northern lights
we appreciate them even when we don't show it
and love them even with our fists slammed into the wall.
we do not have to be broken hearted.
we are so conditioned to believe that it is the people who love us that will hurt us most,
which in turn,
distorts our meaning of love into pain.
they say the only way to reverse this idea is to forgive, but
forgiveness is a tricky thing
and if we don't learn when to use it for others and when to use it for ourselves,
we will end up alone.
but people like me aren't afraid of being alone.
and you should know,
that i don't spare the lives of those who hurt me.
and even if you lay breathing tonight,
you'll wish you were dead.
Kind of the opposite of the poem I wrote yesterday...
Thought I'd make a contrast and felt like posting something.
Hope you're all having a good night.
You forget that you're good.
You forget that you're kind, and gentle and caring.
People have been so callous with you that you forget that you are not the sum of their mistakes,
and you are not to blame for the damage that was done to you.
You forget that you are full of good intent, that you're thoughtful and creative.
You're so used to being made to feel stupid and selfish that when someone brings out the beauty in you,
all you feel is guilt.
You have a heart of gold.
You would never do to people what they have done to you.
There is a light in you that remains bright even with the layers of charcoal that surround it.
**Don't forget that you're good.
****** things happen to us,
but you are not what happened to you.
You are not a ****** person.
Love is not the way your father slams doors,
or the way your mother stays locked behind them at night.
Love is not the way your brother loses his temper,
or the alcohol disintegrating your grandfather's brain.
Despite what you have been raised to believe,
love is not waking up alone on Christmas morning,
or the hand that hit you wiping away your tears.
Love is not the screams of rage on Saturday night
and the singing of hymns on Sunday morning.
Love is not leaving a light on for someone who’s never coming home,
and love is not the empty trust fund with your name written on it.
Love is not the pain you grew up in.
Love is not the pain you grew up in.
Comment and fill in the blank: "Love is not..."
You wonder when you will stop bleeding.**
On the night of the accident, there was so much blood loss that they didn't think you'd make it.
You still wonder how you made it.
You haven't bled like that since and the wounds have scarred over but
whenever you drive past where it happened,
whenever you see an icy patch, or a blue Honda,
the scar tears a bit.
You've tried to avoid those things, but you can't forever.
And so you wonder when the scar will fully heal.
You wonder when you will stop bleeding.
maybe one day.
I see you in the chair on my front porch when I'm alone and it's dark.
It all goes quiet after a while.
It's easy to lose count of how much you've smoked when the air is cold.
Whether it's puffs of cold air or puffs of cigarette smoke,
I can't tell
It doesn't matter anyway.
**I'm still thinking of you.
i loved you like a hot air balloon that was never coming down
but all things run out of fuel eventually
and the higher you get,
the harder the fall.
all good things must come to an end.