I read in a poem that there is no sound more sexual than the clink of a belt being undone but you only wear worn out t-shirts and a frown on your face. I think of the sound of tires driving slowly over the asphalt and how I could get turned on easier by a look than a touch.  Your bed and you both taste like sweat but I am not going to complain because I'd rather be overheating than alone. I consider switching on your swamp cooler but it's loud and I want to be able to hear your moans in order to remind myself that you want me too. Do you?

2. I was doing my poetry homework when I had to stop in order to write poetry.

3. I dont know if I can handle the fact that you have made playlists for other people and that is so 2018 of me. Did you make that playlist for her?

4. I'm not sure why the city feels different when you're not in it but it probably has something to do with the rope I've tied to your ankle that is tugging at my heart so hard I'm about to fall over. Its like I'm cutting the rope with a very dull knife. Piece by piece it's disappearing, string by string it's breaking off, I'm watching as it shreds, I promise it is, it's just taking time and effort. I'm sorry I did that to you, I didn't mean to. I'm sawing as hard as I can.

5. If panic attacks actually helped anything I wouldn't mind the hyperventilating but instead I still feel like a sink has sunk inside my chest even after I've calmed down. Wouldn't it be nice if you could cry it, release it, scream to the skies and then be okay afterwards? I'm not sure who made me believe the symptoms of my mental illness should be like a shower; I don't feel cleansed. I don't feel new. I only feel raw, exhausted. It feels more like that same dull knife is tearing me open each skin layer at a time until I figure out how to grab the hand that holds it or I'm left open on the table, whichever comes first.

6. I'm writing in order to breathe. If I can't get oxygen to my brain my fingers won't be able to move. I know this isn't normal. I know that's why I need this. I know I have to stop needing you.

7. I'm so scared I'm going to lose you. I don't want you in any other way. I want to love you, hold you.

8. I hear a baby crying outside of your window and I realize I need to get up to go home and get my work clothes. I find these simple things excruciating. Writing to you is a diary. I never should have learned to open my mouth and speak.

9. I started this poem four months ago and titled it a seven day long poem but I guess now it’s more than that. The first 8 were from then and now 9 is from now. You always made me feel the things I’m currently feeling. I wish I didn’t love you like I do. I'm so scared I'm going to lose you. I don't want you in any other way. I want to love you, hold you.
Here we are again.
Phi 1d
Beneath a wave
as it rolls overhead
there's a moment of fright
in missing the crest

but it comes again
and goes off
no end

Though crashing now
in the tumult of water
eventually resurfacing
beginning to grow
and rolling over
the peaks
of once before
Amber 2d
us
there is no us anymore
i wish i could go back to the times
that us existed
but without u
us won’t exist
and without me
us will be broken
trust
heart
all smashed to million pieces
broken
picking up those pieces
stitching them back
to the right places
hoping that they won’t leave a scar
hoping that it would look the same
hoping that u would come back
They call rape soul murder;
what would soul rape be?
I believe it's when another,
forces you emotionally.
when your heart needs the slow,
but that pace doesn't satisfy,
then they expect your sun to glow,
but inside only clouds can cry.
because you cannot force the clouds to part,
or change the weather with a glance,
nor should you rush a work of art,
or rely on a silly rain-dance.
V Exeter Aug 3
If it looks like fish
& smells like fish
& tastes like fish,
then, it's fuckin fish.
Wait! I'm sorry,
I forgot your thing.
Natural order,
non-GMO, driving
Escalades with one hand,
with the other on
your implants.
I forgot your thing:
The World, not Your World,
begins and ends with you.
Like your distaste will
somehow unmake me.
I'm strong.
Death is coming at me.
Death is coming, fast.
Death rips.
I'm gone with the wind,
hands on my hips,
ready. Death rips.
Not too hot,
not too cold,
is this the strategy you wanted to behold?

In this case
I was luke warm
by all your harm.

I wouldn't say I was drowning  
or flying for that matter,
but you did make me sadder.

Now I've learnt
how you come and go
and I've learnt to say no.

From now on
I decorate myself with white
and wait for you to once again bite.
I just want to be alone.
It’s more comfortable for me right now.
I don’t let anyone come and see me.
I don’t let anyone call me.
I just want to be lost to the world.
It’s all I ask.

                         With love,
                                Kirsten
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2017
Life is short
comes and goes
but the meaning is not
is timeless universal
is live!
HC Jul 16
you took my passion for aggression

I only come off that way because of my depression


I miss you

and that is my confession
Eleanor Rigby Jul 16
Times moves
Like waves.

It comes and goes,
Elongates and
shrinks.

It doesn't exist.


-- Eleanor
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