The blue in her eyes
Complimented the blood on her lips
Her galaxy of freckles
Were magnified by tears
The further she rose in the world
The lower she sank on her floor
A perfect mess
But she was mine
The cut down her lip was perfectly straight
As if it had been purposely crafted
It slowly oozed one red drop
She didn’t stop it
Rather, accompanied it with her tears
No matter what I do, I'm always being told what I'm doing wrong.
"Just stop! You can't do anything right!"
"Why do you do the things you do?!"
"Can't you do anything right?"
As I sit in this lonely bed tonight, all I can think of is how I'm the screwup of my life.
How I will never achieve the statuses my elders have.
How I keep letting those around me down.
I am the screwup.
Nothing more and nothing less.
Lately I have been shrinking,
the keg I once proudly was
now trickles down to a pint.
For the numbers flutter off the scale
like hail violently pelting the earth.
I've lost 30 lbs in two months
and I hold my chest a little higher.
I am noticeably skinnier
such that my enemies quiet.
The weight of my stomach hardly droops
but the weight of the world
seems to have only been growing.
The world has turned into a mess
The dept has surpassed my ears
and the expenses only get taller
The pressure of marriage and family
to satisfy the woman I love requires,
the atmospheric pressure of society
and my internal pressure to become someone
has created a density difficult to bear
For every pound I have lost
Gravity gains ten thousand more
And yes my body is shrinking,
But so is my wallet, my belongings,
my spirit to keep on going
my life force that keeps me awake
and the energy I have to think straight.
Yes, my whole world is shrinking.
I have a lot to say
I’ll get through this
I know I will
I’ve felt this before;
This cold night chill
There’s a lot in my mind
I’m trying to find,
But I’m tired
Even this poem’s going haywire
It’s hazy, and messy
Just like me
“Yeah, I’m okay”
every word written
neat, tidy and messy
leaves a feeling behind
it fills the void of my mind
a great respite as any
it always ends way too soon
it feels abrupt enough
the weather is not the same
humidity is in the air
Hard to accept that this too shall end
I keep the book back in the shelf.
i can live without my feet. i can live
without anything that makes me carry on;
carry this pretty sweat of life on my hunched back.
every day i wake up and there's a new ache,
a new heartbreak to write about in the diary i burned when i was 17;
when i was sweeter and lighter and thought that drowning would be a nice way to die.
i listen to music to fall asleep,
until i get to the point between waking and the good stuff
when i slam my laptop shut and my brain says
right, now it's time to imagine you're dying, and everyone cares,
everyone is at your funeral wishing they were nicer to you when you cried over chicken breast and were in a whirlwind relationship with iced coffee.
sometimes i guess it's easier to pour the leftover ice from last night's gin and tonics into coffee. sometimes it's best to leave poems unfinished.
And a lot of nothing
When time’s up
We make our mark
Or we don’t
The world watches us
Hollowed out heart
A scoop for you Madam ?
All meaty, red & ******
It comes with a sprinkle of my emotions too
Take a spoon & have a taste
Do you feel me now ?
Or do you need the air in my lungs too ?
To feel my love.
The frustration of being in and out of love with someone.