I keep my mouth closed,
using super glue like it's chapstick.
Lips sealed but hands free, writing my secrets into poetry,
I sometimes feel very cowardly only being able to share empty words about my empty feelings to empty faces on this empty stage.
I don’t cry as often as I should, maybe I’m just drained, maybe I’ve just emptied
The drain that connects my tear glands to the rest of my body.
And on the off chance I cry-
my pillow must have nightmares from my screams,
and sometimes- sometimes I hear my pillow sobbing with me.
This is a talk with myself
That's long overdue
And I think it's very important for you to understand that
You're a piece of shit
I know you tried to stop degrading yourself
Because he doesn't like it
He actually sees something of you
But not even God himself
Would look at you
And see his child
Not that you cared much anyway
What's going on through that head of yours?
Has the deep dark ocean in your mind
Finally kick into your lungs?
Did you go looking into the dusty files
Hidden in plain sight again?
Have you yet again played
The scratched up record
Of the overheard conversations
Between your family members?
Repeats of "it's just a phase, it's just a phase, it's just a phase"
Playing out through your ear drums
I suppose I understand the everlasting sadness
That seems too hard to cover up
With just your liquid foundation
With just your bs smile
You wish someone could see past it, don't you?
You're waiting for someone to ask what is wrong with you, aren't you?
But in the way where they're actually concerned about your well being
Instead of being freaked out by it
You just want someone to hold you
And tell you everything is going to be okay, right?
I mean this with all sincerity
You need to stop being this pathetic
Because it might just run in the family
I can see your child self locked up
Gripping the bars
Shaking them and screaming
For someone to set them free
I know you want to be happy
This path you're taking though..
Full of smoke, drinks, and attempts that no one knew about
Is not the way to go
This isn't the way we have to go
This talk was so long overdue
And the biggest message to you
Is that we can be better than this.
Why have we failed to realize it?
i have experienced writer’s block before,
but not like this...
not when i’ve forgotten the meaning of every word that comes to mind,
every word except one: you
you are by far the worst thing that has happened to my poetry
because, before, i could write about my sadness,
about how the world was closing in on me,
but you stood in the way of that
almost as if you were saying 'no, darling, let me show you something new.'
so you showed me the world in a new light,
and suddenly it felt so big i did not know how to deal with it;
could not find the words to describe what i was feeling,
could not find the words.
in the weeks that we have been together,
my sadness became dormant.
sometimes it still erupts out of me;
the hot lava of my tears washing away any hope i had had left.
but even in those moments
you have been there,
there for the repercussion,
for the mending,
there for me.
Now all i can write about is you, you are the only thing that makes sense in my lines,
like, you belong there, you were made to be my inspiration.
around you, my verses and phrases dance, tangle themselves in your eyelashes,
curl themselves around your legs
a beautiful revelation of purpose.
until it doesn’t make sense anymore
and then i am stuck again
stuck in the spaces between the words that adore you so
but to them, i am a prisoner, forbidden from venturing out into the world of rhyme schemes and verses
this is what has been happening to me since you’ve left
and let me tell you,
the day you left i was
preparing myself for a novel
filled with wit and conversation
but now i can hardly find a single line
that doesn’t call out your name
how could i ever forget about the way you hurt me
if you are all my writing remembers?
We order a mushroom-cheese omelet
Now see you’re the kind of guy who eats jam on toast
And I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t eat toast as all
So when the plate comes, I give you both pieces of toast
And you spread the strawberry jam on it
While I’m busy cutting the omelet in half
But before taking a bite of anything
We both pick up a hashbrown simultaneously
As if somehow we’d planned the entire thing
And we both take a bite of it and
We love it
It’s cooked to perfection and potatoes are my weakness
Back to the omlet though,
So I’m not that great at cutting
And the omelet cut unevenly in half
So you take the smaller piece
Even though you’re bigger than me
And I steal the bigger piece
Even though I’m smaller than you
And you eat your half in three bites
While I’m struggling with mine
And the string cheese is caught somewhere between
My fingers, my mouth and the plate
And it takes me a while to eat
About twenty bites in, there’s no way I can eat more
So I ask you to eat what’s leftover
I guess I should have given you the bigger half to begin with
But I guess that’s just how we work
Where you’ll always take the smaller portion
But end up eating most of the food
Because I’ll always take the bigger portion
And leave most of it untouched
You eat my leftovers in two bites
And the coffee arrives
I almost knock over your espresso
While reaching for the complimentary cookie
I eat my cookie
And then I eat half of yours too
And by this time I’m pretty full
But I see a sign for a free cookie
And I want it
You don’t really care for it but you laugh
Because you haven’t seen me want anything as bad
As the cookie (it's free!)
And so you get me the free cookie
And I’m too full to eat it
So I put it in my bag
Very proudly; it’s my success for the day
I finish my Americano faster than you finish your single shot espresso
So you give me a sip of yours
But you drop a few drops on me
And now my pants look like they have blood stains
And I smell of espresso
And you’re trying to clean it with a tissue
But the waiter thinks we’re doing something naughty
So I tell you to stop
And even if we were doing something naughty
Who’s the waiter to say anything anyways
So we finish out coffee and we call for an uber
And my pants are stained
And I’m carrying my cookie
And I don’t think I’ve ever been happier
While we wait for the uber
You steal my glasses
And you try them on
They look funny on you
I like them on you
I think I like you
And you can’t see anything
And I can’t see anything either
Except for your outline
That’s enough for me
So the uber comes
And he calls us
And we’re leaving
At the counter you pay
And I see a Nutella cookie in the window
I want it
But you just paid for breakfast
So I’ll keep quiet
We sit in the car
And I put on pomegranate lipbalm
And I give you some too
Your lips look nice and soft now
And I think today has been a really great day
And I think you fit me well
Because you love toast and I leave toast
And it works out
(except for that baked tomato no one ate)
But look the point is
Is that we work
And we squish in the back of an uber
And guess what?
The seat was made for two.
We ordered a mushroom-cheese omelet
It was a good day
i like your crooked teeth,
and the fact that you’ve never
attempted to fix them.
i like your unruly eyebrows,
unkempt and raw, they intrigue me.
everything about you is so imperfect,
and its such a shame that those who have
come before me have not fallen in love with
all of your flaws, and its such a
travesty that you,
my love, cannot
see the beauty
in all of your
so called physical
When my friend committed suicide, I didn’t find out directly.
I found out through a teacher. I was called in the office later that day along with everyone connected with my group of friends.
We sat there, and as the counselor told us why suicide was bad they gave us a pamphlet from the back wall.
How? How could they put suicide alongside heroin, ecstasy, HIV, AIDS, Party Drugs, Teen Alcohol, Texting and Driving.
Depression is not something offered at parties or given out for 20$ a pop. Depression doesn’t make you tipsy or destroy brain cells.
FREDDIE MERCURY DIDN”T DIE FROM DEPRESSION.
Like that pamphlet my eyes were opened.
Bi-Folded and Arranged like an informational epiphany
The first thing that I noticed when I walked into the psychiatric hospital was how cold the floor tiles were.
You See, they took my shoes off because I was a thirteen year old, five and one half foot, one hundred and ten pound threat.
I made grown men think I was off my edge...and looking back on me, I was.
I mean, killing myself? That’s the ultimate game show bet.
“WHAT’S BEHIND CURTAIN NUMBER DEATH” I seemed to ask myself.
And also, what games would I have to play to get there.
How long do you have to hang to die?
How much blood would it take to bleed to death?
How fast does my mother have to be going on the freeway to make my jumping death quick?
HOW MUCH OXYCODONE DO I HAVE TO STEAL FROM MY ABUSIVE STEP FATHERS DRAWER?
Someone would have to be mad to even bother looking behind that curtain.
But like I said, the first thing i noticed was the floor tiles.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Today I am Taking You to an Amusement Park.
You Know It? It’s right between Bastardville and LonelyTown.
My favorite ride is depression, it goes so far down!
Abuse is like a Kiddie Ride.
The Bully Stand has the best Food imaginable.
Oooooooo, or have you been to The Freak Show?
It’s by the Broken Home Balloon Stand.
Ooooo, The tension on insecurity, and G-Force on Divorce will drive you WILD.
I love the Rejection food stand, they have some delicacies like the slit wrist salad bar, or even the starvation sandwich.
Shall I Go On?
The final ride is called SUICIDE, often times it breaks down, but when you ride it you won’t want to leave....