#157
Sorry, I was 9 notes behind. The other 8 will be posted today/tomorrow.
Ily
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 6:00 AM UTC
i hate that our parents taught us to muffle our emotions
and i hate the need for a cigarette that i feel in your car
i hate that when i was younger i told myself to stop writing songs
i hate the need for loving that i feel when i'm alone
but it is going to be alright sometime
it is going to be alright sometime
i feel this soft
you don't know what to do when you're cold and lonely
your sit on my bed and watch tv
the seasons are changing
your hands are frigid and you are messaging your girlfriend
telling her existential things,
bringing her into your crisis
now you're remembering when you were thirteen
and in love with ingrown ivy
and your best friend...
who told you she could never love you and said so in the cryptic bubbles
she drew in your poetry book.
you're feeling kind of restless and you know you can't contest that
there's no way
to get out of this highhandedly-
so you turn away
and you make up words to fill the pages of
your soft leather book
and you think of sweet summer, somewhere special and you crawl
into your bed
where you can be warm
and blend in -
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 10:22 PM UTC
Next to you
I slow my breathing
To memorize the rhythm of yours,
Which calms me from the memory
Of nightmares
I was always
The first person awake at the sleepover;
Maybe one or two girls awoke
But everyone returned to rest with ease
Except me -
I've long been looking for things to fill those spaces
Between sleep and wakefulness ;
I had never considered
Writing to you
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 12:06 PM UTC
Yours was the arrival
I did not know
I was anticipating
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 12:23 AM UTC
Unleash your depths
And let me drown, I
Want to learn how long I will submerge
Before my lungs burn up
And my eyes bulge out
Until I can no longer feel the pressure
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
When I am with you,
My smile can blaze
And my muscles
Contort themselves into positions
I never imagined possible
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 7:51 PM UTC
I brim with compassion.
My strength comes from encountering fear
And gazing into the eyes
Of whatever form it takes.
It lies in my acceptance
Of vulnerability as great as the trees
Whose aged, gentle leaves
Shade my fragile skin
And restore me as I slumber.
This confidence is a new development,
And I do not always bear it with grace;
But I trust in my abilities
And love for living,
(A rare thing! A new thing! A grand thing!),
Which I defend fiercely
And with great care.
Shame upon whomever seeks to shatter
The tranquility of another!
May the yellow eye of terror
Fixate on them
And inspire redirection.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 10:19 PM UTC
On Taking Up Space,
the ripples of the skin of my gentle lover-
Diligently recorded
In smudging black ink
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
Banks
And the stale odor of Marlboro Golds
Remind you of a slower time
When you broke into abandoned barns and sang sermons to the rooftops
Unaware of who might listen
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
You've gone home now,
Departed on your bike in your baseball cap
And I can still feel
The echo of you on my skin
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 4:19 PM UTC
Blank skin begging to be touched says,
"kissing you is like eating stardust, and,
I'll crawl to the corners of your earth if you let me.
In the middle of things, while you are away,
please save me an honest smile?"
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC
I can no longer remember
how to speak in first person,
where your freckles are located,
how you used to cry...
I know you apologized many times
while sobbing,
but I no longer recall
what that looked like
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
You said to keep my eyes on you,
but I was busy memorizing
the way your cadence rose and fell
and how each syllable
altered the contours of your face;
and you revived everything around you...
I'm not a person for promises,
or seeds sown out of spite, but there is something so fascinating about you-
how you glide and breathe
so effortlessly by me
and I think that maybe, you could be my sun
if circumstances
and solar systems
allow
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
I haven't cried in weeks.
I'm not sure if I remember how.
The desire swells at the back of my throat,
the muscles constrict and burn, but when the blade is just inches
from plunging through my neck, I stop
and pour another glass of wine
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC
It would take me 230 hours to walk from the spot
where you first told me you'd like to be my partner
to the place where,
nearly eight months later,
you apologized
for breaking my heart.
Two-hundred and thirty hours.
According to my calculations,
which I etched in my new writing pad,
I have one-hundred and one poems left until I reach my total.
If I write a poem each day,
it will take me almost three-and-a-half more months
before your vision
is faded from my memory, and by that time
it will almost be December
when your birthday falls,
and I'll have to start over.
And that time is not counting
old photographs re-surfacing,
the pain of knowing I've been erased,
or chance encounters on our campus, see
I have been eliminated twice now
by women who I have loved like nothing else
and I'm beginning to fear
that something is wrong with my love, that I am too potent
or terrifying
to have success.
I want someone to leave me,
and leave me well; I want to be able to call them
when I am sick, or alone, or dying of desperation,
when I have lost my home or someone in my family,
and vice versa.
I want someone to feel the same small attachment and desire
to still cultivate my well-being
as I do
for those whose voices I no longer hear in my sleep.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 3:47 PM UTC
We both have kind eyes,
And are growing
In our separate ways
And that is
Oddly comforting to me
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
I don't think she knew how to exist
Without being melancholy
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 1:11 AM UTC
I may not have the most perfect physique,
but as I sit here,
having a beer and becoming aware of myself,
I realize that it is all that I need.
My neck, though it grows stiff on occasion,
is the perfect slope for the face of a lover.
My spine is long and narrow,
but crunched into itself
from years of compacting.
I want to reach inside my skin and set it free.
My shoulders are sloped, but sturdy,
and carry the weight of a thousand worlds.
One of my biceps is bigger than the other,
but that's okay,
its a natural phenomenon
and when I flex my right arm
it makes me feel strong, and powerful.
Capable.
I may not be thin enough
for you to count each tiny, delicate rib, but
I have a strong abdomen
and can do many sit-ups
or pull myself out from under you,
sit up suddenly to kiss you,
and anchor myself to the earth, yes -
My hips aren't as narrow as I'd like them to be,
but my quadriceps are strong and sinuous
My reflexes, feline
and my calves pure muscle,
I know
because ever since I turned thirteen,
I have been staring at them
after soccer practice in my cleats and shinguards
at the pool as the water drips off my legs and catches in the hairs
I've worked so hard to groom
in the morning as I stretch and caress their skin-
My feet
wiggle their toes into the moist, warm earth and keep me firm
and my eyes
pry into you,
always seeking
for things unknown
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 2:31 AM UTC
Your work isn't very good,
You have four women who've misconceived you,
and your drinking is a bit of a mess.
You smoke too much *** and you're really beginning to fill out your underwear.
But you're writing,
aren't you?
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
I don't know if anybody told you
that you look like young Winona Ryder,
or that the skin around your eyelids
looks so perfect when you smile, but
You're a devil
And you move just like you like
And no one can tell you anything
When you bite your lip that nice
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 1:56 AM UTC
At least I'm here,
At least I'm writing,
And feeling full.
At least this sustenance,
This painful brew,
Nourishes me.
At least I boil and then drink the thorns
And feel no sting
Of sadness in my throat
Anymore
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
Talk to me more about miscommunications.
Tell me more about
These jumbled lips,
Misshapen teeth,
Boxed-off smiles you're carting around.
Convince me one more time that you're so perfect,
Please.
Cut my wings and ask me to take flight,
Again, I dare you.
I was strong
And in need of redemption
I was lost
And deserved a response -
Craft another elegant lie about how you loved me
And I'll use it as fuel for these flames.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 12:10 AM UTC
Feel less dread when you think about the complex nights you've had,
stupors you've fallen into,
lovers you've kissed.
Those things are okay,
and everybody does them.
Eat your breakfast on the fire escape, and watch the birds.
Read a little every morning, too
and remember that "morning"
means "before twelve pm."
Breathe a little, darling,
and not just into the mouth
of a stranger.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 2:35 PM UTC
I am migrating between two worlds,
and learning to do it swiftly
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 2:28 PM UTC
Hello, I hope you're doing well in the midst of this chaos.
I'm aware that I left a long time ago, but
I wanted to write to you and see if I could recall your face.
I hope that you've transitioned smoothly,
found yourself in that whirlwind of a body at last,
and quieted.
I hope that you're still writing,
that you've tamed the seas
the way you often dreamed of doing.
I hope that you've found dry, calm earth
and settled down
in Tuscon
to grow old and paint
like the Georgia O'Keefe you always said you were.
Please paint a beautiful ****** just for me.
I hope that you'll recall my name now and again,
and think to smile, and, I hope
You'll forgive that all of my sentences have begun with "I."
See, I don't know how else to tell you
that I wish I could get to know you again, and that
your eyes held answers I could never have imagined,
nor knew how to uncover.
I don't know how to write you, because
this isn't a love letter
no, it couldn't be a love letter, but
something deep in here wants it to be?
I wish you'd know that I'm sorry for leaving,
and all the pain I'd caused, I wish you'd know also that
none other has compared to you
(I know it's a small consolation, but bear it with you in the night when you're feeling lonely, I suppose)
I hope you've found games you love to venture into and people who make you smile, and that you've seized all your opportunities for adventure with both hands.
I hope you're no longer hiding your poetry, and that the world will soon bear witness to your words and declarations, and, I hope
that, someday, you'll remember
to stop forgetting me.
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 11:58 PM UTC