#ian
exy exy come home
imy babycakes
ian pleeease spped i need this
May 1
May 1, 2026 at 12:45 PM UTC
i kept this love for you hidden in my veins like drugs or alcohol, like you could just find it on my breath if i leaned in too close or too soon. i blink and i hear your voice/feel your touch. i blink and i can almost rewind to those sweet winter days, the spring, the summer, the days you called me beautiful. falling for you was not seasonal. it was yearlong and so heavy lidded and blissful.
i still want to grow old with you. i want to ask you, “honey, did you feed the fish?” i want to go on our one hundredth date and still get butterflies. i want to look into those beautiful eyes and know that right then, right there, i’m looking at my whole ******* world. i want to wake up with your body so tangled with mine we could be mistaken for a singular, otherworldly being. i want to come home later in the day and tell you about my day at work as i’m in the recliner and you’re massaging my shoulders. i want the purest softest love the universe can muster.
you make me sure of one thing, and that is that love transcends. period.
everything about you is a reminder of what love is to me. and i want to protect that love more than anything in the world, okay?
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 12:06 AM UTC
Some of these days
children will stop eating your dreams
and the eternal void of thinking silently,
the eternal darkness of your internal voice
will forever be
just noise
and
that pain,
that tedious light
at the end of the trail
won't drag you
away
no more.
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 6:10 PM UTC
everyone has a story and mine is painted
the color of the oceans on the bermuda coastline.
it’s so beautiful/sad/broken/much like art.
my skin sometimes shimmers like that lake by your
house in florida, the lake that knows how to dance
in the moonlight like we did that night when you
you put an arm over my shoulders and we swayed
like lovers to a song others have kissed so passionately to.
it’s funny. i saw you and i saw your story.
i saw it painted in sunsets,
and sun showers,
and tears in the rain.
you had a story with the colors of fresh bruises, and it intermingled with mine.
what if i let my soul spill out onto a canvas again?
would we be able to pretend
like this love never had to end
and could we blend our colors together
like the watercolor paints we’re made of
and transcend
above the pain and
the darkness
that envelops us
and our story?
what does it mean to have a story?
i wonder this, as i instinctively tell ours
and hope that i left some fingerpaint
on your heart.
i hope
you can set me apart from anyone you have ever loved.
i still love
you in color although my world's gone grey
even though i have to keep reminding myself that
your voice sounds like a violet galaxy
because it’s got the kind of stars i may never get to see
again.
once again i am left to watch a lover on the sidelines
and it’s like my
heart is forever breaking in the night time
and the daytime.
all the blasted time.
i’m crying on my knees
praying to a god i never used to believe
in but only a higher power could cause this bleeding
of love that i was seeking.
and now i understand the meaning in
be careful what you wish for.
and i am unsure
of what i miss more.
the purple streak in your hair,
the look in your eyes,
the embraces,
the kisses,
the glow in the dark,
the float above the ground,
the couldn’t care less,
the sounds,
of your voice,
your laugh,
your heartbeat,
the way you’d effect my heartbeat…
i had stars in my eyes, babe,
but the stars bleed
and i hardly see
anything but what we
used to be.
we used to be everything in every galaxy
and me?
i used to be,
i used to be,
i used to be free.
can’t you see it’s killing
me, turning my colors grey?
can’t you just
wouldn’t you just
please just
stay.
stay a moment while i find the right words to paint.
the right words to say.
words the color of love/fear/the bay/promise.
because i love you like a promise
soft, pale blue, and the skyline,
ever present, never evanescent and true.
i want to continue this story,
because we were so lovely
and we had so much more
in store.
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC
i hate this
i feel like everything inside of me
is fractured.
i am fractured.
the rest of me still lies with you.
my whole,
it lies with you.
i feel so sad.
everything i am is intertwined
with you.
and yet everyone expects
me to split my soul
and still go on
as if i am complete.
when i'm not.
when i'm broken in pieces
some of which are missing
are with you
you you you you you you you
*i love you so ******* much, okay?*
i can't just let go.
i don't want to lose that much of myself
when i had just found out
who she was,
and her purpose
while loving you.
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 5:49 PM UTC
i still cry every day.
but this time,
the pain hits me at one minute before midnight.
as thursday starts to bleed
into friday
i remember our days
and i get so so scared that they’re over.
midnight comes.
it’s tomorrow now, it’s the next day,
and i just want to cry until my heart
is hollow.
i want to get punched in the chest.
i want to
cry
cry
sob for hours until i can never ever cry again.
i want there to be an echo, so as to prove
that my heart is empty.
it’s not empty.
there’s so much love in there, babe.
i still love you so much that it hurts
to breathe.
what’s the point
in life without you?
i’m scared that you’ve stopped
loving me.
that all this effort i’m trying to put in
so that we can be together,
so i can love you
without pain,
is for naught.
i love you more than poetry,
more than myself.
i would tear myself to shreds and
i would never write another word
if it meant that i could have you again,
if you could take me again.
i want to stop crying.
but i don’t want to give up on us.
sometimes this is more than i could handle.
ian, my biggest fear was life without you
and now i understand the reason.
as much as i smile
everything inside of me is fractured into little fragments
my bluest oceans are murky
my skies are cloudy
my future is dim.
this smile is a coverup
a defense mechanism.
no, everything is not okay.
no, i am not doing better.
no, i have not and will not stop loving you.
no matter what they tell me.
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 12:15 AM UTC
my love stands on rooftops with a megaphone. it screams at the top of it's lungs to an endless melody. it's everything i am and everything i want to be.
my love tells him to stand still for a minute, it tells me not to think for a minute. it says that we can be so much if we just do and stop waiting. my love is the feeling in his throat when he tells himself that he is finally too far away to think of me. i know, i know.
my love does not care for his past. it holds his previous days in its hands but its the big spoon to the little spoon that is his future.
my love is a light in the distance that he can somehow touch with the palm of his hand. it's warm and soft and careful and it'll reflect into his eyes the next time he looks into mine.
my love doesn't wean or wane, it remains a full moon, so next time he looks up at the sky, remember: there's always a reason i am alive, and when i met him the reflection in the waters, the pull of tides, they showed me why.
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 5:17 PM UTC
*my hands and heart are calloused
from writing out our story
from living out our story
god knows
i breathe so much love for you
and it lives within me
and right now it's messier
than before*
*it's angry
it's painful
it's jaggedly soft and a whispered
prayer
are you there?
my love, are you there?*
*you may give up on me
but my knees are scuffed
because i've been praying
on concrete.
that never used to happen before*
*i've this carpet burn
from sleeping on the floor,
because the bed
is a mocking reminder
of the softness of your skin
of you love
of you*
*i'm a sinner, and you know it
but i felt so holy
when your lips touched mine
the way they did*
*i miss you
like an ocean misses the shore
i will always be trying
to reach you*
*my heart's still in your hands
it's in your hands
i always melted in your hands...*
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
Desperate times calls for desperate measures,
Desperate mind, peer pressure?
Are you blind or are just a tester?
Leave her behind, IT will not give you any pleasure.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
Roughly six-hundred-and-two packs of cancer sticks later,
I don't feel as sick as therapists have said I am to be.
That means twelve-thousand-and-fifty-three cigarettes have been consumed
in the past three years by me,
in which I'm surprised my lungs haven't had to be exhumed from my barreled chest.
I'm surprised I haven't died,
or contracted a malignant growth in my throat,
or excessive tar in these lungs that hold me up,
or haven't choked on the smell,
or haven't wrecked a car while dropping a smoke into my lap.
Now all of my cigarette burns are marks from the slight curve
of smiles I've found in sad people spending their valuable seconds on letting smoke settle in.
I've been using stupid cancer sticks to curb this constant anxiety I brought upon myself.
In prison they use cigarettes as currency, I always say I want to be wealthy with passing away faster,
it makes me feel oddly sentimental knowing I'll be closer
to friends I once hid away with and shared moments
over cigarettes.
But back to my point,
way back then, when I met you.
I didn't want to smell like smoke,
I didn't want you to hate it on me.
I didn't need to curb the anxiety.
I didn't want to taste like lung cancer.
I didn't want to remind you of what you hate.
It's late notice, but you were my nicotine sprinkled with cyanide, arsenic
(rat poison), butane, ammonia, menthanol, carbon monoxide, and paint,
but you weren't cancerous, contrary of what you always say.
I was the carcinogen that would've made you die if I had stayed.
You don't know I wanted to, though,
I wanted you addicted, but I'm a cigarette with remorse;
we both wanted more,
and I miss you like eight hours away from the seven minutes I take off of my day.
I didn't want to **** you, though you may be scarred,
I wanted you to be alive and generally unharmed.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC