#spotless
I’ve been struck down again,
fully aware it’s my own doing.
Do you have a heart you can lend?
Mine’s drying from the taping and the glueing.
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
are you smiling or are you snarling,
more importantly are you mine?
Outside the window seasons blend,
the temperature holds no meaning.
I notice the change and the trend,
to ignore the withdrawals from weaning.
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
you’ve been avoiding and been barring,
but you can’t severe this line.
The stronger the initial fear
usually means the most is at stake,
and trying to prevent a single tear
can lead to the worst heartbreak.
Those who leave the best memories
usually leave us with the most hurt,
you know we can’t just live life with ease,
there needs to be some blood on a white shirt.
You can try to completely forget someone,
but putting that effort in means you’re actually fixated more,
and after all is said and done,
honestly who do you wish to be behind that door?
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
is it cleansing or more harming,
to live in denial all the time?
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
when it’s finished it’ll be starting,
and I’ll stand under the Montauk sign.
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 7:07 AM UTC
It's not that you have to be perfect and brand new
You aren't a smart phone
It's not that you have to be loved by everyone
You don't exist on a pedestal
It's not that you need to be shiny and look good
You aren't a diamond ring
It's not that you need to be smooth and spotless
You aren't glass
It's just that you need to love yourself as much as you love those things.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC
Write as flawless as the river,
as spotless as the mirror.
The sky can’t take its eyes
off it because it’s so clear.
If you ever spare
a word or two so pure.
Never wonder how it might look:
simply, it would be just like you.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
“Love is short, forgetting is so long.” –Pablo Neruda
close your eyes, keep them closed.
take an ice pick
and blind yourself to any reminders
of his flyaway hair or wrinkled jeans.
pour antifreeze on the memory
of the way he used to stroke your arm
before the kiss, and the cauliflower soup
he brought over when your dog was hit by a car,
and your eyes were swollen shut from crying, and
you wouldn’t get out of bed.
Keep a bottle of ***** nearby
to numb the area as you carve yourself
into a shape he hasn’t seen, skin
he hasn’t touched.
don’t breathe
until you’ve lost enough brain cells
to feel something again.
when you no longer see him in the face
of the cashier at the supermarket, when
you no longer recognize your reflection
in the tinted windows of an all-too-familiar white
sedan, you’ll know that you’ve finally done something
right.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
Take me where the evenings of ours were once vivid,
Where our conversations weren't as cold as the frost;
To the world we once livin',
And the sea we once got lost.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 3:37 AM UTC