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Tessellate May 2013
the feelings are scary,
and I don't know what
to do.
Tessellate May 2013
you were supposed to
relieve my pockets of pebbles
to keep my head above the water,
only you replaced the pebbles with bricks.
my callow attempt to breathe only kills me faster.
Tessellate May 2013
i want everything back
or I want to die.
I'm done with this in between
Tessellate May 2013
this is me
drifting away to the stars
to forget about you.
but you follow,
the stars are
no longer ours.

leave me be
Tessellate May 2013
I want you to love me
more than
the drugs
that fill you with artificial
happiness.

you're in my veins,
let me in.
Tessellate Apr 2013
I find comfort in the place inside my head where I can think.  A place forever changing with the instability of my emotional state.  This special place is a canvas being painted as my life progresses, in the deep blues of despair and soft yellows of contentment. Borrowing smells, visions, and people of memories past and present to build a beautiful escape from reality.  It is impossible to remember an exact moment in this place, as it, like all matter, is in a constant state of motion.

Somedays the bright light of early morning is shining in, the dust particles collecting and shimmering like glitter in the air.  I can hear birds chirping, harmonizing with the soft, kind voices of my childhood.  A hand reaches out to touch mine, their thumb stroking the top of my hand and their fingers tickling the inside of my palm, as if to say: “It's okay, you're here with me now”.  Whose hand that is, I can never quite be sure.

There are times where I sit with my cheek against the cold damp window, watching the water scrambling and morphing into new shapes and sizes as it runs down the glass, listening to the rain pounding an unsteady rhythm to which the thunder and lightening dance.  The looming darkness intensifies the sound of beating hearts and broken voices.  But once again, a hand touches mine: “It's okay, you're here with me now”.  Regardless of the emotions it may evoke and the darkness that may linger, it is always much safer than reality here.  

At times I am alone in this place with only the babbling of a nearby brook, or the comforting melody of a familiar song to keep me company.  Here, I am allowed to be in a moment without the threat of interruption.  Here, I am able to think, to breathe.  

It can be a place of panic, anguish, or even hopelessness; but no matter how it's ambiance is affected by my mental state, it will always be a place of stability.

In this moment, my special place is far from this room that confines me.  It is full of the people I ache to see again, full of memories of times before bad decisions robbed me of all that meant anything in my life.  The song “July” by Youth Lagoon is playing: “If I had never let go, then only God knows where I would be now.  I built a bridge between us and then slowly burned it.  Five years ago, in my backyard I sang love away.  Little did I know that real love had not quite yet found me”.

Today it is a place of regret and desire, and the hand is one I long to hold again.
An in-class assignment on "My Special Place". 25 line poem or 400 word prose, I clearly chose the prose. Feel free to add grammatical corrections in a personal message.
Tessellate Nov 2012
i had a thought.
i ran out of my room,
down the hallway,
and into the bathroom.

i wriggled out of my worn down, tie dye shirt.
hopping up and down as i pull off my
high-waisted jeans, pulling my pant leg with my foot as i
trample the dark denim to the ground.

i stand there naked, in front of the
harsh, full length mirror.
combing my fingers through my natural, wavy hair.
i contort my face in disgust, cocking
my head slightly to the side.

i close my eyes, and take one deep breath in.
when i open my eyes,
the reflection staring back at me is a thin, natural
beauty.

Her smooth ivory skin glows in the
silvery reflective glass.
Her stomach is flat and toned.
Her ******* lay on Her chest in perfect
proportion to the rest of her petite frame.

i run my fingers down the sides of my body.
my palms trailing along, dipping and
rising with the mounds beneath my skin.

i close my eyes and open them again,
this time taking my reflection for
what it really is.

i am fat.
my skin is pink and spotted with freckles the
colour of blood.

my stomach hangs low, covering the part
a man should see when i'm naked.

my ******* are big.
but not in the way you'd like them to be.
they lay there, sort of lop-sided.
hanging just above my ribs. Another place for
fat to take over.

the cuts on my thighs are hardly noticable
next to

all

that

fat

i can see tears in the eyes of the reflection staring back at me,
but i am numb.

i thought correctly. i am
fat. i am ugly.
Nobody in their right mind would want to
love me.
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