Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
kyla marie May 30
please stay
wrapped in my mind like I knot I cannot untangle

please stay
soft and sweet, running your fingertips down my naked back, making the sounds of the waves with your lips

please stay
close enough, always just within reach for me to fall on when my legs get weak

please stay
connected in my life, through the coincidences and mishaps somehow leading me back to you

please stay

please

stay

don’t

leave

me

please

please.
kyla marie Jan 2019
the early bird gets the worm, right?
wrong.

the early bird inches her way out of her nest in the morning, longing to stay snuggled up next to her lover.

the early bird leaves early so she can afford the rent on her nest that is falling apart.
the early bird goes to work and gets an early start on her day, just to come back home to an empty nest and sleep for three more hours.

the early bird takes long and scolding hot baths to ease her aching joints and to participate in some “self care”, even though it never really works.
the early bird stares at herself in the reflection of the faucet and dissociates.

the early bird takes some sleeping pills and tries to fall asleep at a reasonable time, so she can be an early riser the next day, too.
the early bird tosses and turns.

the early bird thinks about the dishes that are not  done.

the clothes are not washed.

lunch isn’t made for tomorrow.

the early bird has three tests this week in college and hasn’t studied for a single one.

the early bird hasn’t had *** in a week.

the early bird feels unnoticed.

the early bird feels like she is not enough.

the early bird feels like she will never be enough.
this is the first poem I have been compelled to write after about 5 years of not writing.
I wrote this in my bathtub.
kyla marie Dec 2015
pins start to tingle the edges of my fingertips
whispering to me
advising me to give in
the urge is stronger than me
razors
pills
alcohol
drugs
***

all of these things i have learned to be dependent on in the past year

none of them have been my home

I had fallen in love with the one self destructive home I had

and he left
kyla marie Jun 2015
I keep trying to write letters
but they never turn out right

you taught me that home was never truly a place

it is blue eyes that I could get lost in for hours
pushing and pulling like the tides of the sea

it is strong hands that built things up but also
tore them down
and still managed to leave goosebumps down my spine

it is whispered 'I love you's that sound like a rainy august night
hushing me to sleep

it is long cold winter nights wrapped in your arms
listening to our heartbeats synchronized

it is the thought of our apartment

it is the holidays we spent together

it is the way you used to look at me

it is the promises we meant to keep

I am still in love with you. You are still my home. This hurts a lot less then I expected, but the pain is
constant and shoots down my veins. I am addicted to you. I feel alive with you.

I told you from the first time we kissed by the library that we would end up this way.

every second I was with you, I knew I would end up trying to write you heartbroken letters that would
never end up sounding right.
kyla marie Mar 2015
cover me in your bloodstained bed sheets
that still smell like cigarettes and ***
from the night she left
mid-august

press your ears against my chest
listen to my heartbeat
write a song to the rhythm of what keeps me grounded,
but all of the lyrics are about her

title it her name

we always talk about the ocean
and how listening to the tidal waves
can bring peace
to a restless mind

but we never talked about
the strength of waves
and how they can ware down
grounded rock
to
helpless grains of sand.
I wrote this on my fourth night of being hospitalized to the thought of you.
kyla marie Sep 2014
today, my English teacher explained that poetry is a way to express
internal feelings
externally

and the sadness I felt in my mind in my heart
could be spilled by accident
sloppily on paper
and still seen as a beautiful work of art

but the happiness you make me feel,
my mind cannot fathom words
to script carefully in ink
what you make me feel

these butterflies can't escape from my stomach and land on paper

the thought of loosing you
cannot rip my skin apart
to claw out of my body
and tear my words to shreds

please
don't turn whatever we have
into something I can write about
kyla marie Aug 2014
when I was younger,
my idea of pain was so very limited,
it was
a garden of roses
in a world full of thorns

one thousand skinned knees
and
five hundred sprained ankles
could not even begin to compare
to what I felt,
the day you left

my body was broken
my heart no longer belonged in my chest
my mind was dead,
and every single thought of you
ripped
and
burned
and
decomposed
the skin
that I hadn't already gotten to

and these pain killers,
have always worked for
skinned knees
and
sprained ankles

but not today

so I'm raising my dosage
to a few handfuls

hoping this pain will go away
Next page