wrapped in my mind like I knot I cannot untangle
soft and sweet, running your fingertips down my naked back, making the sounds of the waves with your lips
close enough, always just within reach for me to fall on when my legs get weak
connected in my life, through the coincidences and mishaps somehow leading me back to you
the early bird gets the worm, right?
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.
pins start to tingle the edges of my fingertips
whispering to me
advising me to give in
the urge is stronger than me
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
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.
cover me in your bloodstained bed sheets
that still smell like cigarettes and ***
from the night she left
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
helpless grains of sand.
I wrote this on my fourth night of being hospitalized to the thought of you.
today, my English teacher explained that poetry is a way to express
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
don't turn whatever we have
into something I can write about
when I was younger,
my idea of pain was so very limited,
a garden of roses
in a world full of thorns
one thousand skinned knees
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
that I hadn't already gotten to
and these pain killers,
have always worked for
but not today
so I'm raising my dosage
to a few handfuls
hoping this pain will go away