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 Mar 2017 claire
storm siren
Fit
 Mar 2017 claire
storm siren
Fit
I don't fit
Very well
With most people.

I am shy, and sweet.
Strange and terrifying.
Small and delicate.

I am something that
Most people do not know
How to love.

And that's okay.

I don't need their love.

I don't need to fit.

*But, God, do I want to.
 Mar 2017 claire
storm siren
Fog
 Mar 2017 claire
storm siren
Fog
My mind is foggy
From my depression.
Something I've been diagnosed with.
Something I only notice
When it gets really bad.

I say things.
Things about myself
That if anyone else said them,
I'd be beyond hurt.

But the fog
Makes it okay.

Because the fog twists things,
And words,
And actions,
And expressions.

And my past makes me paranoid.

Like when you're being extra quiet,
And extra thoughtful,
Introspecting,
If you will.
When you use responses like "I will be."
To my question of "Are you okay?"

It rubs me the wrong way.
I can't take things
At face-value.

Everything is deeper.

The fog makes the distance between us
Seem much bigger than it probably is.

But to me,
It goes on for miles.
 Mar 2017 claire
Anand
A Short Elegy
 Mar 2017 claire
Anand
In your picture I saw
Thought you were looking at me
An infectious smile sans flaw
Is what I could still see
My lips widened mocking your smile
Tears rolled out of eyes too in the while
And then I realized
You are no more.

May your soul rest in peace, I pray.
If there is heaven, may you there, stay
I pray...I pray.
 Mar 2017 claire
kaitlyn lawrence
Oh Lord, why have you taken my happiness from me?
It was needed, important, oh why can't you see?
The smiles, the laughter, the woes and woe-nots,
Weren't all taken stride, more often than aught.

With its life you took mine, it is sad but it is true.
The time we had was far from few,
My pride and joy was in the womb,
But oh dear death, your sadness loomed.

I understand why your time was short,
You were needed somewhere, a high court.
Oh child of mine who'd never see day
I know I couldn't have asked you to stay.
 Mar 2017 claire
Julia Elise
I think my lips are chapped because I've kissed so many boys who don't love me.
You ask me 'what do you taste like?' I don't think its very **** to say regret and sadness.
You say 'when can I taste you' My taste has been passed around so many tongues there is nothing left for you.

He tells me 'I'm here for you, I'll always be here for you' as he kisses my neck. The next week the bite mark on my belly is fading and I can barely remember the colour of your eyes.

My sister says 'you will change your mind' she says, 'all woman want to be mothers'.
I have stumbled in at 4am with the taste of strangers in my throat to see my mother sitting upright waiting for me, I think of the night I spent crying on my mothers lap in a&e;, certain I couldn't make it through the day, the way my brother scowls at my mother, my sister telling her that 'you could've done more, you could've walked away.' I. Dont. Want. Children.

My mum tells me she is old, she is tired. She desperately needs a man to hold doors open for her and carry her shopping. I am trying to remember that needing someone does not mean you are weak.

My grandmother gave me waist beads to encourage fertility. She says 'god gave you those hips to birth children'. Ive never told her that i lost my faith in god the year i lost my virginity.  And if there is a god, i don't want his ******* fertility. I want to break these beads and let drugs engulf me to prove my grandmothers blind faith wrong.
I laugh and pray before our meal and kiss her forehead, 'god bless'.

He tells me 'i know youre *****, its natural'. I laugh and play along for his delight. 'women are just like toys, television, easy puzzles'. I think of my father beating my mother, my fathers face all the men ive walked past in the street. My mothers face is my own.

'if you don't want boys to touch you you shouldn't wear tight clothes'. I think of all the boys who have run their fingers over my back when i was dressed in clothes from neck to ankle. I wonder if god is a sexist man. I wonder if there's any men who aren't implicitly sexist.

He tells me, 'I'll spend hours on you, I'll make you believe in god again'. There is nothing I can do but laugh. I ask him, 'does your mother know you speak to girls like this?'
He ***** his teeth, 'do you always have to be so difficult?'  
I kiss him but I think of his mother, foreign and lonely, 2 sons and no husband.

He says 'you need a real man' I think of all the other boys who have told me that before leaving me.
He wants to know why I'm in hospital so much, 'how are we going love each other when you can't tell me what's wrong with you' I don't want to tell him that I've cut my arms so badly I can see god in my blood, and sometimes the voice in my head screams so loud I black out. I kiss his chest. He doesn't ask again. I resent him for that.

I've been ignoring my fathers phone calls for two weeks because his voice sounds like absence and I don't want to hear another 'I love you' from a man who doesn't know my secrets.
 Mar 2017 claire
Rose L
I feel much heavier these days
I sleep a lot, and I paint with browns
Light ochre and soft greys
You tell me that's what you've noticed, anyway.
I forget to do my nails, and leave my hair up
Let it grow out and longer than it suits me.
Sometimes you tell me things have changed and tightly hold my hands -
I laugh and pretend I don't understand.
I used to read a lot, read to you -
Anything I found, poetry and song lyrics
And books I'd bought, or old ones that i'd suddenly see anew
when I'm seeing you,
over the top of the pages
Sitting opposite me crossed legged
Mimicking my voice
Laughing till we're both lightheaded.
Years ago you used to replace the flowers in my bedroom every morning
I told you to stop and that lilies were getting boring.
Today I got up extra early and painted my nails fuschia-pink
And cut big handfuls of daisies for the vase above the kitchen sink
When you came down from bed I looked at you over the pages of my book and said
"Remember this?
 Mar 2017 claire
Joel M Frye
weeds
 Mar 2017 claire
Joel M Frye
To my friends
who can write
fresh-smelling
bouquets of words
with splendid color,
I offer my envy.
Mine are the blunt, stunted words,
rooted in the cracks
in pavement,
or forcing their way
to light around
overbearing rocks.
Some useful
in their own way,
edible or flavorful,
some with a
pedestrian beauty,
but few that one
would bring home in a bunch
with a box of candy.
More appropriate
in a grimy, young fist
crumpled in love,
destined to be vased
in a water glass
by a doting mother,
or shredded petal by petal
for the sake of soothsaying...
he loves me, he loves me not.
The beauty of your words takes my breath away some days.  Thank you.
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