Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sydney May 2017
More often than not I wake up in the morning wishing that I could shed this body like a second skin. If only it were that easy. As if I wear my shame like a jacket that I can unzip and toss over my chair when I get home. As if it were not a seed whose roots have grown deep in my skin, and crept their way into my veins. She touches me so gently, in every place I’ve been ashamed to claim as my own. And as she kisses my neck and reaches for my thigh, all I can seem to think of is how long it will take for her fingers to recoil. I wonder when she will realize that her hands don’t like the bumpy texture of my flesh. That my skin doesn’t hug my bones quite like it should. That I’ve got curves in all the wrong places. I wonder how long it will take for her to see me the way that I see myself. I know that I’m sick. It’s a disease without a cure. No matter how much you refuse to eat, it will always eat away at you. There is no running from this. You must lie down. And as she kisses your neck and reaches for your thigh, pull her closer. Let her know you trust her. Let her trace your bumpy flesh like hills and valleys, let her wander. She touches me so gently, in every place I’ve ben ashamed to claim as my own. And as she kisses my neck and reaches for my thigh, I let her.  Because this is how we learn to love ourselves. This is how we heal.
Sydney May 2017
there's so much bad ****.
so much bad **** that I never had the courage to deal with.
so forgive me when I cling to the good things.
forgive me when I begin to cling to you.
for so long, I was so desperate to feel anything other than empty.
and from the day I met you, you've made me feel so full.
so full of every emotion that I told myself I didn't deserve.
so forgive me when I care a little more than I should.
i'm trying to be better.
i'm still learning to be whole.
broken pieces, whole, pain, empty
Sydney May 2017
She has broken me about a thousand times since we first said hello, and every single time it hurts just a little bit more. She is better for me than any person I've ever met yet she is driving me mad. I am so terrified of being hurt again that I am hurting myself.
What is wrong with me?
It was so good. It always is at first. But then I break, and I break, and I break until the pieces are so small, and so many, that I'd be easier to replace than to put back together.
I am toxic.
I am volatile.
I have so many cracks, I'm not sure I will ever be whole again.
Sydney Jan 2017
Do not fall in love with a girl who reads
Because she’ll probably overanalyze everything
Because she’ll never understand
That people aren’t paperbacks
She’ll search for plot in your veins
And make metaphors of your broken heart
Do not fall in love with a girl who reads
Because she’ll fold your corners
And crumple your pages
She’ll make notes in your margins
And she’ll probably bend your spine back
Just a little too far
Do not fall in love with a girl who reads
Because she’ll get too excited for the ******
And she’ll skip some words (or pages)
When she’s sleepy she’ll skim
And lose her place
Do not fall in love with a girl who reads
Because she’ll fall in love with
Last chapters and final words
Do not fall in love with a girl who reads
Because the ending will always be her favorite part.
The original poem.
Sydney Jan 2017
Darling, I don't hate you,
not even a little.
To be honest, I never stopped caring for you.
I did resent you for a time.
I resented you for not loving me the way that I loved you.
And I know that's not fair.
But you were everything to me.
I was so absolutely infatuated with the idea of you, the idea of us,
That I let it consume me.
I let it change the person that I had worked so hard to become.
But let me make myself clear,
I don't blame you.
Not even a little.
But I don't blame myself either.
It's us that changed me.
Darling I don't hate you,
never did, never could.
But I can't love you either.
Sydney Jan 2017
I've never prayed, but I write about religion like I know what it means. I've never gone to church, but I have more faith than I know what to do with. I don't know if I believe in God, but I believe in this. I believe in everything we're doing here. I believe in mankind, our ability to do good. I don't believe that we were created for a reason. I believe that we were created to find one. And this right here, this is my reason.
This past summer I went on a mission trip with my friend's church down to Sneedville, TN to repair houses. I was definitely nervous going into the trip, because I had never been very religious and I'd be spending a week and a half fixing houses with people who grew up in the church. But even though I spent 10 days in 90 degree weather, sleeping in an old middle school with a bunch of strangers, working 8 hours a day to repair a stranger's house, I would consider my trip with ASP as one of the most amazing and important experiences of my life. This trip exposed me to a spiritual side of me that I didn't even know existed. And I wouldn't trade my time with ASP for the world.
Sydney Feb 2015
I went back to that bookstore last Friday
Because I told myself I missed it
I was always so fascinated by the secrets
hidden between splinters in the old wood bookshelves
And the fleeting thoughts scribbled hastily
onto the ripped pages of old romance novels
That bookstore always reminded me a lot of you
In the way that it went practically unnoticed its entire existence
Yet it was still so fascinating inside
The floorboards creaked with every step
As if trying to remind you that they exist
And all of the good books hid on the top shelves
Just out of reach
Those shelves seemed to hold more mystery
more love, more passion, more life
Than any human being could ever comprehend
The lights would flicker just as your eyes did when you woke up in the morning
and you could hear their soft hum
Filling these halls with life
It reminded me of your shallow breathing
As you used to lay asleep so gently beside me
And I used to come in everyday to read new books
But there were so many
And if it took the rest of my life
I was determined to read each and every last one
And I went back to that bookstore last Friday
Because I told myself I missed it
But maybe I just miss you
Next page