Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Vanessa Grace Apr 2018
I'm so nostalgic these days
and I know you've heard that all before
the whole "I'm listening to old songs on repeat
and re-reading the broken stories I keep
to find myself again" thing—but hear me out.
No, this time I really mean it
Nostalgia is not a dark cloud lingering above my head
but a thunderstorm rumbling below my feet
and every moment of every day I'm tumbling through it
and trying to pretend I don't see concrete
hurdling towards me
like it has some twisted sense of vengeance,
some sort of hunger for my life.
And occasionally perhaps I can forget how broken I feel, and be content with what this is.
But this is a small life and it's an even smaller smile
when laughing at your jokes but turning up a noise-dial
in my head
so that I don't have to hear myself think
let alone breathe
over the chatter about how unremarkable I've become.

There's no sanctity to my mind,
no peace in my heart,
and no rest for my spirit.

So I'm nostalgic,
and yes, I mean it.
I'm listening to old songs on repeat.
Combing through ancient poems and pictures;
staring at a face that once upon a time, shared my likeness—
but now she mirrors my demons.
v.g

Sometimes I read this and it makes sense. Sometimes I read this and it's nowhere truthful enough.
Vanessa Grace Dec 2017
I've not held a pen in many months,
for fear of seeing your face
in the belly of my words.
I know how thick
the effect of you is,
how you pervade every work of mine
with a foul, haughty stench;
you always told me
I'd be the one to never forget you.
And how could I,
when you've made me so weak?
My mind is your residence,
and you've proclaimed it your own;
hovering over each stanza
with involuntary tremors
and disheartening convulsions,
begging me to notice you,
begging me to come inside.
But with every turn of phrase
I'm reminded of your nature
one that's malignant,
unyielding—
for you are just as much my muse
as you are
my cancer.
v.g

Relates always to my wonder, "if your words had a face, who would you see?"

And also, why is it that sometimes the most harmful people/things within our lives end up being the most memorable, and inspiring?
Vanessa Grace Dec 2017
'I love you, you know that?'
I say as I
brush his hair
behind his ear,
tear my gaze
from his own,
take two steps back,
don't look back,
         and finally let him go
v.g
Vanessa Grace Dec 2017
Today I will put my words on a diet.
Maybe with a bit of time, we'll finally shed the weight of you
that which was held over our heads
for so many years.
v.g
Vanessa Grace Nov 2017
my heart beats
  heavily,
in my frame
whilst melancholy
  tingles,
at my brain
the memories of a younger life
  seize me
and take me far
away,
where innocence was
becoming,
and I was not
to blame
v.g

Another birthday has come and gone. Adulthood is not all it seems.
Next page