Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2019 · 220
4 a.m.
vic Apr 2019
I spring awake at four a.m.
Inscitvely clutching my phone to check on this kid’s petition
“End the G.S.A.”
The stress eats away at my sleep schedule
As kids use one misunderstanding to take away my heart and soul
A club I have inputted so much of myself into
And funny enough “Vic” has three letters too
I can’t sleep without their 300 signatures popping up behind my eyelids
Comments being recited in the most repressed part of my insecurities
300 people who are against one of the clubs that saved me
Saved my friends
Saved so many people
But there’s no room for a gay presence in Johnson County
I spring awake at four a.m.
Visions of the kid who keeps his gun in his car spring into my head
My chest feels open already
Have already bled out every ounce of pride in me
What more harm can this kid do?
Don’t they understand that by killing my spirit
They’ve already made storage container for their bullets?
I spring awake at four a.m.
Because I do not let myself feel any other time
Must stay strong to show that I am bigger than their hatred
That I will go on
So I refuse to let myself accept that ever-consuming fear that grows in my stomach
It’s just indigestion
Just me being another overdramatic queer kid
Just everyday life that I must adjust to anyways
I haven’t let myself feel since the incident occurred
And the reactions poured in
Drowning any sense of safety I used to feel
I am choking on their unadulterated bigotry
Gasping for air amongst the abundance of hatred
And I’m not sure if I’ll ever breathe right again
I spring awake at 4 a.m.
Because I guess it’s the only time I feel safe anymore.
School is a warzone for people like me
And I can't hide in the crowd so easily
When it's 1v300
So I'm desperately trying to hide behind my poetry
I spring awake at 4 a.m.
Because I don't know if my coping is working.
did not revise this at all, just a quick poem of my thoughts before i try to get back to sleep
Mar 2019 · 294
vic Mar 2019
I wonder if the handcuffs were hereditary
If we were fed through those chainlink umbilical cords
Cut free and raised in disguised prison wards
I think our birth certificates may have been the first warrants for our arrest.
“Prison” was never a ***** word growing up
It was tossed around in potato salads
Mixed into our cole slaws
And served to us like pecan pie
“Prison” was not a ***** word
It was just a place that family members ended up
A Motel 6 specifically designed for Randolphs
But then middle school started
I was told that prison was for bad people
I refused to believe that it was for bad people
That my family shared rooms with criminals
Talked with murderers and thieves over a metal dinner table
That they were bad people.
How are you supposed to feel when you’re told that your DNA is bad people?
What are the charges against my biology?
What crimes have my genetics committed against the court?
Why are their laws written down in my ancestors' blood?
I suppose prisons are for bad people
But I don’t think you’re a bad person.
I wish I could just believe you’re a bad person
Since you’ve missed every warrant for communication
Every request for appearance to the important dates of my life
And I still want to pardon you from all charges
Because you’re my big brother.
I don’t think you’re a bad person
It’s easier to think that the handcuffs were hereditary
Than to believe that you ended up here on your own accord
And I wish this was your first time
But this isn’t my first time crying your name into a cinderblock wall
Begging for the release of my bubba
You always laughed when I called you bubba
Said that I had a way with words yet I still couldn’t pronounce “big brother”
I wish we got to know each other better
We were separated through a cascade of different fathers and custody cases
Names inked into legal paper before I even knew how to write it myself
I haven’t talked to you in over a year now
The only recent photos I have of you were taken at a police station
But you only got arrested a month ago
I can’t excuse the other eleven
What’s your excuse from running from family?
From the only sibling, you have left?
These handcuffs are hereditary
And every time they rubbed against your wrists, mine burn
Every time they say your name in a court setting
I hear it slamming into the sides of my skull
Every time they shut the bars of your cell
I am barred from another part of my soul
And I wonder if my name even passes through your thoughts
Cause when we mourned for our lost sister together
You said it was us against the world
So what’s the reason why you never returned my calls?
You said we were the only family that we had left
But as children of parents who didn’t care for them
The word “family” didn’t exactly hold much importance
We spent decades masquerading ourselves in the backgrounds of other people’s family photos
Trying to pretend like we weren’t secondhand children
We weren’t lost souls
Yet when they recounted their old memories
We could never fit ourselves into their homes
I relied on you to keep out of trouble
And raise your kids better than Mom ever raised us
But my nieces and nephews are still shallowing down the word prison like it’s Tylenol
You said I was the only family you could trust
The way you’ve treated me and your kids show me what I should’ve known all along
Whereas I had a way with your words
You never understood their meaning
Preferred silent smiles and passive-aggressive grunts towards showing emotion
You don’t know what family means
And I wonder if you can even feel my pain
Yes, these handcuffs are hereditary
And I feel your felonies burn in my veins
Causing avalanches in despair to cover my brain
Because what you don’t realize is as the youngest sibling
I inherited everyone’s pain.
Even your's.
Sep 2018 · 220
Another One Over
vic Sep 2018
I wonder why I wish to speak to you again
Despite the fact that it felt like you never listened
You never listened.
I complained about it constantly
Wrote sonnets about your lack of focus on me
Hoping you needed hearing aids so I could blame something else
Instead of feeling unimportant
You claim differently though.
Said I built up a wall between us
And now I realize that we weren’t only not on the same page
But we were in completely different libraries
Searching two different encyclopedias
Trying to find a way to define our feelings
I wonder whose anxiety made you feel boxed in
Was it my obsessive need for structured plans that built you in
Or your neglection of problems at hand that made them pile up?
We made better construction partners than lovers
Although that doesn’t mean much
All the bridges we tried to build collapsed into our salty tears
The home we wanted to make sunk into its foundation
We should’ve stuck to classmates.
And I as to move on from another failed relationship
Building roads to a different city that needs to repair its infrastructure
I wonder if you even deserved the sonnets I wrote.
Jul 2018 · 244
vic Jul 2018
Today, I am falling.
I don’t know where I am going to land
Or how I started falling in the first place
But I can feel my heart smashing against the ground
Can feel rocks landing on my lungs
I think it was a landslide.
A storm of the false assumptions my brain makes
Forcing me off of my mountainous high
Some people say seasonal depression happens in the winter
I think mine occurs during the hotter times
When things stay still and dry
But that one rainstorm can cause an entire mountain to slide
Hands no longer moving on my school papers
No longer babbling to teachers who see me as one of the hundreds of faces
What do you do when you're only memorable cause of your tragic backstory?
How do I become something more than a tale of depression?
How do I stop falling?

Today, I realized that I can never seem to stop my fall
Try and grab on to the cliff or the rocks
But they all slide with me.
We fall down together
Fading under heaps of mud that ***** our visions of life
Becoming nothing more than another lost fossil.
Bones under so much pressure we become fuel for successful people.
Why can’t I be the successful person?

Today, I wondered if there’s even a point in trying to stop the fall
Every mountain I conquer collapses anyways.
Becomes heaps of rocks and rubble for colonists to make skyscrapers on
My methods of success are outdated
For even the biggest mountains have been conquered before
I am nothing more than an unidentifiable face
That will be lost to the world shortly after her demise
Only remembered for her tragic backstory and a too short life.
They say in your senior year you should feel on top of the world
But I have yet to climb to that overhyped sensation

Instead, I am falling.
Jan 2018 · 232
The Beginning
vic Jan 2018
On July 2nd, 2001
A baby is born in Heidelberg, Germany.
I was wrapped in a pink blanket laced with my first panic attack
As the ghosts of my ancestors finished giving me my first lessons
They told me tales of greatness
So I knew what I wouldn’t become
Bathed me in lies of happiness and comfort
While letting depression sneak its way into my first bottle
Cursing me the moment I took my first sip
As the nurses came to collect my fragile hope
And wipe away every smile that dripped off my face
I began my journey in a life that I wasn’t meant to make it out of.
The stars sent out prophecies of almost suicides and constellations that formed hospital bills instead of heroes
But my parents still pretended that they were given a healthy baby
It would have been the first in the family line
We kept diving in the same gene pool, though
And in the end, we all drowned in the hope that some of us would succeed.
On July 2nd, 2001
Another tragedy is born in the world
It’s name was _____
But in a desperate attempt to erase all connections to my birth
And undo the curses my ancestors disguised as presents
I just go by Vic now.
I've decided to write my autobiography but with poems. This is the first one.
Nov 2017 · 640
Trash Can
vic Nov 2017
In this nearly empty trash can
I can see the hard work of a former student who wanted her club to feel loved
Thrown away and ripped apart just like our confidence.
In this nearly empty trash can
I can see the scars on a kid’s wrist
Torn open and ripped apart until all of their pride bleeds out of their skin
In this nearly empty trash can
I can see the suicides of my brothers, sisters, and siblings that don’t identify as either
Their memories tossed out and joked over as if their breath never breathed life into their former friends
In this nearly empty trash can
I can see another GSA meeting poster, ripped off the wall and tossed away
Because even our papers don’t get respect in these hallways
Sep 2017 · 552
Cinderella Dreams
vic Sep 2017
The thing about glass shoes is that they break far too easily
In order to wear them, you have to glide like an angel
Sing like a delicate hummingbird
And weigh as much as one of their feathers
Wearing glass slippers takes a lot of practice.
If you press a little too hard, your feet are engulfed by glass shards
It's the fine line between beauty and self-harm.
Glass slippers are meant to be worn by princesses.
They symbolize all your fairy-tale dreams coming true
If only they didn't break whenever I set my foot in them.
I do my best to make myself petite for my glass slippers
Using the old pieces to carve out my cheekbones and make my love handles disappear
Somedays I wonder if I've crossed that line between beauty and harm
But I'll do anything it takes to get that Cinderella waistline.
You know what they say,
"A dream is a wish your heart makes,"
I have to do what my heart says, right?
Found this old poem, decided to revise it.
May 2017 · 952
vic May 2017
I stand before you
A target for the bullets you spit
I didn't realize we had to read these claims out loud
Now I'm hearing you tell me I made a choice about who I am
You tell me I chose this path.
Your words are acid seeping into my skin slowly deteriorating the pride I used to hold
It's hard to be prideful when you're caught up in the accusations and drowning in disrespect
Please tell me more about how you are an expert in being gay
It's not like I'm a lesbian or anything
I obviously know nothing about the topic since I told you
People obviously choose to be gay and my experience as a gay person doesn't matter
It's not a choice though
It's a curse blessed upon you when you are born
A trait you find incredibly hard to love, I didn't choose the self-hatred and suicidal thoughts that came with this
I didn't choose the ****** harassment and public embarrassment
I didn't choose any of this
Being gay isn't like when you're at the amusement park and you decide to ride the rainbow roller coaster because it looks pretty
It's not a fun ride, it's a deadly one full of insults and discrimination that's hard to get back up from
It's being a target for people like you
You don't even realize how horrible and toxic the words you spit are to LGBT+ people like me
We swallow our words because we know you won't listen
Just like how so many lgbt+ youth swallowed a plethora of pills and didn't wake up
Wake up.
63% of these teens have attempted suicide in the past year
Do not tell me we choose this.
And if you think that it's fun to be gay you literally know nothing about our issues
Don't tell you're an ally then tell me you think you choose your sexuality
I didn't choose the life I was given
But you chose your words carefully in a way you thought would pierce me so you could win an argument
Not with actual fact but by just picking at your opponent till she feels like nothing
You probably never thought about it again that day
Yet here I sit, 24 hours later dreading the hour I have to spend in this classroom studying for my finals with homophobia
Wondering if running out could be the right answer.
I don't like running back to the closet but your words are shoving me into my hangers
I hear your voice whenever another guy puts his hand on my thigh and tells me about his lesbian fantasies
I hear your voice telling me I chose this
Hearing millions of voices telling me that I shouldn't complain because this was my decision
Not even asking me what I was wearing because being lesbian makes me enough of a **** already
I don't like your toxic spit because I know it'll spray on to the other gay kids around me that are vulnerable and insecure about their sexuality
I know your words will deteriorate their pride just like they have done to mine
You don't think you're homophobic because you don't shout the word “******” at gay people
But there's a lot more to homophobia than that
Like completely diminishing the past of LGBT+ individuals and belittling us down to choices
Believe me, if I had a choice I would have chosen to be straight because then I wouldn't have to sit in front of you while you disrespected my sexuality
I could be another blind ally that doesn't speak up when this **** is happening
I'm trying so hard to make things better for the kids like me
But you insist on ripping us open.
We bleed rainbows and a sense of pride you will never know
You don't have to find pride in your sexuality because no one hates straight people for being straight
No, we hate straight people like you who insist on being ignorant
This worst thing is is that you take pride in your arrogance
Holding your American flags high as you belittle my equality
You didn't have to fight for anything, you're a straight white guy who takes pride in his privilege
One that only insists on spitting toxins
I wish I could say I am stronger than your poisons but it's hard to find strength when so few people hold you up
If you really think I chose this path, then you should be worried about my mental state
Only people who hate themselves would choose this kind of pain
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to find my pride again.
Mar 2017 · 885
Block of Clay
vic Mar 2017
I am a block of clay
Patiently waiting for your hands to cover me
To mold me into something different
That I never thought I’d become.
Pinch off my imperfections
And add on new formations that someone after you
Can pinch off next.
Glaze over the way my body was naturally
And instead glaze me with a color you think suits me best
Spin me around until I am sick
Of being placed on your pedestal.
I am a block of clay
That someone in the middle of a forest saw
And decided that I simply so inspiring
I had to be turned into art.
I am a medium that millions will shape into something beautiful
I am the foundation for everything beautiful.
Do not mess up your chance to make art out of me.
No clue how to tag this. Was just watching clay videos on Instagram and got inspired, so have a random poem.
Nov 2016 · 758
Blast Off... Pt. 2
vic Nov 2016
I hope when you blast off into space you get lost.
The red on your boots is not from Mars
Instead the blood from a still-beating heart
The one you ripped out of my chest and continue to walk all over?
Yeah, that one.
I’m curious to know why you think you did nothing wrong.
The last three weeks of our relationship was literally just problems
I assure you, I was not the only one to cause them.
You colonized my heart just to destroy everything it was.
I now know why Mother Earth probably doesn’t like humans.
I will burn every single artifact you left in my chest.
Hopefully, the ashes will fill the holes where my heart used to rest.
You took all the fuel I had and you left
I tried to be whatever you needed me to be
But the problem was that I needed me too
You have left my atmosphere and blasted off into the blue.
And now I will have to prove that I don’t need you
If anything I was better off before you landed here.
If anything I should have kept my resources to myself
I will think twice next time someone asks me if they can land into one of my new affairs.
Jul 2016 · 397
Category 5
vic Jul 2016
She was a hurricane.
Her power was an overwhelming force that knocked me off of my feet.
I never saw it coming.
I mean some days I could feel the rain started drizzling
But only seconds after I acknowledged the raindrops
Her winds were flying into me at 130 mph
My mind told me that I should evacuate the area
It said that winds like this could only cause me damage
Yet my feet didn’t move
They stayed planted and let the hurricane devour me
I started to like the feeling of being knocked over
Every time I thought that I was finally steady
She seemed to surprise me again
I am not even sure if I want to see the eye of the storm
Because that means that this is halfway done
I have never been happier that I didn’t overthink a decision
People say that hurricanes like this can only cause damage
I hope I never to see the aftermath of her leaving
She clouds over my mind and drenches my thoughts
Sunlight is slowly becoming a foreign concept
She makes me happier than the sun ever could anyways
Besides the sun can still shed light in every now and then
But I honestly prefer her clouds over it
I used to doubt how anyone could cloud someone’s mind like this
I thought love was a only meant for fairytale princesses
It’s also meant for me I guess
And I’ve spent so many hours hoping that this hurricane will last
She is a hurricane
And I don’t know if I can keep her in one place
Her free spirit will take her anywhere and everywhere
I’m so caught up in her winds at this point
That I might just begin to drift with her
Her rain doesn’t ever seem like it’s lightening up
It just starts pouring even harder
I am currently knee deep in her waters
And honestly if I had to decide
If there was any perfect way that I wanted to die
It would be drowning in her love
Jun 2016 · 578
Death by Substance
vic Jun 2016
There are too many times where I’ve destroyed my body
In order to destroy my thoughts.
Too many times where I’ve added hard problems to my long term life
Just to subtract myself from the quick moment.
I’m talking about drug, alcohol, and cigarette usage.
I’m talking about those days where I want my mind to stop working so badly
That I personally picked a poison to start destroying it.
I’m talking about those times where I hated my reality so much
I swallowed down a pill in hopes that it would distort it
Momma told me that smoking kills
So I bought a carton of cigarettes to test if she really does speak truth or lies
No matter what substance I turn to life will always get more ruthless
Satan is always five steps ahead me
Whenever I even glimpse at the road to recovery
In order to find that slight view of happy
I pop another pill in hopes that this time the effects will last
I pop it in hopes that I never have to pop in another one again
I pop it knowing in the back of my head
This could be my destruction
Codeine is not known for curing mental illnesses
Yet I’ve convinced myself that it’s my only prescription.
And I drink until I can’t feel even the slightest of tinglings
Make sure to take my medicines with a hard shot of whiskey.
Because the longest suicide attempt takes form in addictions.
It takes the form of needles and unmarked orange containers;
It floats around in the smoke that your lungs bathe in;
And it fills up the empty liquors bottles that you keep on leaving.
You don’t have to cut up your body in order to **** it
All you have to do is poison the **** out of it
A cigarette a day keeps the your sanity at bay
Another liquor bottle meeting your lips helps get you closer to the apocalypse
The more you snort up your nose helps your body decompose
We don’t pop bullets in our heads
We pop pills into our immune systems
We somehow thought that a long, painful death
Was more appealing than a quick
We aren’t exploding our brains
We are slowly murdering them
Tiptoeing into the inside
And taking the nerves out one shot at a time.
Jun 2016 · 695
A Magician's Act
vic Jun 2016
For some reason people think that because I have depression
I am a magician.
My most famous act is
Somehow making my mental illness disappear right in front of you.
At least, that’s what you think I can do.
You think that I am amazing
For taking that frown on my face and making it smiling.
I think it is now time for me to reveal my magical secret.
It’s a little thing called faking it.
It’s a little thing called I am sick.
Not only mentally but also sick of hearing those words
“Just stop being sad.”
If I could, don’t you think I would?
If I could stop those thoughts of ending it all;
If I could stop the pain in my chest when I walk in the halls;
If I could stop the numbness I feel every day;
Yes it does feel horrible;
Then don’t you think that I would?
I have somehow convinced you that I like feeling like this.
That the thoughts of suicide in my head make me feel bliss.
I don’t know how I have gained these powers
All it took was hours upon hours
Of gaining the courage to talk about my depression to a friend.
But I guess you don’t really understand.
Nor do you feel the need to help me get off of this path.
Instead you just tell me to stop being sad.
I am already feeling dead.
I am already getting ready to leap off the edge.
It’ll take more than that
To help me get back on the cliff.
But you don’t seem to give a **** about that ****.
To you I am just an act.
I am not a person who is suffering
I am not someone who is crying for help.
I am not someone with their own knife on their neck.
I am just a magician.
One you think can just stop their depression.
I don’t know when I became a magician.
Maybe it was when my older sister started practicing disappearing.
She finally succeeded awhile back.
But let’s not get into that.
Maybe I started practicing this magic
When I was taken away from my mother; the drug addict.
I was only five years old then
And I was already on my way to becoming an amazing magician.
I never thought I could amount to so much
Maybe if I try the disappearing act myself that’ll increase their love.
Maybe then they’ll wait at my grave
Hoping that I come back one day.
I think one of my greatest acts now
Is hiding the scars.
It’s called “Cutting on Your Thighs Instead of Your Arms.”
Another one of somehow getting fat but then skinny.
That one is called “Just Stop Eating.”
You seem to love this acts that I do.
I can’t believe this audience that has appeared out of the blue.
Is my dad in there?
It would be the first time I saw him in eight years.
Is my sister in this crowd?
Did she finally come back
Only to see her little sis pull off her same act?
I am the next Houdini
Be prepared to witness my greatness
I will stand on this stage
And you will know my name by the time we’re done.
By the time you do though I’ll be flying into the sun
Because now-a-days
It seems that the only way to get people to pay attention
Is to leave this dimension.
Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves.
And remember,
I’ll see you in Hell.
old poem that i forgot to post. maybe three months old?
Jun 2016 · 755
vic Jun 2016
Fifty lives are lost
Fifty hearts bleed out on the floor
Fifty bodies that deserved so much more
A community is suffering.
Safe spaces were invaded
And now we all know
That there is no such thing as safe when you’re in this community.
Coming out takes a lot of bravery.
It’s knowing that you could get hurt or worse
All because of your gender or sexuality.
Fifty people died because of their gender or sexuality
Fifty people decided that they loved their differences
Fifty people became open about their differences
Fifty people decided to help make a difference
Fifty people were murdered because they were different.
As a part of this community
I am suffering.
There’s such a long path to equality
And we still have a lot more to go.
Not all of this path will be covered in rainbows
Some is splattered with blood.
Some is stained by homophobia
Some is bumpy with hatred
And some of it is blocked by bodies of the ones who didn’t make it.
Whether it’s these fifty people
Or the other ones that we have lose before.
We have too many fallen soldiers
And we’ll most likely gain even more
Because the fight for equality is a ****** war
But it’s one that’s worth fighting for
Fifty of our soldiers just died fighting this war
To honor their spirits, please
Don’t ever stop fighting for equality.
vic Jun 2016
I did not know that when I became open about being a lesbian
That I had become a pornstar.
I knew that I was already something that men could sink their teeth in
But things got worse.
I can still pinpoint the exact moment I wanted to retreat back to the closet
And it’s ninth grade biology.
I was sitting at a table talking to a friend
“Yes, I am officially dating Mickie.”
And all of a sudden a painful dart pierces the air.
“Who is he?”
I hated the way it felt when it broke into me so I corrected him.
“He’s a she.”
I can already see his ******* growing
With images of me and my lover intertwined
Something I hadn’t even thought of yet because the last thing on my mind was ***
I was thinking about this week’s bio test.
The darts kept coming as he asked about how lesbians have ***
My love life became a corkboard
I sat there accepting every dart that passed
No matter how many times I asked him to stop
He seemed to have an unlimited amount of darts
His friend joined in on asking ****** questions
Asking if he could see a photo of my girlfriend
Asking how many times a day did she make my legs open
Asking if I would still be down to **** him
I learned that day that sometimes it’s better to lie.
Sometimes saying “Yes I have a boyfriend,”
Is easier than admitting that you’re a lesbian
I still hesitate to tell straight men
Because I am already just a piece of flesh from the sink their teeth in
It seems that when they find out I am gay
I just become a challenge
I am a piece of prey that they see as stubborn
I am nothing more than prey.
I do not deserve any respect in their eyes
If anything I should be respecting them by letting them inside
I am their favorite **** category.
Because thanks to various ****** they think that their **** can turn me
Because my lover and I are just what they ******* to
They think that my lover and I just **** all day
That we are always willing to be men’s prey
That because I am not a ‘butch’
I’m not really gay just wanting attention
I am sick of being a **** category!
I’m sick of being asked ****** questions whenever I say that I have a girlfriend
There’s a problem when I’m hesitating on mentioning my girlfriend
There’s a problem when I,
A teenage girl who decides hold her girlfriend’s hand is public,
Thinks that that’s the bravest thing she’s ever done.
I hate having to message random men online
Lying through my teeth saying
“I have a boyfriend.”
But it seems that they respect other men more than they respect my decisions.
So to the boy in class who prefers to imagine me ******* my girlfriend than paying attention in biology,
All I have to say to you is this
That day I went home and I cried.
I went home and considered being open all over again
I considered my life.
I wanted to be a writer and make her my favorite inspiration
But it seems like my career has already been chosen
I am the stubborn prey for you to sink your teeth in
I am the girl you see as a challenge.
No, I am not down to **** you off.
No, I am not a ******* pornstar.
No, you cannot watch.
Now please, do me a favor.
This is a bit of a rewrite, aka I completely rewrote it, of a poem I wrote when this event first took place. Hope you enjoy! If you have any feedback that you would like to give, I'd be happy to hear it!
Jun 2016 · 451
vic Jun 2016
When you pressed your lips to mine
That was the first time I ever felt sparks fly.
I was a stable pile of gunpowder waiting to be ignited
And I finally found my lighter
It’s you.
I felt every corner of my body be lit inside.
I never felt more alive.
Kiss me again so those flames never die.
Let’s make one thing clear though
It wasn’t like the movies
I didn’t see any fireworks
Instead I felt them inside of me
I felt my nerves explode with feeling
I felt the gunpowder in my body start sparking
I didn’t think anyone could make me feel this way just by kissing
But apparently I underestimated you.
I started sweating because of the heat my body was emitting
If you took my temperature, than you’d think of me sick
In a way, I guess I am
Although it has nothing to do with germs or my body temperature
And everything to do with my feelings for you.
I didn't think I could ever become this head over heels for someone
But then again I never thought that I would feel fireworks
I don't think I'll ever step foot into any waterworks
Because I never want to stop feeling those fireworks.
May 2016 · 936
Window Pain
vic May 2016
The shattered fragments of my childhood savior
I can see right through my broken future.
I guess these windows are hung
Glass shards flow into my chest
Piercing into the area you left.
Glass isn’t suppose to break that young.
Looking through the window pane.
All I can feel is pain.
Short poem, mainly just a small practice. Might come back to it. Not sure.
May 2016 · 856
Blast Off...
vic May 2016
Red dirt haunts the bottom of your boots
All of your curiosity cannot be contained in one suit
You will do the things most men dream of.
You will colonize a land unknown.
I asked you what your dream was
And you said you wanted to go to the stars above
Apparently Mars has always been your dream home
You want to colonize that red speck in the sky
And believe me, I know how good you can colonize
I mean you’ve already taken over my heart
Your footprints will stay there even if we were to part
Your words are more treasured artifacts in my chest
And so far I think I like them better than the rest
Stay on my planet for as long as you need to
I will help you here until Mars needs you
Use my poems as your rocket fuel
Keep them with you until they are useless
Let my hands be your shelter
Make my mind your control center
I will be whatever you need me to
Even after you’ve blasted off into the blue.
i swear i write more than just love poems i just really like relationships at the moment
May 2016 · 1.1k
luggage tag
vic May 2016
I am the definition of emotional baggage
I have way too many problems that I need to manage
You have barely gone through one of my suitcases
I am not sure if you want to travel to this deadly oasis
There are too many childhood memories stuffed away in these containers
Too many things that won’t help make your life that much greater
I don’t think that I’ll be good enough for you
Because I still have too many bags to sieve through
There are too many panic attacks to hold in one bag
And for some reason I can’t throw them away in the trash
I have to keep them by my side and pull them along
They are full of broken monologues
I have too many suicide attempts stuffed away
I have so many unfinished notes that still linger in my day
Most days I feel like dating me is a chore
That the average person would prefer to ignore.
I am not scared to date you because I’m not good enough
I am scared to date you because I have too much
I have too much past and too much sadness
To ever try and help you pursue happiness
I am unfinished masterpiece and I am working on it
But how wants a work in progress this far from being done?
I have so many suitcases that I will let you open
I just don’t want to ruin our moment
May 2016 · 726
a love story.
vic May 2016
She was so down to Earth I’m pretty sure that when she was at her highest when was she was walking on the floor of the Dead Sea.
Her daily outfit was accompanied by an oxygen tank so that when she went underwater she could still breath.
She found it hard to find love because not many humans walked on the floor of the Dead Sea
So occasionally she would go up so she could find someone she could love
And that’s where she spotted me.
I prefer to stay up the stars.
I am at my happiest when I am in another galaxy.
The ground has never been a good place for me.
My daily outfit is also has an oxygen tank but that’s only so I can stay alive on planets where humans shouldn’t be.
I found it hard to find love because not many humans explore Pluto
I only visit the Earth every now and then but I usually don’t go that close to the dirt
But then I saw her.
I saw a girl who had never felt another planet’s dirt under her feet
I decided that for our first date I should take her to Saturn so we could have a picnic on it’s rings
And I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t on the scuba diver’s bucket list
Yet I still got her to agree.
She traded her scuba diving gear for an astronaut’s mask and you should tell she felt out of place
Although that didn’t stop her from dancing with me in space
I didn’t understand how someone could ever love the sea.
How someone could pick a dark plane full of smelly fish
Over looking at the birth of a star while you sit on a satellite dish
According to her I was missing out so I let her pick our next date
She brought me down to her favorite place
And even though I still felt some kind of hate for a place that close to the core
I felt so much closer to her.
Now she takes me to the sea and I take her to Mars
Because she is down to Earth and I am stuck in the stars
But that does not stop our relationship from growing
That does not stop us from loving
That’s only a minor bump in the road
We have built a bridge from her to me the is made entirely out of love
And it is the only thing that we will never need
She makes sure I don’t fly too far away and I make sure that she still dreams.
It is not a perfect relationship.
But it’s all that we will ever need.
May 2016 · 330
vic May 2016
Do you really think that we can still be friends
After all of the hurtful **** that you’ve said?
Do you really think that I’m not bitter?
I cried over you for what feels like forever
Of course I’m ******* bitter.
I wasted my laughs on our conversations
I wasted my voice on making sure you knew my levels of adoration
I wasted my love on something nonexistent
Yeah I’m ******* bitter.
You have the nerve to disappear after we broke up
And come back just to talk
About everyone you’ve ****** while we haven’t been together.
And you want to be friends?
Did you think that everything I did for you was platonic?
All the small gifts and touches were nothing but friendly?
Do you really think our relationship ended off of mutual agreement?
Because if you do than you should probably have your memory tested.
You broke things off and I respected your decision.
I thought things were working out
I thought that we’d be together for at least a year without a doubt!
But I was horribly mistaken
According to you our relationship was shaken
Now you’re making up excuses about why you chose the path you’re taken!
We did not end on mutual agreement.
We ended with you saying that you needed time
To try and figure out where you wanted to go with your life
And I said I wanted you to be happy
Even if that meant that it wouldn’t be with me
Obviously I didn’t make you happy.
Maybe my efforts weren’t enough or just too much.
I am ******* bitter at both of us.
I am bitter because mixing our two chemicals was a mistake
I am bitter because I wasn’t the one who walked away.
I am upset because I gave a ****.
But then again I’m human.
I am a human being who gave her heart to someone
It dripped right through your hands
And I’m picking up off of the ground
I am dusting it off and putting it back
I am the only one who needs this heart.
I am the only person who deserves to feel its beats
That was the only lesson you taught me
Is that my heart is mine; no one else's.
I don’t belong to you or any other person
I wish that I could prevent this from happening
Sadly the human heart doesn’t come with a shield
Hell it doesn’t even come with insurance
So yes I am bitter at the fact that you walked away
But I am also bitter because it will happen again some day
And it might even hurt more.
May 2016 · 637
fuck you.
vic May 2016
To the girl who doesn’t understand how much I cared for her,
******* for being the reason I added five new playlists to my Spotify
They all are helping me as I cry
Over the ghost that haunts my hallways
And it’s you.
It’s your whispering words and terms of endearment
That keep me up at night.
Crying my eyes out.
Crying over our broken relationship and my broken heart.
I’m pretty sure I’m the only one that broke.
Why must you still keep breaking my heart?
You don’t even realize you’re doing it.
But when you tell someone that you loved them
And make sure that they know that it’s past tense,
Well honestly if you stabbed me it would have hurt less.
And now your ghost haunts my head.
It tells me that I am loved.
Past tense.
******* and your ****** past tense.
If only I could hire a priest to get this ghost out of my house
Sadly, I am an atheist.
Is it bad that I still cry over your ghost?
At least I used to.
I used to want to hear you say ‘I love you.’
Present tense.
Now those tears have been replaced by anger.
I am angry at your ghost for becoming a stranger.
It doesn’t feel like I know you anymore.
You used to know what to say to fill me with glee
And now everything you say hurts me.
Did ******* other girls help you get over me?
Please tell me.
I actually want to know because no other method is working!
Your ghost is still lying on my bed
Telling me everything I wish you had said.
******* for saying that I never loved you.
I had feelings for you and I hadn’t addressed a few.
You didn’t give me the time to address them.
You say that I didn’t love you
Yet here I am.
Here I am caring like crazy
Almost two months after you ended it
You aren’t making getting over you that easy.
Do you really think I would be in this much pain
If you were only a like like to me?
Well I don’t know.
Those feelings are replaced by pain and anger
Don’t ask me if I love you
Because I don’t know.
I was too scared of ******* up what we had
You told me that you wanted to take things a bit slower
So I did.
I told you that our relationship would be like a traffic light.
And it’s been red for a ******* while.
You’re a strange ghost sitting in my room.
Maybe if I just date someone else than I’ll get over you.
I’ll never look at a ukulele the same way.
I will never look at Mickey Mouse the same way.
I will never look at love the same way
Because I now I am familiar with heartbreak.
******* for destroying our relationship and my love for love.
I destroyed your ******* flowers.
Because I wanted some strange kind of revenge.
Although your notes still sit in my storage bins
I can’t stand my blue eyes anymore.
Because that was the main feature of mine you adored.
Everywhere I look something reminds me of you.
It’s like your ghost follows me no matter what I do.
I can never stop feeling those chills down my spine.
I am terrified to face the ghost
Because that’s when I’ll realize that it’s my feelings for you.
******* for making me feel things.
For being so **** amazing.
For being the best part of my day.
For being the worst part of my month.
For being my first love.
Apr 2016 · 3.5k
Dear Addiction,
vic Apr 2016
Dear Addiction, could you please stop knocking on my door?
        I already have your ***** syringes scattered about my floor.
               You keep on telling me that I want more
        But I’m not very sure.
When you pierce my skin everything stills
        Even though I hate it it feels so much better than the pills
                I don’t want to do anything you have taken my will
        Not only that, you’ve taken everything, including all of my dollar bills
I know that feeling of dry mouth too well.
        They tell me that I can stop but honestly, I can’t tell
                Right now it seems like the only way out of this is a bullet shell
         I don’t know why I crave you when you bring me so much hell
When you crawl your way back into my veins
        Those first hits of pleasure make me go insane
                I start to remember why I got on this crazy train
        But then I remember just how badly you’ve ****** up my brain
I wish I could get your illness out of my head.
        They tell me that I am one twentieth of a gram from ending up dead
                Yet no matter how many warnings are said
        You seem to be the only reason to get out of bed.
I have lied for you.
         I have ****** for you.
                I have done for many awful things for you.
         And I will most likely die because of you.
Dear Addiction, why do you make this so tough?
        They say that abusive relationships aren’t made out of love
                And I know the way you treat me is rough
        But I cannot help what I love.
They say that all you do is harm.
        Yet when my happiness comes into me through a needle in my arm
                And my brain tells me that I should be alarmed
        All I can do is crave your harm.
Your harm makes me feel like I am whole.
        But it also seems to drag me further into the hole.
                It seems that you have taken my soul
        Getting you out of my life is a faraway goal.
Dear Addiction, you’ve hit me with a huge smack.
        You’ve shown me how easy it is for life to get out of whack
                I probably should have stopped before your first attack
        But you had seen to put my life back on track.
Dear Addiction, you fill up my hunger.
        But at the same time I’m starting to feel more and more like a jumper
                I hate you more than I’ve hated any other
       You are my most hated lover.
Dear Addiction,
         I’m giving you an eviction.
                I never even gave you any permission
         To take away my ambitions.
Dear Addiction, I want to send you away.
         But you are still knocking at the door where I stay
                You always do know how to get your way.
        Time to go back to my decay.
Dear Addiction
        Stop ******* knocking. I’m coming!
Apr 2016 · 277
vic Apr 2016
I love that fact that one day I’ll be walking down the street
Another girl’s hand in mine and when our eyes meet.
She might kiss me.
I love it when a girl kisses me.
I love the fact that one day I will have feelings for someone.
Feelings that I’ve never had before.
There’s a whole chapter of life I haven’t explored.
And it’s called Love.
Sometimes it terrifies me that those three little words
Can make the world a million times better.
But can also be taken away so quickly.
Yet according to experts, it builds character.
I have so much to learn about love
And I am an open mind ready to learn.
I am your student, please teach me
The patterns of your heart beat.
I’m in love with the idea of love.
I’m in love with thoughts of you
Inking your kisses into me
Your hands could leave the prettiest tattoos.
I am in love with love
Because some days it feels like
That is all I can look forward to.
It’s the only feeling I haven't endured.
I am scared to give up my body and soul
To someone. For them to explore
The inner corners of my fragmented mind.
But at the same time;
At the same time I cannot stop reading
Stories of love that make me squeal
Because it’s something that I would love to feel.
So I guess I’ll just wait.
Wait for my time to give someone my world.
Wait for my first lover who I will adore.
And make sure that you know that
I love you.
Apr 2016 · 686
vic Apr 2016
I have never smoked **** in my lifetime.
Mainly because my anxiety makes me afraid of committing even the smallest of crimes.
But I know so many people that like to light up their mind.
And my sister happened to be one of that kind
She used to always smell like ****
She treated it like something of a need
I'm pretty sure if you cut her open then she began to bleed
It'd be a swirl of red, yellow, and green.
When I was ten and she’d drive me to school
Not telling our grandma that she toked while she drove was the ultimate rule
Sometimes she wouldn't roll the windows down cause she was a bit of a fool
And I had no choice but to **** in her fuel
The smell of **** makes me happy
And it's not because I'm a stoner or because I'm ******
My reason is sappy
And it's because when she took her last breath I’m pretty sure it was smoking a fatty
Her new favorite necklace became a colorful rope
And it was a symbol of her lost hope.
And the entire time she went down that slippery *****
Right by her side was a bag of dope.
Her dangling body was the only image in my eyes
Everything she ever told me started to turn into disoriented lies
And I began to despise the very meaning of getting high
Because my favorite stoner flew into the sky
Now I know that toking wasn’t the problem
The matter at hand was a bit more quantum
But it hurts because she was the Batman to my Robin
And now I’m here by myself trying to protect the streets of Gotham.
From a super villain pair called Anxiety and Depression
Rachel’s noose was their sick little invention
I keep trying to figure out what's the deal with their obsession
With the mangled corpses that give them their erections
I ask her everyday when I curl up to her hoodie
“Was it because you were bullied?
Was it because you spent too many days playing hookie?
Was it because you didn’t smoke enough of your goodies?”
The **** seemed to make my sister seem stable.
It was like her way of getting her emotions out without it seeming too painful
She never really thought of it as shameful
But it didn’t seem to help that April
I ponder on if the **** would help on me
If it would relieve stress better than tea
If it would help calm my anxious seas
If it could possible set me free.
Now I’ve never danced with Mary Jane
But some people say that she can drive you insane
You only have to let her in your brain
And she’ll take away some of that pain
The smell of **** comforts me and you might not understand
But don’t you dare try to command
Or try to demand
That I am too young to know about that greenland
When my sister committed suicide
A part of me also died.
But now I have identified
That’s it’s the smell of **** that makes that part alive
And I guess you won’t understand until you’ve cried
While you stood there discovering that your pothead sister had died
And began screaming as your two greatest fears would finally collide
And your world is overtaken by Grief’s high tide.
You know the surfer boy told her to hang ten
And I didn’t think she would let those words that far in her skin
But when the clock struck ten she had committed her deadliest sin
And I swear to God that a joint was the last place she had been.
Jan 2016 · 349
Writer's Block
vic Jan 2016
Hello my old friend.
I guess it’s nice to see you again.
You’ve been visiting me so much lately.
Nothing in my head is forming anything straightly
It’s all jumbled and clouded and mixed.
I don’t know how this problem can be fixed
Writer’s block has gotten a hold on me!
It just won’t let my writings be!
I used to be able to write poem after poem,
But now I’m lucky if I even get a quote done.
Maybe if I shoot myself in the head
The creativity will spill out all over my bed.
I want to make a name for myself!
But right now, I just see my book on a dusty shelf.
I continuously tap key after key
Why won’t any nice rhymes come out of me?
I keep on searching and searching
I do all of my researching
On the topics I need to write
Yet nothing in this poem seems right
I want to write about my personal experiences.
But right now my book is on clearance.
I don’t feel good enough to make it in this industry
I don’t want to let this blank mind stop me
Yet it feels as if I have no choice.
It feels as if I have lost my voice.
Writer’s block is Ursula in the deep sea
She made this contact with me
I grew my vocabulary but lost my voice
Why did I make this choice?
It’s just mismatched words and no originality
Where is my creativity?
I used to have such a loud mind.
But now everything’s quiet and I mind.

Of course the full first poem I’ve written in a month is about not being able to write.
Sounds like me, I’m just the type.
Dec 2015 · 374
vic Dec 2015
Throwing water in your face;
      Making sure it smothers you out.
I’m dying to get out of here,
      But you just won’t let go.
Whatever flame that we had;
      Has been doused in water.
The match has burnt out.
      Just march away from the ashes.
Let us both find someone else
      To light a flame in our hearts.
Let that one burn as well;
      Until you have more ashes in your pile.
And maybe one day you’ll find;
      That everlasting fire in your soul.
But baby I’m out of gasoline;
      And I don’t have any other fuel.
Go find someone with infinite coal.
      Someone who will keep you warm in the snow.
I am just a caretaker passing through;
      And now that I’ve earned my pay;
I’m done with you.

— The End —