Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
BKS Feb 2012
I wanted to see your body’s
Curling limbs,
And a tangled body.

I wanted to feel your soft skin,
The warmth.
How you tingled when we made contact.

I wanted to feel your heart beating
Under my hand,
I know your life was stronger.

I wanted to twirl your hair,
Which frizzed in the morning,
The hair that was covering my face that night.

I used to want you,
Yearning so badly,
Feeling it pulsing threw me and making my mind throb.

And you moved first.

I saw you watching me,
I felt you rubbing up my arm.
I watched as you moved up to my chest,
I sensed you kissing my ear.

I've giving in
On what you wanted,
Before I could give in for myself.
Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
Now morning comes with her brilliant glow
Today, we shall go back to the time I was orphaned
I’m finally prepared to come to terms with my origins

One afternoon he found himself in an abandoned car
With an unfamiliar beast snoring in the backseat
Blood dripped from its yellow hide
Every home repeats a cycle
Endless circle
The is cage locked until show time
Now rest, rest
Carpet stains, cracks in the windows
Sweep the dust under the carpets
Many affairs stick on these sheets
Virginities lost in the comforter

Starving untamed animals prowling the sidewalks, breathing heavy
A monster chained to the lies of the town
The tragic fate of his father
Decaying on the winter’s avenue
He ran out of the city

       -Tommy Johnson

He headed north across state lines
Leaving destruction and annihilation behind
No second thoughts in his mind

Hurry out the door run
See
Temptation’s on her way
I cannot survive this, every time she moves in closer
I allow my wall to come down
Feel the cold fear on the back of my neck
The howl of the coyote in the distance

The coyote was jet black
Frizzed and hungry
And I was too frightened to even look
The blankets were steaming locks
And my love was underneath me
So beautiful my love
Her eclipsing black eyes
Her soft, sweet tasting lips

We are all here
The values and morals we all held dear are now gone

What’s your pleasure, what’s your pain?
Are you clever, are you sane
You don’t know and now it seems
That your soul cannot be tamed
The taste of fame, this is new
Now you thrive, now you lose
Now you fear the rule of two
Just play your role and make it through

Stare deep in the universal mind
The answers to ancient riddles you shall find
The sun burns endlessly on the city
Above and beyond its limits
And the green pastures beside the calmly flowing rivers
Underneath the silent other worldly shadows of
Weary mountain men, on the cliff just over there
Wild dogs congregating
Hieroglyphics, fallout shelters, new advancements in self awareness
Hold on
The dead still linger here
Don’t pause or make one false move
My suitcase and briefcase are on the floor
We’re heading for the door
And we’re leaving now
And I guess you’re coming with me

She can’t lift the curse
I am not the one
There are a certain few who can
Trust
No one


Fighting for their lives
Crowd is screaming "die"
Savages and thieves
Bringing victims to their knees
The innocent come but never leave
Some one

Come with me
Just trust me
Some one

We hid from the swarm of nonsense and swill
The rich hide in their mansions in fear
The dead are rotting and no one cares
And we’re just lucky to be left alive

Come to me
Trust in me
Some one

His time was cut short because he crossed the line
We should have seen it, he said he was fine
The three spoke steering wheel he was behind
Enraged and drunk out of his mind

Come with me
Just with me
Some one

There are people who live their lives without faith
Now a priest is on trial and charged with ****
By some one who thought he was somebody they had known
Then and there the answer was shown

Talk with me
Look at me
Some one

Run
Drown
Die
I will make you mine
Mine

It was the blackened coyote
It's chaotic tranquility

We came home from
Laconia and Meredith
El Passo disillusioned
We hurried home
Past the lakes and the roads
We returned home with
Our tales so tall
For ten years I tried
To live on the island of Elba
The mind games I played there
Now I have returned
To the place of freedom, bravery and wisdom
Mother, father of the west
Infant moonlight
Which of you shall partake in this commemoration?
Terry O'Leary May 2016
Come join the unraveling circus
quite soon to be passing our way,
with the clowns in a clamor to twerk us -
line up as they lead us astray!

Arriving, the elephant trumpets
agendas of aberrant acts
while the donkeys drool, dunking their crumpets
and twirlers spin, twisting the facts.

The big top’s now open to breezes,
so pundits soar spreading their wings
to convince us to tread the trapezes,
for it's they who'll be pulling the strings.

The merry-go-round’s so amazing
(black horses bound, chasing the cart)
as the brass ring of change wanders wildly
till stealing straight back to the start.

The moldy old model of Ptolemy
(at the hub of this three ring domain)
mixes marvels of magic with alchemy
in the bowels of the mastodon’s brain.

Neglecting the gulls who’ll be eating
stale crumbs that have dropped from the plate,
the vain vulture of virtue’s oft tweeting  
of Circus Land once again great.

The tamer, adorned in fine trumpery
(pate garnished with fiery mane)
has endeavored to wall the ring's boundary,
keep millipede migrants in rein.

The dwarves and their antics are funny
while juggling to balance the books,
so the titans laugh, grappling the money
extracted by hook or by crooks.

The sideshows provide a composite
of fails of the frizzed billionaire,
some disclosing the bones in his closet
caught clutched in the arms of the bear.
    
From towers the trumpet is blowing
fake messages, fetid but full,
but as long as the cattle keep lowing,
he’ll hasten to serve them the bull.

The masses, persuaded to follow,
float foolishly into the fog
overwhelmed by the vapors they swallow,
choked up like the ruff-collared dog.

The snap of the whip as it whooshes
maintains the domains of the dupes
so the cats won’t escape to the bushes,
refusing to hop through the hoops.

With the promise to call out the cavalry,
the hearts of the crowds beat athrob
for in spite of their struggles and rivalry
the Don’s still controlling the mob.

Humbled Empress on *******’s hilarious,
parading her ***** and mules,
with her fabulous tales (mostly spurious)
wagging only the naive and fools.

Mounting ponies in circles, she rode 'em
through lobbies where influence crawls
with her claws clinging tight to the totem
while seals on the banks balanced *****.

Yes, the pack’s still pre-paid by the PAC men,
some wolfing their ways through the maze,
while fey fables are hawked by the packmen
who canvass our eyes with a glaze.

The pretender defender of females
is actu'ly one of the hawks;
secrets hidden in spills of her re-mails
means pillory, stuck in the stocks.

The swine in the central arenas
(immersed in the fat of the throne)
begin dancing like wee ballerinas
’fore pitching the proles a bare bone.

Jesters Cruzo and Bozo, while boozin'
(dealt cards which were ******* by the ****),
ruled “not winning the hand would be losin’
and need for an armed Minuteman.”

Well the ray gun's still loaded and toted
(the gall’ry forbidding all bans)
and the NRA gang’s become bloated
shooting **** in the face of the fans.

One day when the mad house has folded
and sawdust’s been wafted aside,
Human Race will be racing, remolded,
surmounting life’s hurdles in stride.
Liz Alvarez Caba Aug 2019
I imagine to romanticize my life
I fantisize my drive to work as quirky and cute
My cup of tea is the best thing I've ever tasted
Wearisome tasks are now so compelling to do
Now I start to picture things in such a charming and beautiful way.
Darkness and heterodox philosophies clouded my mind for so long,
I almost forgot to admire goods and breathing trinkets.
Waking up and peaking in, would be the bright sunshine through the blinds
And my frizzed hair all over my face.
Through triumphs and trebulations
This is a film
About a girl
Viewing her life
As a studio ghibli film
Mia Eugenia Aug 2013
Dark circles around my eyes move to the table
But they seem to be less permanent there.
A night of small glasses turns into a morning of tall mugs
Both filled to the brim with fake happiness
And false healing.
One more sip will make me forget
But one more cup will make me remember.
Playing tug-of-war in my cerebrum.
My hands pour another cup
But my eyes can't grasp that concept
So these burns on my hands are the only reminders
Of last night
Along with the bruises on my side
And the throbbing in my ears
All of which will fade
Like the disappointment of my adventures.
I can't shy away from all light
But all it does is highlight my flaws.
So I throw on a long sleeve shirt
That covers my palms
Because the last thing I need is a Physic
Telling me my past
As I walk down streets
I wish I could have forgotten months ago.
But the fabric is so thin
The wind even knows what I'm trying to hide.
I'll plug myself into my fake world
And I'll tell you it's to protect myself
But really
I'm saving you from adding me to your list of lifetime disappointments.
Because that's all I'll ever be
In my own eyes.
I'll walk home
Hair frizzed
Makeup smeared
Because I couldn't be bothered with the mirror
Or the mirror couldn't be bothered with me.
So say your prayer for me
I wonder if God will listen
Because every time I call
I go straight to voicemail
And I'm tired of crying on an answering machine
That nobody checks.
My winter coat isn't even strong enough to protect me
But maybe if I added a layer of you
I might finally feel safe.
So please
Make me feel safe.
Kimberly Dec 2014
His lips were soft.
  Her heart was big.
His shoulders were broad.
  Her actions were selfless.
His eyes were blue.
  Her words were deep.
He didn't think
  She was good enough to keep.
Because her hair was frizzed.
  Clothes were stale.
He told all his friends
She was "too pale".
But what he failed to see
  Was that on the inside.
He wanted all the things
  That true love doesn't need.
Don Bouchard Jan 2012
Under frizzed hair,
The Conscious Operator,
Smacking gum,
Waits with her tails of living wire
To make connections
At Synaptic Central.

The reader
Tilts a page to catch the rays,
Scans for symbols,
Begins to send
And to receive
Electric fires of thought
Traveling in from
Senses Five -
Traveling out from
Schema Library's
Data files -
To meet and
To commingle
At the Board.

With octopal finesse,
The tireless Operator
Plies Neural Central,
Sending quick myriads of thought
To rest or to revive in living files.

Neurons snap and arc;
Their coded leaping fires
Surge message-full
Through cables sheathed
To Synapse Central,
Where in her nimble hands
Fire Control finds slots
And coordinates connections,
During and Long After
The Outward Reading's done.

Even when the Blinds go down
Synaptic Central's work goes on.
The frizz-haired friend steps out to rest;
Sub-Conscious moves into her place
And with unsteady hand
Plays seeming havoc at the Board
Rearranging and Deranging
Delightful dreams, or horrid.
Vivian Mar 2015
my mind is cyclical,
Battle Bot on Hamster Wheel
installation art soon to be in
Tokyo, San Francisco, New
York, Chicago: every city
I had the languorous pleasure of
kissing You in.
being unkind to me is terrible and
yet I love being able to vent
my emotions like so much
sulfurous smoke. [redacted]'s in
his bunk bed, 30,000 feet up and
only 1 girl is invited;
****** brain frizzed out, wasted
girls coughing kush while we
contemplate wasted opportunities.
Terry Collett May 2013
Outside Oslo
in the base camp
after showering
you met Moira

in the cafe
for breakfast
and coffee
she was in a mood

about the Yank girl
and having to share
a tent with her
(when she wasn’t off

someplace being *******
Moira said)
and always chewing gum
and those *******

she wears
I’ve seen more cloth
on a finger cut
she said

I’ll take your word for it
you said
she pouted
and stared at you

the finger cut I meant
you said
by the way
are you into

Oslo today?
you asked
mind if I hang along?
sure as long as you don’t

talk about the Yank
or football or Mahler
or whoever else
is hid up

in that brain of yours
she sipped her coffee
and ate her breakfast
saying nothing more

and you watched
as she ate
her eyes dark
and deep

her hair frizzed up
after the shower
her tee shirt
holding tight

her ****
and her blue jeans
hugging her thighs
as you’d like to do

later in Oslo
you toured about
the streets
saw the sights

had a beer or two
while you sat
with her
in some bar

she talking of Glasgow
and her job
and her brother
and his girlfriend

and how
she had this awful
wiggly ****
and floppy *******

and large eyes
like cow pats
soft and brown
and she laughed  

and you liked it
when she laughed
it made her seem better
more human

less grumpy
less critical
and had you been
more brave you might

have kissed her
there and then
but you didn’t
you just ordered

another beer
and talked of Nietzsche
and Mahler
just to watch

her lips move
and incidentally
bore her.
Terry Collett Dec 2013
Oslo that summer
having left the base camp
and the tent
with the Australian guy

(he was with the Yank girl)
you walked about
looking at the sights
Moira beside you

in her denims
and white tee shirt
and her hair frizzed
after a shower

(which she had taken alone
worse luck)
and she was talking
about the Yank girl

with whom she shared
her tent
O the perfume she wears
I’d rather sleep

in a tent
with a camel
than with her
and her voice

***** my head
and do you know
I've heard about
her love life

from the very beginning
I’d rather spend the night
listening to a duck quack
you nodded

and listened
taking in her fire talk
her four letters words
filling the air

floating there
like black
angry birds
you can share with me

any time
well you could
if I didn't have
the Australian guy there

smelling of beer
and talking about Sheilas
and how he did this
and that

you said
no
Moira said
and have them

talk about me too
no I’m not that
kind of girl
besides

how would we work it
to allow that to be?  
don't get so angry
about things

why do you Scots
get so moody?
it's not just us
she said

it's the ******* world's
view of us
as wee tight *******
when we're not

anyway
she went on
giving you the stare
what do you

know of Scots?
lived in Edinburgh
for a while
you said

nice place
so much history
well there you go
she said

anyway what’s that
got to do
with the Yank *****
and her perfume

and the love life
of a ******* rabbit
nothing I guess
you said

I think she's over here
studying art
O then
that explains it

the way she has
the I-couldn’t-go-a-day
-without- a man's- ****
-in-me

kind of talk
and philosophy
Moira said
spitting out words

like broken teeth
what about a beer?
you said
chill out

and take in a view
and have a smoke
and I can tell you
of my love life?

the beer's a good idea
but I’m not so keen
on the tales
of your **** life

she said
so you found a bar
off a street
and sat outside

with two beers
and a couple of smokes
and you wondering
how she bedded

and how indeed
to get her into your tent
and what to do
with the Australian guy

and the Yank dame
and off she went again
moaning about
the Southend

teacher guy
did you see him
at the from
of the mini bus

giving it all
that talk of history
and that Lancaster *****
all ears and ******* teeth ?

you sat and smiled
listening to her
talking of herself
and the world's grief.
Don Bouchard Jan 2016
Under frizzed hair,
The Conscious Operator,
Smacking gum,
Waits with her tails of living wire
To make connections
At Synaptic Central.  

The reader
Tilts a page to catch the rays,
Scans for symbols,
Begins to send
And to receive
Electric fires of thought
Traveling in from
Senses Five -
Traveling out from
Schema Library's
Data files -
To meet and
To commingle
At the Board.

With octopal finesse,
The tireless Operator
Plies Neural Central,
Sending quick myriads of thought
To rest or to revive in living files.

Neurons snap and arc;
Their coded leaping fires
Surge message-full
Through cables sheathed
To Synapse Central,
Where in her nimble hands
Fire Control finds slots
And coordinates connections,
During and Long After
The Outward Reading's done.

Even when the Blinds go down
Synaptic Central's work goes on.
The frizz-haired friend steps out to rest;
Sub-Conscious moves into her place
And with unsteady hand
Plays seeming havoc at the Board
Rearranging and Deranging
Delightful dreams, or horrid.
Hello, Central? (Reader Response Theory)
Kareena Dec 2015
You don't dare disturb me
When I drift off in your arms
You run your hand across my head
Smoothing out my frizzed hair
Such a sweet gesture
For a girl who is half-asleep
Partially in the hologram of slumber
Partially in the dream of reality

But in due time, time has past
The hourglass always runs out of sand
You rouse me from my daze
To drive me home in the midnight hour
I'm Cinderella missing a glass slipper
My horses have already turned back to mice
I have to leave again in a day's time

But as we drive back in the dark
You tell me that you love me
You adore my taste in music
The way I think and speak
My quirks and abnormalities, to you,
Are just like freckles on a cheek

You divulge me deeper in your fondness
You tell me I'm different from the rest
You confess your long high school crush on me
Your love of my head upon your chest

All along you cared for me
Before I cared for you
And as life seemed to fall apart
It reformed into something new
It was us all along
I know it now like you knew it then
Can't believe it's been almost three years!
am Aug 2018
for the first time in years, i didn’t sing in the shower. the lights were off, and i didn’t even hum, and there wasn’t a message from you when i stepped out. my hair frizzed with the heat and i didn't stick my tongue out and take a picture, laughing as i sent it to you and when my mother knocked on the door it echoed in my chest.

even now, two days later, i’m still waking up on the side of my bed we laughed was yours and there’s a box in the corner of my room that i can’t even look at. i rip the polaroids off the wall in a fit, tear them to pieces with my fingertips until i’m crying and i’m no longer angry, just alone, and you ask me not to contact you. my fingers are stained with ink as i write this letter, surrounded by the things i spread out and uncatalogued, as if they weren't for you.

today i toured a college campus and thought about how i promised i would be at your graduation, right there beside you as you chased your dream, and i see you behind the bookshelves of a place i’ll never be. maybe it wasn't long ago but i once told you i would be there after you got home, wipe the smudges of paint from your chin and pull the paintbrushes from your ponytail as i kissed you.

i joked last night about not having to worry about finding an apartment with three bedrooms to my friends and i cried that night because one of them wouldn’t be ours.

it was always you and me against the world.

                                 when did it become just me?
- for the girl who painted my smile yellow and then threw the piece away
Xaha Jun 2017
As a child
My body was mine.
My plump round stomach
And chubby legs
Felt like a part of me.
There was nothing to change or fix
I was simply me.
And my body was mine.

As a pre-teen
My stomach was biggest at night.
When I looked down,
It was hard to see my toes.
But after a shower, my hair curled softly around my face and fell in waves down my back
And when I looked closely in the mirror
I could see golden flecks in my greens eyes.
My long arms and legs made me fast
And strong.
Despite my protruding stomach,
There was nothing to change –
I was me,
And my body was mine.

As a teen
The hair on my legs was too dark
And made me look like a boy.
The hair in other places disgusted
And angered me.
It would never go away.
The tenderness in my ******* in the morning
Frustrated me
While my flabby arms
Bulging belly
Thick legs
And bulky hips
Stayed hidden in oversized T-shirts
And saggy jeans.
Looking in the mirror -
Was I still me?
Against my wishes
My body was mine.

As a young adult
I discovered the release of running
And the loss of appetite and slim waist that came with it.
Sometimes it would take skipping a meal or two
But when I laid down,
I could feel my rib cage.
Even if my body was out of my control
And continued to change and bleed and contract and expand
I could take it where I wanted
I could push it as far as it could go
I could ******* sweat and feel my heart and lose my breath.
Only in these moments
Was my body mine.

Nearing adulthood
My chest filled out
While my waist shrank to reveal muscle and bone.
My hips afforded a generous hourglass figure;
Heads turned when I walked.
My hair no longer frizzed and fried at the ends
And my teeth shone straight and white after years of braces.
My cheeks glowed and my eyes sparkled.
I discovered the pleasure my body could bring me
And the pleasure it could inspire in others.
My long legs and arms
Were mine
My ******* and hips and ****
Were mine
As were my greens eyes, golden hair, and full lips.

But something inside
Was alien.
Something inside was cold and lonely and afraid
That my body would not be respected
Or loved.
Only used by those who took pleasure in it.
I needed to protect it.
To ensure that my body was mine.

Running and running and running and running
You can only go so far before your mind catches up.
And you can only play being in love so many times
Before you start to wonder, if this body is yours -
Why it feels nothing.

And when you look in the mirror
And recognize little of the child
Or the pre-teen
And the teen
And the young adult –
It’s easy to let anyone use your body.

But with time you realize
That like the carpet bag you sew flags and memorabilia into as you drag it through the world,
Your body is an artefact of everywhere you’ve been.
And everyone who has touched you.
And your muscles move at your command
And your lungs inflate with air
And your heart beats in your chest and resonates throughout your body
And your eyes pick up the smallest movement
From miles away
While your ears can detect a silent breath in a dark room.
And your crooked tooth
Gives you a slight lisp that brings a new tone to your singing.
And your acne scars serve to remind of everywhere you’ve been
While the bruises under your eyes remind of everyone you’ve lost.
And this body is all you have
To carry you through.
And though the outside may change and the face in the mirror may not always seem like your own
Inside, it is me.
And my body is mine.
Tommy Johnson Jul 2014
I'd give you a hand
If it didn't cost me an arm and a leg
You'll be in my thoughts
And my heart goes out to you

I laid my eyes
On your tapping toes
And buckling knees
You have no back bone

I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach
Even though you split my sides
I could read your lips
And I saw you were lying through your teeth

You were tongue tied
Your wrists were slit
Hair frizzed
Voice raspy and dishonest
Scar Jul 2015
Wet grass broke my heart
Plastic tarps taught me how to hate myself
Metal cans frizzed my hair and sliced my throat
Fireworks burned my thumbs and left the kitchen lights on
We're all pushing twenty and things are going stale
Chlorine burns my brain even if I hold my nose
I slept inside with the mountain boy and my best friend
While they were naked in the dirt
I didn't want to leave The Survivors, but she saw my seams begin to fray, stitched me up, and put me to bed
The broken hearted girls stayed apart that night
I couldn't hear your American Screams and I'm sorry

I had a mental breakdown in a grocery store yesterday
Linoleum floors caked with dirt and a mother scolding her child
Nahida Mar 2018
a new therapist,
can you pinpoint when you started to feel like this?
a party four years ago with a boy with sun-bleached hair and blue eyes
got pinned on a couch and, sure, kissed him with tongue but wasn't drunk enough to
fool herself into sleeping with him, into regretting him, so she walked away
with a mouthful of his curses.
his, i made you what you are. his, you broke your promise.
the sky is always falling for her because the sun beat heavy on her neck.
you should get that mole checked, cassandra said, instead.

she takes the day off and thinks
drinks eight glasses of water and eats a full meal
deals with her frizzed hair and aching head
dreads seeing the sun rise the next morning
but still wakes early to see it anyways.

greece burns and she watches
it isn't the first time and it won't be the last time
her sister helen calls her on the phone
drones on and on about a new boy
and she asks her, she begs her, do you not remember troy?

her therapist says, we can't fix the problem if you don't talk.
but she does and she does and she wonders when she doesn't
she tells her the sun is falling out of the sky, greece is burning in bright lights,
how do you deal with a trauma reborn like a slice of something
taken from her parents, a splice of hatred from a lover scorned?
cassandra finds it hard to find a part of her that hasn't been left burned
her words like a cyclical epitaph.

she turns on the news and watches the sky fall again.
how long you have been speaking. how little they hear.
J May 2016
The bitter taste you left that last time you kissed me
was nothing compared to the sour one I recognized that last time I spoke to you on the phone. I'm writing you a letter to let you know that I'm sorry for everything, and it isn't because I feel so ******* ******* alone right now. Because that would make me selfish like you said, and I cannot agree with that. But anyway, here's an apology that ***** the stability out of my hands. I'm cold as I write this and I pray to God you find comfort in even a single word I write.

I will start with August 24, 2013:
I'm sorry that I hurt myself the day after the best day of my life.
I think that I felt the warmth from yesterday escape my body too quickly and I had already began to lean on you. I'm sorry that crimson reds that dry brown are the only way I could articulate my feelings three years ago and I'm sorry that I still feel the same now.

I'm sorry I let you down.

September 23, 2013:
I'm sorry that the blade betrayed you again on this night,
but I found a breath in that moment after gasping for hours.
I remember as the blood leaked out my lower arm I longed to be in yours, remembering all the nights you stayed up ensuring I was okay.
I hated making you do that.
I'm sorry.

December 7, 2013:
I'm sorry that I cried on the first day that we had ***
because I envisioned the man who hurt me at age six.
I'm sorry the twist in my gut hurt more than the cuts on my arm that were still sore, but not because they were healing anymore
but because two days earlier you said you were sick of seeing them and to cover up.
I'm sorry you had to look at those, I know I should have covered them better but the makeup stung and the bandaids burned and I'm sorry I cried for hours.
I stopped crying about my babysitter after twenty minutes and the rest of the time I lied to you because I was still upset about what was going to happen 6 months later in June.

I'm sorry that I hurt for our entire relationship.

June 1, 2014:
I came home from work today covered in syrup, sweaty and tired.
My hair frizzed past the elastic and I looked in the mirror at my makeup and wondered who thought I looked ugly today, because that is what I felt.
So 8 months after I promised you never to hurt myself again I started panicking.
I shattered mirrors, I paced from the kitchen to my bedroom, bounced from the bed to the chair, wondering what would happen if I could just have one tiny little cut and not tell you
and so I sat on my bed and cut my arm 6 times with a pair of scissors I'd bought to make jewelry with.
and then I did not know where to begin so I started apologizing.
I started saying sorry but not telling you why I was sorry and we went out that night where you saw my arm and from that day on every time I said sorry you brought that back up.
I remember the way that I covered those 6 cuts but it stung,
I remember more the look on your face when you'd realized what I'd done.
You turned white and I do not mean it as a cliche, you lost the color in your face and I lost you that day

Although I kept you for two more years, I lost you that very second because every fight after that lead back to june 1 where I was selfish.

and I am sorry.

Fast forward fifty weeks later when I stopped breathing at the amusement park.
I'm sorry I ruined your night. I'm sorry that I picked fights just to get your attention because it was fleeting like my trust only in a way that mimics those dust bowls we learned about in grammar school.
Only they do not teach you what to do when you are what is left barren, empty.

I'm sorry I got mad that you called me fat.
I'm sorry I was fat.  
I was working on it but I was too tired to go to the gym because we stayed up watching tv again. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I wanted to go to the gym but it took away time we set aside to rot away and leave imprints on the bed I cannot pretend I do not feel no matter how many times I toss and turn.


I'm sorry that I invalidated years of effort by tarnishing your reputation, the one you cared about more than your character.
I'm sorry you care about her more.
I'm sorry I had *** with you on Easter then thought it meant something because 8 months before you questioned how I could do the same when you broke my heart for the 3rd time that week.
I was weak. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I told everyone you were cruel to me becuase I was still healing from the last and bitter bruise you left on me.

I'm sorry.
Zo Birdie Feb 2016
We lived in a world of facts and opinions
The fact that I loved you and the opinion that I was beautiful
We lived in a world of judgments and statements
The judgement that my eyes were cute and the statement that they are

Teeth marks on my fingernails
And bruises on your toes
Split ends on my long hair
Brush the birthmark on your nose

Laughed until our throats hurt
Kissed until we couldn't breathe
You played with my hair till it was frizzed and rough
Talked about nothing until we couldn't anymore

The night you told me that you loved me
I was sniffling and sick
Surrounded by tissues
You kissed my cheek

I was an actor
And you were a painter
I acted like I loved you
And you painted me like you did
Keli Apr 2022
Once there was a handsome boy
with bright electric hair

And **** was he proud of it,
wouldn’t cut it on a dare!

His hair was quite amazing
As it twisted, sprang, and frizzed

And your own hair would stand on end
If with him you had kissed.

And although he had the nicest eyes
And smile more than fair

None of this would distract you
From his bright electric hair
I am in love with making these type of nonsense poems..

— The End —