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matilda shaye Nov 2014
Touch me, I am fragile but I know I will not break. If you look at me long enough your eyes will start to water based on the saltiness of my skin because of the sea's I've swam to get to the place I'm in now. Open, closed, I've ran back and forth a hundred times, I am the weakest link and the leader of the group. If you sawed me in half you'd see three things: my barely pumping heart, a toxic amount of love, and a will to survive.

Touch me, but be gentle, because although I learnt to withstand even the deadliest of summer heat your cold heart isn't something my body is used too. Close your eyes, count to ten, am I on your mind? No. Throw me into the ocean. I'm no use to you then. It's cloudy but it doesn't rain, mid 70's but no humidity, my heart is sore, but I'm breathing. Oh god, I don't know how, but I will continue.

Touch me, be rough, *****, make it a melody and prove to me all I'm missing out on by not being enough for you. Afterward, I want a list of ten things I can change so that I will be enough for you. Make it a hundred if you have too, I just want to be enough for you. Staple it to my forehead, toss me in the ocean. I'm not here for your approval, only my own, and I don't think I'll be content in who I am until I'm something you think is worthwhile. Push me on the ground and kick me as hard as you can, make this pale skin your canvas, I want bruises and blood, six broken bones and a concussion to match. Make me hate you. Babe, all I've got is love.

Touch me, one last time, but don't let go until the end of this lifetime. This love became a competition long ago, and boy do I love to win. Tonight the universe spoke to me and it told me here is where I need to be, and I think it wants me to fight. Put on your armor, give me some weapons, I'm here for the long haul and I'm taking every prisoner I can. Touch me because I am weak and I need to learn to be strong so I can withstand this, 'cause baby this love feels like seeing a doctor coming towards you with a needle the size of your head, "oh don't worry sweetie this will only hurt a tad", *******. I still felt it a week after. But this one, ****. I'll be lucky if it doesn't still sting in a year...

Touch me, please. I'm begging you. I need to feel alive, but you've been suffocating me and my heavy heart. How am I supposed to survive when loving you feels like death?
elle Sep 2018
Turn your need up!

plastic bags slide cross the floor of this ***** bus
pavement swimming down below
as we ride through new snow
(churning now to gray)

“Turn the heat up!
my feet are frozen"

and my dreams too.
into pictures that frame the world outside this bus
hypnotizing,
colored-dread.

A fevered sleep
so far away and weeping-

cold woke us today and from now on

(but for now I’m on this bus)
starved for more,
more waiting in your hot car

icicle clinging to your siding, wood in your fire burning,
a fixture of the season

since the innocent incentive to stick around has died
I’m sorry,
I keep waking you up all night.

..start a journey in my head
to find myself plastered to your skin in bed
and these ******* squeaky floors..

I can’t let go of you
How do you say goodbye so softly?
How do you say goodbye with half-closed eyes?

Turn your need up!
Cling to me!
Amy Borton Feb 12
Did you know that I hate you?
Every second you ignore me seeps into my skin like ink
Your words are a tattoo I can’t remove
I’ve spent months scrubbing my skin of your touch
The memory of it lingering
Between my fingers
Behind my ears
On my lips
Around my waist
An invisible hand-shaped scar on my cheek accompanied by
The sound of your voice between tears
“I want to do my best for you”
Unless your best is weakening me to the point I can’t get out of bed,
You’re a ******* liar for that
And so much more
I want to rip the memory of us from inside of you, you don’t deserve it
When I think of you I want to scream until my voice goes limp

And then you smile
And I remember you again
The goofy ******* who spends days making music
Lover of takis and neck kisses and bridges
I remember you holding me while I cried
And taking pictures while I laughed
Always knowing when I’m hungry or sad or anxious or tired
Jamming out to Inner Voices on a 20 hour road trip
Getting ****** and petting dogs
Snowball fights at 2 AM
Making out at stoplights
Taking an hour to say goodbye
The way you grinned so wide after we kissed
Every
Single
Time

You ******* ******* *******
N Nov 2017
I should hate you.
I should be angry because you like her and not me.
I should be angry because of how you only gave me attention when you wanted something from me.
How I gave you my trust, love, and heart and you broke all three at once.
How you emotionally abused me, manipulated me and had no respect for me.
I should be angry that you gave me hope for a future that you know I most desperately desired.
That you made me think it would happen but you cheated countless times,
and whenever somebody better came along, you left me in a heartbeat, like I never meant anything to you.
You left me heartbroken.

But then I remember the words you said to me,
the way you made me feel when the cold weather and cloudy skies were around,
and all those horrible memories of you fade away.

My god, I wish I didn't have to love you the way I do,
but I find it impossible to stop.
It took everything in me to delete those pictures of you where we both looked so happy.
It took everything inside me to accept that you don't need me,
you never did.
You don't miss me.
You don't care about me the slightest bit.
You don't even want me.
It took me every bone in my ******* body to keep you out of my mind when I wasn't sober.
But I realized that you were all I thought of, sober or not.

Because my heart kicked you out,
so you just moved straight into my mind.
Mark Upright Aug 2018
|“lead into gold, good into dear, mortal into immortal”
(where poems come from)”
|


you charged me
with crimes three times three,
sorcery and witchcraft and doing god’s work

plead guilty three times three
not that I was successful,
but a complex, candied marvelous failure

not in my possession, the sorcerers spell,
my dross and wordy dregs all sit sidelined,
perchance perhaps,
if you search with a leaden patience inhuman,
you might just find a minuscule golden vein there’d unmined

turning good into dear, an “anyone can do it” miracle,
when you whisper with just one kiss those forever words,
don’t be afraid, say it low and slow, I love you,
and
“I only want to be with you”
and dare it to be become dear

mortal into immortal, an order tall, for one knows his
hiding places for all too human pockmarked weak,
but having been charged and found in guilt,
no one proffered evidence but they wanted a unambiguous
unanimous verdict and proof is such an old fashioned truth notion

happy accept your accusations and since confession is
the best soul medicine, with glee, here and now reveal
how immortality is achievable


breathe poems  constantly instantly throughout
the orifices in the skin cells and
pore’d orifices you were god given;
it is how we immortals communicate
with what cannot be seen,
yet drunken heard when spoke aloud

taste the poems in and on tongues you can’t comprehend,
the sounds fly skyward after infiltrating your eyes,
then you can see your own immortality anointed rising

all nonsense you plead,
indeed,
only immortals truly cherish and envy the
human ability to create
nonsense, the place
where poems come from

*******
Bus Poet Stop Apr 2015
eye sometimes go to bed wearing an old hoody. It has a metal zipper  to close the front and the zipper is always cold, unpleasantly so, on my bare skin.  After awhile though, my body temperature warms the metal just enough, that it is no longer a cause of discomfort though the metal still remains inherently cool to the touch

While science can easily explain this I guess, I felt this to be a major miracle.  That flesh pliable and heart-heated to 98 degrees could conquer the molecules of metal that were made in China struck me as extra ordinary (always two words, please!) and nothing short of a personal intervention by a personal deity

When I put the hoodie on at first I would think
******* (that's cold)
When I awoke, cosy and warm, I would think
******* (that's so cool)

having studied philosophy in Cleveland,
I knew that the logic of the situation,
what I had experienced was not an
interregnum, but the invisible intervening handiwork of god, who, also knocked my glasses from the nightable to the floor,
just cause she/ he was in a bad mood, on account of having to come such a long way, just,
to reheat me
one more time.
In terre gnum - freedom from the terror of chewing gum discard actions and a phobia of gnus
Lizzy Oct 2015
i've tricked them once again
i made them believe that everything was fine.
******* I'm good,
even after all this time.

i'm too good at lying at lying to myself,
I'm too good at pushing away the pain.
and even tricking myself
into believing I'm okay.

you're telling me to breathe
but my throat keeps closing.
you tell me to sleep,
but every night is darkness without dreams.

how am i supposed to write,
without spilling blood on the page.
but this is my job now,
and i need a decent grade.

like forcing a bird to sing for food,
you're wringing me out.
my mind dripping to the floor,
i can't create beautiful things anymore.

i'm writing everything over again.
repeating
repeating
repeating myself.

what do you want me to say?
that everything will be okay?
you want me to make my own light,
give myself a nicholas sparks ending.  

because now I'm exposed,
I'm standing in front of you all.
and you can practically see the blood
dripping down my wrists.

with the world standing behind me,
its hard to keep my focus.
"make it pretty" she says,
"don't let them see you're already dead."

i can't turn tears to holy water,
or my own blood into wine.
i can't create beauty,
staring Darkness in the eyes.
s Jun 2018
there's a lot wrong
with the earth-
& with my head
i'm trying to shed my addict skin
i'm so much more than what i depict
& i've come pretty far,
considering where i've been

& this world may be bleak
but i've gained some light
by burning down every
bridge in my sight-
you may say my pyromania
is born out of spite
but your toxicity is now gone.
i can finally breathe right.

so i'm going to continue
to fix myself
i'll box up old memories,
hide them high on a shelf
because i’m done treating the past
as my prison cell.
i've roamed ******* far
from the pits of your hell.
?
Michael May 2017
I've got the rip down just right
The soft tear, grated misnomer
Perforated here in my middle
Like I was meant to come apart
Out of view
Hot with friction
Hot with longing
Kinetic energy
Shredding
Dividing
The low sound of cutting construction paper
Thick with each blade passing
A sharp kiss
Maybe
Gripping like this
The right tool for suicide in the wrong hands
I have hands like those
******* I'm dissolving in a tear drop
It never left the eye
The sting feels like drowning
Waterless
and
in pieces
Like paper.
Joe Workman Jul 2017
I could write you more, you know.
And I would, but it feels wrong to.
I could call you, too, but again...
Look, I love you, okay, and
there's no way around that,
no hiding from it.
I know that in this life
we can't be a thing.
That really makes me want the next life,
but I'm also scared there won't be one.
It's a ******* mess, really.
I'm a ******* mess.
I don't let you see it, though;
I pretend I'm good at being friends.
Have I fooled you?
No, of course not.
I am thankful, though, that you
don't rub it in.
You are kind.
You are a rarity.
And so I pine, don't I?
Spending so much time wishing while
spending so much time afraid of that wish coming true.
Reality is the biggest letdown and
I know that I am a close second to it.
And if you ever read this, isn't it attractive to see such a ****** man, complaining about things he could change but won't?
I hate this more than a lot of things:
my unwillingness to do what's best for me at the expense of others.
*******.
This isn't pretty or poetry,
but it's honest, and I wish you knew I write here.
Kateasz Oct 2018
I just want someone to grab my *** and tell me I’m pretty.
Actual words I saw on instagram.
Let’s break that statement down.
Someone to grab my ***
And by that I mean
Someone to love me so much they can’t keep their hands off of me
And by that I mean
Someone to want me or at least tell me that they do
And by that I mean
Someone to make me believe that I am worth a *****
Even if that is all I am worth.
We break girls down into pretty girls and smart girls as if they are mutually exclusive.
Movies brandish the before and after of makeovers so much we can’t help
Glancing in the mirror and only ever seeing ourselves as a before.
So I will drag myself out of bed
Thirty minutes earlier
So I can paint concealer under my eyes (to hide the purple circles)
And onto my chin (to eliminate that red shine that makes it stick out)
And all over my nose (so I don’t look like rudolf when I scratch it and my sensitive skin acts up)
To coat my blonde lashes with layer after layer of ebony paint (to keep me from looking like a sick victorian child)
I will drag myself out of bed
Ten minutes earlier
To try on one outfit (But not that one, it makes my stomach look huge)
To try on two outfits (But not that one, it makes my ***** look smaller than they already are)
To try on three outfits (But not that one, six people told me it looks slutty)
To try on four outfits (Just throw on a hoodie, but that’s the only time you can wear it this week.)
And sometimes?
Three hours earlier
To cry over that assignment I can’t figure out
And to comb through the pages of my backbreaking book for an answer to a problem I’ll never need
To wonder if maybe gagging myself until bile rises in my throat
Until an empty stomach burns in my nose and the nausea hits me like a punch in the everywhere.
Would be easier than going to school
But no one sees that.
They only see me
Fixing my makeup up in bathroom mirror before lunch
And so they throw words as hard as they can
They aim for my heart, using every colorful hallway adjective they’ve heard
Or maybe the words the voice inside calls them
I’d be lying if I said that these words that didn’t haunt me
and follow me
And effect my every action
But I refuse to let them know that
I refuse to let them drag me down simply because they cannot fly
If I’m going to be an Icarus, ******* that’s a good way to go.
*******, that’s a way to be remembered.
Even if I’m a cautionary tale, at least I got to see the sun.
If  you call me a try hard I will say maybe you’re just not trying hard enough
If you call me high maintenance, I will say that it’s better than looking like you.
But when I express how much this hurts to my friend, he pulls a movie Ron Weasley and says
“Well, it’s kinda right.” and proceeds to make fun of me for doing my best
For those sleepless nights kept awake by the light of my laptop.
For shoving a toothbrush up my throat and hating myself for not being able to go through with it.
For raising my hand when the teacher holds up the tightrope I teetered along.
For trying.
I just want someone to tell me I’m pretty.
I just wish I didn’t need someone to tell me I’m pretty.
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