"mortifying" poems
Where we shoveled coal into the furnace was an inconsiderable door. Behind it held ***** chubby cherubs with cherry tomato noses, whose job it was to keep the fires of our parent's liquor cabinets full. This they did to keep them from constantly beating us, but the happy distraction did not always work. So, we would pluckily go. Go to the scuzzy pond at dusk with kerosine lanterns and listen for croaks. We tied forks to the ends of canes or stakes and would gig bullfrogs for dinner. It became only momentarily mortifying, but was always a choice way of ridding our sisters and other clingy girls of our company. We'd fry the legs in cornstarch and pepper flakes and be allowed to share with the adults their beer if it was a good catch. Usually, it was. Most of forever we waited for teaberry season, always the best time of the year. Though it was hotter than Beelzebub's bath water we'd go swimming in that **** pond to reach our favorite teaberry patches. This ensured our riches and fame throughout our Appalachian village. Everyone would eat teaberry ice cream and sing our names and no one beat us on those days.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
His:
My palms were sweaty
and heavy, but perhaps
the heaviest thing about them
were the two concert tickets
I was gripping tightly in my left hand.
Hers:
His smile was like a bonfire;
warm and you always wanted to bring your body closer
just to feel more of that warmth.
His palms were also sweaty.
Some of my friends say it was gross,
but I will always remember it
as one of the most charming things about him.
His:
I picked her up around 7.
Met her parents and said we'd be home by midnight.
Her father likes the Cardinals.
I'm a Cubs fan.
Yeah...
Hers:
My father is a Cardinals fan,
and he was a Cubs fan.
But, what I didn't tell him,
was that my mother was a Cubs fan too.
My father won't say it,
but he approved of him instantly.
Mom, if you can hear me up there,
thank you.
His:
Her father scared the living daylights out of me.
We came back at 12:06, and her father says
"You're six minutes late young man!
That's it! You're not allowed to..."
and as my heart is sinking he says
"I'm just kidding bud. Thanks for getting her home safe."
She still won't let me live that down.
Hers:
He was so sweet to my parents,
even after dad tried to scare him out of his wits,
he said, "Sir, with all do respect
that may have just been the most mortifying moment of my life."
I walked him out, still teasing him.
With this sassy looking face and a furrowed brow
he kissed me goodnight and said
"I only got scared because we've only just begun."
I think that's when I fell in love with him.
His:
Good God I must have looked like a *****
I ask her jokingly every now and again
"When did you fall in love with me?"
All she does is chuckle and say
"When dad scared the hell out of you."
I think what scares me more now,
is that I know there's a part of her that's serious,
and I like that. I don't really understand why,
I just do.
Hers:
I couldn't wait to see him again.
I asked mom and dad what they thought of him
and mom said "He's a keeper."
Dad said "He reminds me of your mother;
Clumsy, easy to tease, but you can't help but love the kid."
Mom punched him on the shoulder
and then gave dad a kiss.
They both agreed and said "We'll allow it."
I was so happy to hear that.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
It's mortifying...
The dilemma, the time lapse, the wait, the clock.
The abstract that I so blatantly describe in my other writings.
Time cannot be paused, stopped...
The abstraction is so formulated into one diverse piece, the creation of such is appealing, yet reformative.
Inconsequential, to the matter of science, myth, philosophy, conduct, and everything that exists beyond our mind.
I hold onto this creation, because the conclusion of the matter holds many intellectual debates that cannot be won or answered.
It is forbidden, it's lost.
The question of right and wrong holds many definitions that are inexplicable to the concept of reality itself, when the utter illusion holds the introspection that philosophers like myself, cannot give a precise answer to.
Time will let us be.
It's a quiet storm, and I've never felt like this before.
Sometimes I think, you're just too good for me.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 4:48 PM UTC
This is one American that drops beats, not bombs
This is one American that admits when she’s wrong.
But an ocean doesn’t divide us
Only you divide us
With your words for labels that say what’s you, not me
Your stereotypes are gunna be the death of me
You’re killing me with these close-minded philosophies
And Who the hell ever said you were the referee of me?
We gotta spend less time sneering and swearing
We gotta spend less time jeering and tearing
You should never have to defend when you love
You should never have to defend why you love
You should never have to defend who you love
We are all created equal;
That’s the condition of the receiver
And we are all the receivers
But some keep spewing that hate; those hate-believers
But we don’t accept their judgment upon us
We gotta rise up out of adversity placed on us
Some out there will go to their graves justifying
Committing acts based on fear is nothing but mortifying
And I’m gunna be truthful; I’m not even lying
When your preach your ******** the human race is dying.
You see United this house stands strong
Every new hand we hold pushes us along
Every brick makes us higher
Acceptance makes us flyer
Gotta keep hate out of your heart
And maybe then we’ll get to start
To come together
To love one another
And to be free like it is intended
Maybe then the human race will be mended
Maybe then this bad movie will get a better sequel
Maybe then we’ll realize We are all created equal.
I want to stop it all
To go into a free-for-all
To rip those signs apart
To take that hate from that heart
All I can do is spread the word on love
And hope to God that will be enough
All I can do is be me and let you be you
All I can do is all I can do
But together we can appreciate
That all together we can officiate
Love that knows no bounds
That type of harmony with unreal sounds.
We may measure success by what’s published
We may measure it by what’s re-said
By how much money we make
By the course that we take
But one thing I know that will bring us deliverance
All that matters is that one voice that says
You make a ******* difference.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
A calamity of views abused
When the alcohol is strong
The choices go wrong
Everyones offend through Misinterpreted temptation
Using my over analyzing brain to calm the degraded
Crying over a mundane sane
Looking for persuasion
Through persecution
Picking out your weaknesses
Bleakness, is a majestic trait
Not intentionally
Burdening their agony
My name is animosity
I depict a character that sympathizes
Your alibies
Using my vulnerability
Contaminated humility
Finding
The hiding
No problem suggesting
My dark secrets of the night
Applying my skits that fit right
Paranoid to be viewed in a mortifying light
I would be lying denying my animalistic ride
I have scrutinized
Remorsing
I see earth born
Godly you stand
In the morning
Behold deformities
You fit the norm
I bow to your Godly proportion
In vein this I pray
Amen
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
Hi.
My name is Ashly (yes without an E in my name). I am 33, my husband is 47 ( yes 14 years apart). I couldn’t be happier with Brent in my life. On Wednesday, October 17 we will be together for 10 years, even though we have been best friends for close to 20 years.
April 18, 2010 we were married surrounded by our closest friends and family. It was the best day of my life, well both of our lives.
As any normal newlyweds, we went on a honeymoon, to Disney because that’s our “happy place”. Assuming we would start a family in the coming months or years.
Fast forward to today.... still waiting, and waiting....
After hearing for a couple years..
Are you trying?
Are you pregnant?
When will you have children?
The clock is ticking
Time is running out
So forth and so on...
Now many don’t ask who know
Many just wonder if we even ever wanted children or to start a family.
Seeing all my high school friends and others throughout the world posting on social media “We’re expecting”
“We’re going by two feet”
I kindly reply with a smile on my face, but emptiness in my heart. Forcing a smile and a nice gesture.
It’s not because I’m not happy for others, but discouraged with myself.
Why me?
Why us?
Are we not good enough?
What’s wrong with me?
What’s wrong with my husband?
And the list goes on and on...
I’ve tried to tell myself “everything happens for a reason” and I try to stick by that quote, but unfortunately for this situation, it just plain *****
It hurts, it’s mortifying, it leaves unopened and hurtful scars that you can explain or be seen to anyone.
As time goes on, it gets harder to think about because let’s face it, we’re not getting any younger. It’s a constant struggle to keep a smile on my face and happiness in my heart especially with this constant void.
But....
It’s ok.
I’m ok.
We’re ok.
If it would happen at some point, I’ll be happy and proud, but if it doesn’t, it wasn’t meant to be and that’s ok.
I am who I am suppose to be, who I’m suppose to be with and we are happy. Even if that means we will never be direct parents to our own child.
We both can be role models, aunts and uncles, friends and families to others.
Although the sand through the hourglass is running thin, our lives together is where it all begins.
Happiness and struggles
Love and pain
We are one together and that’s the most precious thing I can say.
I love you Brent, with all my heart, even if we’ll never be parents, I wouldn’t want to go through this with anyone else.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:34 PM UTC
you are like black magic,
a hidden lip underneath a night of grace; underneath the canopy
of old soul trees, stretching out above
to protect hearts from being
hurt;
but you,
you are like black magic
and cheeky lick kisses under ****** blankets.
you were a secret
you were a shame
you were a dose of mortifying pleasure;
a sore amount; a quarter of a cup; a batch of chocolate chip cookies
with just one egg,
splenda, not sugar,
tofu, not meat,
never enough;
but I’m a sucker for vegetarianism and anything
orthorexic – I’ve compared you
to my biggest demon
too often; so I should really know that
you’re toxic –
I dance alone
with my eyes closed
and you’re there; step step, close.
your fingers slide into the gaps between mine
and now we’re interlocking,
like a devil on my back;
I move with you; dancing to your heartbeat
step step step, hold me close
and never let me go
-- oh please let me go
-- oh maybe I should let go.
We’re Getting Older,
the lyrics in the song I am listening to
tell me;
but I feel young under your gaze
a time machine; taking me back to a year ago
in the winter
in the cold
under the open, black sky
because the trees are broken and little in the winter,
leafless,
and don’t have enough life in them
to protect my heart
from being hurt
(by you).
oh you,
you are like black magic,
and I am like a baby lioness,
proud and easily tamed.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
My absence was a mortifying misfortune,
The ponies drew their swords at the amity,
The sunset hung close to my crackling toes.
And the rings of ardor were a constant reminder of the fall.
We know we rise again in the sunrise
but the plastic hair gave fraud to wishes we made days before.
The soldiers clamped their wings tight
The circle had not comprehended the fight we fought for.
The context of these misused actions could be used to modify.
“Please come again” The narrator spoke.
We rode the carousel again.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 1:33 PM UTC
What do you want from me?
Why arn't you scared of me?
Why don't you care for me?
Do you fear me because I'm alone?
Slip, cut yourself on the glass and swim in your drowning blood.
It's a dark place, it's vivid, the ghosts are deadly.
Cut your tongue, you can't talk, you won't be heard.
Voices are whispers, silent.
Wonder, stay fearful.
Come, enter my dark acidic wonderland and die with me.
Eat tongues as the whisper echoes in the dark.
Freeze, don't say anyhing, just watch me.
Watch me move.
(Scream)
Horrifying, I die in placid stillness and my yell for help cannot be heard.
It's mortifying, help me.
But I love playing these games, until my heart, bleeds.
Cut me, lick my blood, watch the rabbits head twist off as he loses his race against time.
Nothing is going to save you now.
You are dead.
I wanna end me.
**** me in the dark.
The ghosts come in my dreams and pull me, they want me.
The only energies that want me, not wanted by humans, not wanted by anyone.
Nobody likes me.
**** me in the dark.
...
End me
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 2:26 PM UTC
At night I hear them
Tiny footsteps
Sneaky little feet running around my head
The creatures they belong to
Biting on my brain cells and
Rummaging around my memories like
They're trinket hunting in a dusty old attic and
Pulling out the most repulsive, musty things they can find,
The things I hid in boxes, embarrassed about,
Old snapshots of a past I’d rather not remember
But they always creep back out of there come family reunions.
These sneaky little creatures that bite on the back of my brain
Cackle over my most mortifying trinkets,
The kind that I try to give away but the thrift stores won’t take them
And I’d be too humiliated to sell them directly
Because that would mean I’d have to share the fact that I had them
When the fact of the matter is that I’m walking in the snow
And trying to cover up my footprints
With an evergreen branch
That does nothing but leave bigger, clearer marks on
The cold white unforgiving ground
And makes the marks more visible
But less obviously mine.
And the sneaky little creatures don’t like this,
Because it’s taking away from the treasures they keep
Up in my attic with the moth-eaten shawls
And dusty old rocking chair stashed in the corner.
They love the old, repulsive musty things
That I don’t want and cannot give away,
And so they make me look them over and over
And shove the hideous things into my face
Dissolving my sense of self as easily as
Salt into water
And gradually changing my taste buds
From honey to brine
As I wonder
Why, why, why
And the sneaky little feet that run around my head
Turn heavy, as if clad in iron boots
And every little trinket that they share
Makes them less and less easy to ignore.
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
I feel it in my gut
The verge of a panic attack lingering in my heart So I quickly nip it in the ****
It's terrifying feeling it when it hits and mortifying experiencing it while in public
Social acceptance used to be the key
Social acceptance used to control me
It Used to dictate my life
Till I grabbed it by the throat and slit it with my pocket knife
I really just got tired of the need to hide
The real I almost died
Being caught up in a lie
At first I was shy
But hey now I draw attention to it for the world to absorb it with an open eye
I choose not to care
And now people are jealous of me because they think it's not fare
I don't dare let these rude remarks get into my hair
If only they new to get where I am you have to do your time and your share
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
Walking down the street
your hearts are skipping the exact same beats.
A unison that anyone would wish for.
He came out of the darkness
as the most unpleasant surprise.
Reeking of demise
he stole her from your grasp.
One hand over her mouth and one hand over her heart
he sprinted
but you boy, you ran after her.
You ran and ran until your stomach screamed;
until your feet began to bleed.
Oh how you cried.
That man, he took her to a isolated place
so that she would have to face
him. And only him.
Her screams, were insignificant because at that moment
she was no one.
The look in his eyes as he undressed her was
mortifying.
She tried to run, she tried to scream but he was in control.
Then he plunged; breaking the skin that kept her innocense so beautiful.
& he plunged; scraping the walls of her ****** making her bleed.
& HE PLUNGED into her heart, soul, and mind
making her cry.
Oh how she cried.
And you boy, you heard her screams.
But they were hushed by your own dreadful sobbing;
Bawling yourself into an unconcious state of failure and loss.
And that girl, she was paralyzed with pain;
Drenched with the strange white substance that filled her with
s h a m e.
Her ****** had been bruised and scarred by the monster.
She said, "God.. God I know you can hear me. Help me. You are not going to let me die."
That man he turned around and laughed.
Smiling as he said, "Girl. Sweet, sweet girl.
I am Anastatious and this is your sacrifice."
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 1:25 PM UTC
**** if I know.
I scarcely understand much anymore.
I am but a puddle of coherent reminiscences
oozing across the floor into decoherence and
diffusing into maximum entropy.
We are in Hell:
all is Maya,
all is Mara,
all is Dukkha.
Yet, we are slaves
who love our chains.
And I am a lifeless, fetal,
**** economicus,
mortifying de rigeur
in the ossified skull of a
long forgotten **** sapien.
If only those kinship instincts could've
survived the havoc we've wrought.
Look at what we've done.
Look at what we do.
**** for money.
**** for oil.
**** for land.
**** for 'justice.'
**** for God
**** for 'the cause'
**** for the sake of killing,
and pave over what's left.
Leave a few trees and bushes for our
dystopic terrarium.
'Our Synthetic Environment,'
old Murray[1] called it.
Now, walk into the forest.
Be there. Stay there.
Do you feel it?
Any of this nonsense we call
'civilization'?
Or
is it that you feel something more. . .
poignant?
More true?
To a point where our heated debates
appear as no more than frivolous diatribes?
When do we stop all this narrative solipsism
and get to the ******* point?
None of this is real.
Our thoughts are not our own.
Have they ever been?
The Spectacle [2] reigns supreme
as we idle spectators
speculate idly upon it.
Borges's fable of the cartographers [3]
has reached its apotheosis,
and we are its unwilling
and unwitting victims. . . .
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 2:01 AM UTC
It always starts
in the head
lay face down
on the bed
my cover pulled
over my head
dissecting myself
every mistake
Distrust runs riot
all ego led
patterning plans
my wings clipped;
they deem me
a flight risk
Self flagellation
my own whipping boy
mortifying flesh;
*Lord, forgive me
for my sins*
My body pays penance
mauled;
flesh laid bare
and, I trace with fingers
tram lines of forgiveness
Overly thinking,
all inside my mind
is unfocused
war zones of
clambering disasters
Guilt further fed;
satiated by stealing
my breaths
from cushions
that smoother
I can't breathe
There is a deep, resounding
stillness
a calm before the storm
inside & outside
landscapes swirl
as I,
fight to unpin
myself
from that to which
I'm so tightly woven.
© Sia Jane
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC
In the cargo its cramped and small
People range from short to tall
the smell of death evades the air
Nazis loading people with seeming-less care
Separation,Deprivation
Wheels turning, stomachs churning
the taste of fear,sweat and tears
What I have lived for through countless time.
Mortifying sights to see
family memories
ringing in my bleeding ears
Triggering my deepest fears
Sun rays shining through barbed wires
too much time spent in death cars
when will i escape this hell
captivating feelings held
Trapped and caged like a jailbird
Loaded and treated worse than a cattle heard
intense heat keeps us beat
disease and death among me creeps
Bodies close
too close for comfort
but that is least of my worries
Where is this place they are taking me
will I survive or will they break me
emaciated,hunger kills
I'm still alive 'cause my strong will
Sweat dripping down my cheek
the thirst and hunger turn me weak
dust and dirt caked upon us all
the horrendous taste of death still crawls.
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 10:31 AM UTC
She is my maiden of truth
in the born tissue of nature.
She keeps me shimmering and clean
from the misfortunes of life.
Beautiful to a point when the sun is my sister.
She, who glares seeks answers in me.
I, who have neither time nor breath
will manifest her mortifying mouth and shape.
She stays with me all day, keeps me company,
I adore until he…
He comes only when the sun is set high,
when souls are free and water translucent.
He holds her hand and kisses the lips
that will never be mine.
She sees me yet not.
I see, cannot escape the shades my sister makes in revenge.
I can’t help but see the echo.
I cannot listen to the moans that should have been mine
and the body touched by me, I shatter
The villain leaves her lonesome.
I am to pick up her pieces, be strong for her.
Tell me, is this fair, reflection is my only caress,
she will not grant my wishes…shatter me.
Pain with the withering skies of my cousins,
she’s crying, torture of eye.
Let the leaves go, my friends, comfort me,
am I the only one?
She sits there alone thinking of him while I look at her.
Sometimes she comes close, looks at me and cries,
she touches my chest, I shiver,
I wish my mind could escape and explain all I feel.
On the 13th of snows she looked at me for the last time.
She gave me her blood as she angered and
broke me to pieces. I will never see the whole of her again,
all I see now are bits of a past I longed for…
She never sees me anymore but I adore
and I hear the endless moans of the villain
filling my reflection…
May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011 at 5:43 PM UTC
She dies so elegantly
Glorious gore
Sublimely spattered
Across my senses
Watching crimson syrup
Pool stickily on the floorboards
Putrid tang of copper
Wafting up as I inhale
From the core of my soul
The sudden realization that
Cold has a taste as
I gently lick her life
From my stainless blade
Her banshee death wail
Resonating in my skull
Like a struck gong
Titrating in decibel
Like a tuning fork
As her spirit slowly spirals
Down the drain toward her
Own mortifying vision of hell
Her heart and vitals strewn about
The flat like soiled laundry
Gives rise to a fire in my *****
As my chakras glow with the
Insatiable blood lust burning
In the furnace of my desire
I take a step
Give the sign and
Exit on the square
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 7:49 PM UTC
I see a sea
Gradually creeping up
On me.
I feel a fear
stiffly forging
A path to my (mind).
I hear a high
Can only bring you down
So much before
You die.
These terrors keep creeping
As the crypt keeper keeps crypt creeping,
Trying to find a sign.
Trying to find A sign that
He's alive.
He sees nothing but
Resemblance
Between his life
And the mortified faces
Of the no-more-mortal morgue men.
The crypt keepers life is mortifying.
He'd **** himself but
He sees the same
Between the dead
And dying.
He rides his dead eyed
Horse between his house
And the morgue.
Little does he know
He has no home anymore.
The cryptic crypt keeper keeps keeping me awake.
The mortified men are just laughing at their stake.
I arrive at the door
The pearly gray gates.
Knock in hope for more
Waiting out my fate.
Ding **** the bell tolls
Throughout this
Measured mystic landscape.
Death as in a dream,
Answers immediately.
Why am I here!
I chime out solemnly.
You've been here for years
Death responds to me.
For as long as I've crept and
creeped anyway.
Death is the crypt keeper
I question, exasperated
What else would I be
Doing here
He sighs slovenly
He pulls a chord
Opens the door
And steps aside
Waiting for me.
I died?
Only if you walk inside
The one way gates
To the other side
Of this miraculous night
He cries.
I walk the line
Between there and life
Free of fear
For the first time
Finally.
He smiles,
And says
"I lied"
Through his Death filled
Shroud, all smiley.
"You've made it son"
He says as he pulls back his hood
Revealing
Not Death
But Light.
.....
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 7:36 PM UTC
Saturday morning were spent swallowed up in books,
Instead of surfing channels,
searching for a show to try and satisfy my thirst for adventure,
Yet each one was a satisfactory and savor-less as the last.
Instead, I lost myself in novels,
Books filled by dauntless tales
Of daring heroes and damsels in distress,
Of dreams who dared to dreams,
Of champions decided their own destiny,
Not deterred by the disheartened and the disturbed.
But these glory days faded away
because apparently growing up meant
Giving up my golden dreams
To gluttonous people who tried to play god.
I sank low into my self pity,
Sadness slowly swept over my thoughts
Sorrow spat upon my sorry face
As I slowly submitted to the cold surrender of solitude.
Soon all music became mediocre,
Each melody, meaningless.
Mirrors became mortifying, for I could see the merciless monster inside me
turn me into a mental mausoleum;
It's mocking hammered through my malleable mind,
And bombard me with a myriad of maddening thoughts.
And so I isolated myself on a insomniac island,
alone with the insidious thoughts,
Inventing an imaginary monster to
inspire my icy heart.
Alas, there crept a creature, created in the cobwebbed corners of my mind,
cold and cryptic -
A creature I couldn't control.
It began setting siege against me,
Attacking the architecture of my mental mind mansion,
Tearing through my train of thought
Creating chaos that completely corrupted and corroded my consciousness.
And the beast's name is Anxiety.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
abridge the air above the aria
because basically I'm bent on balancing books
center to the capacity of culpability
derived from the demonic disappointments
entering my ethnicity.
Forget the foul fate
of so greatly glazed
a high horse
inside an icy inescapable
jail, where juveniles jinx
Kublai Khan, knocking the kimono
lying lazily upon the lamp.
Mortifying my middle man
never negating the negotiations
of an open opinion
perhaps a pernicious
quagmire, quietly and quickly,
ravenously rages,
sickly. Stop spewing
this title to tempt
under the universe
very volatile in
waiting. Wonder why
Xanthippe from Xian is
yearning for your
zenith and zeros in
on your words.
Pondering,
wondering,
if this is all for nothing.
coming up asundering.
their voices thundering.
and I am
silent.
now.
alone.
staring into a world undone,
wondering where the sun
could be.
And seeing,
it's right behind of me
And I wonder how I got
where I ought to be.
my food for thought is free.
it's the words inside of me.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC
My words drip upon thin air, each one, more painful than the last, as they vanish into the emptiness of your heart and soul, which has been my only refuge since I dove into your dark coffee eyes for the very first time.
I have bruises on my hands, throbbing lips from all my yelling, muscles too tired to keep fighting, and a body lacking of a soul it's very own, which has been lost between all my mortifying effort to try to convince you of something you don't know of, something you're afraid to understand and probably incapable of holding it in your cold bare hands...
But now i know better; love should be felt, not understood.
*So i give up, i'm tired of killing myself trying to make you see something thats big and bright as the sun that shines ahead of us. My poems, my words, my passion, my honesty, my actions, my devotion and dediction to you apperantly weren't enough ... but baby, that's all i have left, so now i'm saying goodbye with the small strength that remains in me. I'm hurt and broken by your
disbelief due to your lack of courage but i know i will be okay because i'm not the one who's afraid of love.*
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC
I want to help you,
by kissing away your tears,
embracing your sorrow as my own,
and carrassing away your doubts.
I want to help you,
by giving you my scariest secrets,
my most mortifying embarrassments,
and the memories closest to my heart.
I want to help you,
by giving you a shoulder to cry on,
a person to shout insanities at,
and someone to keep you company
as you fall asleep.
In this time of sorrow,
there's not much I can offer.
But understand the kindness I wish to give,
and the love it holds.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 10:54 AM UTC
happy ridiculous day to you and all of humankind. I am confused at times to a level that I cannot always bear. Death itself is mortifying. Irony. Laugh if you will but a full casket is emptier than a finished glass of water. I walked to the casket and I thanked her for her life. "I'm sorry I never saw you. But you never saw me either."
sad that this death thing has ruined the us
funny: there is no god. Goddess should capitalize automatically as well, but this male dominated society of humanity is ruled my a single perfect male. Hey god hope your day is going well.
*an energy
you sing it wrong every time
I would like to give you a bouquet of flowers that I myself have created. Drawn from the earth and filled with intense reasoning and reluctance, I would kiss myself into them. Wrapped in a ribbon of black and left on your doorstep. My mom shoveled dirt and was the only female THIS IS THE DIFFERENCE MAKING. I was too weak this type of self-loathing is healthy. handing myself over to everything and nothing I know I will shatter.
shattering for death unto death away from death. stop writing about dying I'm still alive. but how alive is alive?
correct my grammar draw on my skin touch my bones until I am alive. until the page is heavy with ink.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC