"remotely" poems
Dear Lesley,
I'm sorry to have to do this through a letter, but
last time your crying just humiliated
the other couples in your group session.
Although, this might save embarrassment,
and make me look better, now that we are
both sleeping with other people. (If you
can call conjugal visits to your ex-husband people.)
This letter may well be the last memory
you will have of me, if your social worker
lets you keep it as a memento anyway.
I am leaving, and I won't be looking back either.
I am sure you won't be surprised or terribly upset.
It is completely your fault, no doubt about it!
Mainly, it is your long history with lying problems,
even more than your alcoholism, that keeps me
from being even remotely interested in continuing
this relationship with you. (I told you I forgave
you for sleeping with your boss, but I guess I
never really did.)
You would be so much better off finding someone
that can accept the emotional baggage that
you carry around, the ones with the orange tags.
Maybe your analyst can explain that to you better
than I can. I must say, I will miss some of the exciting
times we had together. Like when you got so drunk
and flirted with my father at our family Christmas
dinner. My mom has still not gotten the red wine stain
out of the tablecloth where you puked on it.
I'm glad this is finally done and we can go our
separate ways. I think you will find someone else
with whom to have an unhealthy relationship based
on physical attraction and a passion for strip-club bars.
Hopefully, this will happen incredibly far away.
Good riddance, and Happy New Year.
PS Maybe you should just go back to being a lesbian.
PPS I have no idea where you parked your car.
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC
It has been a tough month.
With health issues, school difficulties
and do not even mention family problems...
So there has been some triggers
and it is just been stressful.
I have been pretty depressed
and feeling very vulnerable
and really wanting to cut.
I feel really like I have to act like everything is fine
and cannot talk about the things that are bothering me
with the people who I would really just like to talk about it with.
Which kind of leaves me feeling
hurt and resentful and
not wanting to trust.
I feel like asking for help is so difficult
and you can only do it so many times
and be rejected before you just take on this attitude of fine
**I do not need your help anyway -
I do not actually need anyone's help
and I will manage perfectly fine on my own.**
Except that is not how it works, you do not manage perfectly fine.
You try harder at not feeling feelings
IRONIC
being that feelings were something you worked so hard to feel!
you start not talking about anything that even remotely bothers you,
you put a band-aid on everything you are struggling with
and act like things are OK
when in fact, on the inside,
you are screaming and wishing,
hoping that someone would hear you.
Enter more hurt and resentment
.
It is just really difficult
**I simply want to feel
heard
supported
loved.**
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
(October 17th, 2013, I think is when I wrote this.)
There aren’t many things
that I’m good at.
I have bad grades.
I’m aware of this, but they
still insist on shouting as if
three letter F’s
determine my worth
as well as my ability.
I’m not athletic,
never been remotely decent
at sports,
picked last for soccer,
football, basketball,
and everything else,
tried to do parkour once-
however,
that hope quickly dissolved
when I discovered
that it was still nerve-wracking
for me to climb a fence.
(One of the many gifts
that comes with a severe
lack of coordination.)
I’m not a quiet person.
I don’t know
how to hold my tongue
most of the time.
So when my father’s paycheck
is cut shorter and shorter,
when he makes little enough as it is,
my stay-at-home mother
fighting her demons of
the severe depression and anxiety
that she passed down to me
as well as her (auditory) hallucinations,
her BPD,
her physical disabilities,
not making a paycheck at all,
and my school supplies
consist of 50-cent notebooks
that fall apart,
and 75-cent pens,
I get a little… “upset”.
I’ve played guitar for three years.
Sometimes, it’s what I’m best at,
playing strings of notes
and minor chords
that come together to form
beautiful harmonies-
but more often than not,
every note is sour…
Another thing I’m not good at.
But I am a writer.
People don’t pay attention
to teenagers, they say
We’re so full of ourselves,
We think we’re so important,
they say
We need to communicate,
but when we try
all they hear
is whining, and complaining.
Teenagers telling their friends
in passing conversation
that they’re suicidal,
that they hurt themselves,
just to see who will notice-
who will listen-
and of course, no one does.
Nobody notices that
teenagers are the voice
of our generation,
and our generation,
as such,
is royally ******
because nobody pays attention.
There aren’t many things
that I’m good at.
But I am a writer.
And I have
a voice,
a pen…
And paper torn
from a 50-cent notebook.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
my fantasizes
haven't even been this remotely close,
to what i laid my eyes on.
she was perfect,
just amazing,
absolutely stunning,
with the perfect shade of skin tone,
and perfect with touch.
a goddess like ***
with a soul so well developed
and pure
that her soul instantly created a chain reaction with mine
simply breathtaking,
what a piece of "strong black woman"
with gracefulness and individuality
and a "Erykah Badu" style.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
He was pale as death,
running down like an over-wound clock
Beneath his eyes,
dark signs of sleeplessness tumbled short of his dreams.
The pale gold odor of his lips,
Parted with a series of beginnings.
He was confounded with wonder at her presence
That voice held him most
Swathed in rose and lavender silk
The darker, well-kept expanse of his suppressed eagerness blazed with light.
His eyes,
a deep tropical burn,
on fire like the World’s Fair
remotely possessed by intense life
like a trembling match
stained with creative passion
He searched for her night and day
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic rain
a deathless song
a faint flow of thunder
he followed the sound of it into the thick folds of the sky.
her well-loved eyes,
smeared with tears,
glistening drops smashed into pieces on the floor
Standing in a puddle of mid-summer flowers
Bright ecstatic smile on the edge of pouring rain
Its fluctuating, feverish warmth,
full of aching grieving beauty,
told of unexpected joy
Are you in love with me?
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC
Dear Diary, today is a new day
I waited for all the rain clouds to go away
Things may be looking up from here
I hope I'm not being too hopeful
Dear Diary, I didn't eat today
Not because of self image but rather my stomach's in frayed
Knots and I can't seem to keep anything down
Except the kind words of those who are around
Dear Diary, I couldn't sleep last night though I felt so tired
And that made it so hard to get up in the morning it felt like my
Shoulders were being held down by rain clouds
I wish I could fight this feeling somehow
Dear Diary, people keep asking if I'm okay which I
Don't understand but either way I say
Yes I'm okay, just a little blue
But at night it feels like my mind's split I two
Dear Diary, I cried ten times today
But my parents aren't asking me if I'm okay
I come home each afternoon and lay in my bed until my brain sings a different tune,
Dear Diary, I saw my doctor today
She FINALLY asked me if I was okay and I didn't
Know how to respond because honestly I didn't know on my own,
Dear Diary, I didn't wanna get up today
So I stayed in bed and it was there that I laid
And doodled on my arm with a razor blade until
Every foul thought slowly faded away,
Dear Diary, my parents have noticed my arms
But they didn't seem even remotely alarmed as I
Stayed in bed once more then I added on another four,
Dear Diary, I often wish I was dead because there
Are thoughts screaming at me in my head and I'm
Trapped in this cold body I'm in while I
Waste away as the walls slowly spin
DEAR DIARY, THEY PUMPED MY STOMACH TODAY
AND AFTER HOURS OF AGONY I WISH I HAD STAYED
HOME ONE MORE DAY SO ID HAVE MORE TIME
SO WHEN MY PARENTS CAME HOME THEY'D HAVE ONLY MY BODY TO FIND,
DEAR DIARY, I CAN'T GO ON THIS WAY,
EVERY DAY AFTER DAY IS FILLED WITH PAIN AND I'M
TRAPPED WITH THORNS AROUND MY THROAT BUT
I CANT BRING MYSELF TO BRING THEM UP CLOSE,
Dear Diary, today is a new day
I waited for all the rain clouds to go away
Things may be looking up from here
I hope I'm not being too hopeful.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 12:05 AM UTC
the day i left for good he wrapped me in an inescapable bear
hug that made me feel like i was
gonna stop breathing in
3
2
1...
we listened to a whole lotta
tom petty which is the reason why
whenever i'm scanning through
the radio on those drives i go on too often
that lead to nowhere and
i hear "refugee" or "free fallin"
i skip.
i read a lot to him and he
always listened to everything i had to say
and the 290th time of the day that i'd say
**** and everytime i said something even remotely
twisted a small smirk would
gradually paint on his lips
and then he'd laugh
and say it was a good thing we loved each other
otherwise he would think i was severely
****** up in the head.
he loved my heart shaped sunglasses
and he said i made him feel
like he was living in a time warp
where it was 1989 every millisecond
of every waking hour of every day
and i loved his eternal youthfulness
that sent fireworks flying through my
central nervous system.
and when he released me from the
wrath of his arms he promised
that we were gonna sit on his
back porch and crack open
some brews at midnight
and tell stories when i came back home.
i miss him more than the sun misses
the moon in the morning light
my partner in crime,
my adrenaline ******
my sagittarius.
-z. vega
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
.
**Crushes and••
infatuations•••
Are but tricks••
played by••••
the heart.••••
Promises•••
of love••••
That could••
tear you apart.••
Though you•••••
look to•••••••••••
The light of day.••••••
Listen carefully••••••••
To what I'm about to say.•••
I may be the one••••••••••
Who'd grace your thoughts••••
all day and night.•••••••••••••
But I implore you•••••••••••••••
to look past tomorrow••••••••••••••
Into the future that's out of sight.•••••••
You are ready to carve••••••••••••••••
Ever so recklessly,••••••••••••••••••
In your heart and thoughts•••••••
And in the words•••••••••
of your poetry.••••••••
But know that•••••••
These sweet nothings•
you chose to lay,•••••
Right now are•••••••
mere words••••••••••
With the intention•••••••
to sway.••••••••••••••••••
I feel the urge•••••••••••••••
To painfully declare.••••••••••
I feel the need••••••••••••••
To tell you what••••••••••
I've longed to bare.••••
That I'm not•••••••••••••
remotely interested,•••••••••
Nor am I taken in.•••••••••••
For your words•••••••••••••
have gone around••••••••••
I know where•••••••••
they've been...••••••
Should've revised••
your material•••••
Before trying•••••
on another...•••••
Because you••••
had conveyed••
the same•••••
to my sister!**
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
I asked if there was anyone there remotely my age,
and she said yes. I had just dumped all the money in my
wallet into trying to make my savings not negative.
It didn't work.
I walked over, stepped inside,
and saw teenagers. She told me,
there's a guy outside and he's twenty.
I got ******* duped by a kid.
Her parent's left, unwisely.
I met another half-black person,
a 15 year old girl who had dark skin
and hated everything that resembled
"blackness" or "black culture".
She even called herself white.
Here I was, outside drinking grape soda
out of a hello kitty mug,
discussing radical feminism
to teenage girls-
**and ******* five shots were fired**.
Not even 15 feet away, behind the garage.
[A fake 100 was exchanged, to which distaste was shown,
also this sentence is in parentheses,
and technically doesn't even exist].
So now there are teenage girls crying over gunfire,
hyperventilating, the high school boys jogging-
people in a swarm heading indoors,
and me.
The stupid-fucking-tragic-yet-benal artist,
running in his stupid ******* circle,
trying to decide if he should go inside
with the crazy juvenile people, or see if he can get shot,
because he already lives life awaiting some
stupid ******* narcissistic tragedy
to wipe him off the map.
My opportunities had rushed away already however.
I walked inside and sat on the couch hugging
one of those puffy round pillows and laughing
maniacally. It was intense after all.
Kid Duper tried to relate to me.
I know she didn't get it.
No one ever really ******* gets it.
Understood, maybe? No one understands.
I left shortly after with a copy of Fahrenheit 451.
I was told I could borrow it.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 4:02 AM UTC
My cat
is the only living, breathing organism
remotely willing
to keep me any company
and even he is
reluctant.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
My body was found in an autochthonous cranny stinking of death,
between the hookers legs; burned
with a magnesium flash- of the bulb popping.
It illuminates mere shapes
resembling humans only remotely;
the way a copse of bracken burnt conifers' resemble matchsticks.
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 3:13 PM UTC
There is a pressure just behind my ribs
That crushes me, yet I cannot shake it
Unmovable. Untouchable. Incurable.
On my lungs and heart, the weight of it sits.
What does this pressure pull me to?
Why does it threaten me with death?
Unknown. Uncharted. Insatiable.
It will not move until I've taken my last breath.
This is what it is to yearn
What it is to grasp with the soul.
This is what it is to burn
To ignite as desperation takes hold.
I crave this thing I don't know
It pulls at me day and night
Like an addiction, I need it frequently
Lest the anxiety, the panic, should strike.
But it is not a thing, it is a person, in plural
So very far outside my league, urban versus rural
This is not even remotely healthy, but I can't turn
From day to night, from sun to moon, I yearn.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
1202
The Frost was never seen—
If met, too rapid passed,
Or in too unsubstantial Team—
The Flowers notice first
A Stranger hovering round
A Symptom of alarm
In Villages remotely set
But search effaces him
Till some retrieveless Night
Our Vigilance at waste
The Garden gets the only shot
That never could be traced.
Unproved is much we know—
Unknown the worst we fear—
Of Strangers is the Earth the Inn
Of Secrets is the Air—
To analyze perhaps
A Philip would prefer
But Labor vaster than myself
I find it to infer.
3.3k
My skin is p a l e
My body c o ld
And in my chest lies a broken heart of fools gold
My re alit y I on ce knew is ha z y a nd n on exist en t
It's grown old
And I'm becoming tired of being bold
And being told right from wrong
I'm sinking softly down when I don't know how to swim
Every inch that I further lose from possibility to stay afloat is lessening my want or need for a life boat
Every breath I attempt to take fills my lungs with ugly pseudonyms and sends me down deeper into my lonesome underpopulated town inhabited only by fragments of once strong relationships that i held so close to me that I c ould n't b reat h e, the relationships that kept my entire being from sinking in the first place.
I'm drowning and I can't see what's even in front of me
I'm a ship bound by anchor to the wrong bad habits of shedding my blood willingly to bloodthirsty ravenous sharks in the sea of my minds eye
This was once a safe harbor for the ones I kept close
The ones that knew what mattered to me and the ones I cherished most
Now its a sea full of gh o sts
Of the people I trusted them the most
I trusted them to not turn on me or use me like a host
And now I'm the one dro w ning
I' m so sca re d
Now when I share my harbor it feels so
U n fa i r
They don't understand what I risk give to let them be there
It never harbors in their heart as deeply as it does mine
The possibility of even defining how hard it is to let these ships safely pass through this harbor will now and forever never be able to escape my pale numbing lips
Only silence
Everything here is just riddled with murderous crashing waves
Any relationship that enters I try so desperately to save
And in that attempt
The harbor starts to misbehave
The waves destroy every boat or anything that floats
Anything at all to help me cope with being so alone or the feeling of even remotely being at home.
My fingertips are numb and cold and starting to fold and I can't feel those things I could before
I just want all of this over
N o m o re dro w n i n g
All my life boats have sunk
Now I'm just stuck
All these hands and graves are grabbing at me and pulling me down ev ery whi ch wa y at the
bott om of the
oce an
u nd er
al l
th e s e
h e a v y
waves.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC
with skin of ivory
that blushes at the sight of sun
even when the clouds are out,
i turn into a silly shade of pink
with a heart that drops
falls down, down, down
into a rabbit hole
at the sight of anything
remotely shattering,
gasping at little cracks on the sidewalk
carefully tiptoeing around bumblebees
with lungs that fill with cotton
in fear of a hansel and gretel gingerbread house;
lead me to the witch
where i will cry and wonder,
“how did i get here?”
and forget about
all the gumdrops in my stomach
with poise that only lasts seconds
in the face of spiders,
they crawl into my mouth
kept there until given the chance to spit
them back into your face
i will hold my breath
and picture fields of lavender
where a tanned girl spins carelessly
until my tissue-paper limbs
learn how to hold me up
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 11:29 AM UTC
To me,
you are Athena.
Beautiful and strong and smart.
In every way.
And every way in between.
To me,
you are irreplaceable.
One of a kind.
A force to be reckoned with.
You hold a place in my heart,
that no one else can even remotely possibly imagine to fill.
You are my anchor in a wildly restless world.
In the best of times,
we make the worst team.
Yet in the worst of times,
we are the best of any.
Don't let this world weigh you down.
Remember that I am forever at your side,
whether you need me or not.
Through every dark hour.
And even the whitest lights.
Remember that I am here.
Right here.
For you.
Always and forever.
To infinity and beyond.
You are my sister.
Remember that I love you.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
captain's log, #1
2/26/16, 4:06 a.m.
my heart is growing, but has turned into an anchor. i guess a bigger heart means a heavier one, too. i remember what lightning bolts feel like. the elephant's feet are back.
captain's log, #2
3/3/16, 5:05 a.m.
i think i know why night is the enemy. without light, there's no colour. i look out my window now, i can see a sun peeking over the horizon, and i know that the world does not spin for me. so why doesn't my brain work the same? i don't remember how or when this infinite night crept up, but i feel like someone took the saturation bar behind my eyes and slid it all the way left. i miss outlook. i miss the sun.
captain's log, #3
3/3/16, 9:52 p.m.
your bones get so weary and cold that all you're able to do is sit in the shower with the hot water all the way up, and it makes you feel less disgusting for a bit but we all know that letting water run over your body doesn't clean it, or your mind, of this filth. the greatest romantic couldn't make what you did to me sound remotely beautiful. many nights i have stood desperately scrubbing and washing my skin until it's raw but your touch still lingers.
captain's log, #4
3/5/16, 3:14 a.m.
there are too many things in this world that i crave. i long for a different body, a different place, a different me. the rational parts of my brain know that this is what i've had, what i have, what i will always have and that i should just make the most of it, but depression creeps from somewhere dark, far below where my feet stand, and moves its way up my spine like a fiery slug. i am now realizing that the devil on my shoulder never left, only lied dormant.
captain's log, #5
3/7/16, 2:10 a.m.
been driving too fast with my eyes closed. been smoking again. been forgetting to eat. been thinking a lot about the fine line between, "i want to die," and, "i don't want to live."
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
sacred silence hangs on angel wings
blessing, watching over wakened night
fluttering on the screen, drawn to the light of
consciousness, the truth of darkened mornings.
strong, alone, remotely flipping through the
channels of the restless bar-room soul
charles bukowski, angry, drunk and droll;
pavement wisdom yanked inside, renewed and
resurrected. rolling stone lays open,
having sprung the latent-night messiahs
preaching to insomniacal choir.
cryptic muse's recipe for coping:
be consumed, entombed, re-wombed by
worshiping and feeding written fire.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 11:26 AM UTC
This is what you do to me:
Keep the thoughts coming like waves, I get paid,
but even if i was broke, I could live off of just knowing you.
Your image; God Given.
Im Cristal sippin’;
Having dreams;
Seeing visions,
Comparing you to an image;
Of angels.
Caught in the game and it’s one I can’t postpone.
Because it’s you that I really want, im just in hopes that you will know.
Come to your senses.
They say it’s senseless;
I keep writing about you,
But they don’t know.
When you’re really in love,
Just got to let her go.
And if her love matches your love,
Then you’ll forever know.
And grow together, saying promise after promise.
I try to hide it,
But I just can’t conceal it.
Kerosene heart pumps your name through my veins,
To my brain, on my mind, is where you stay – all day.
Showing no emotion.
But as sensitive as ever,
When your name is spoken,
I go insane.
& this has got to be my longest crush ever,
And if we ever get together,
We’d be together for-ever.
But knowing it isn’t ever,
Remotely possible.
But is it plausible to dream?
I can’t hit the pause button on my dreams.
… And so here I am,
Lying here – without you.
Everything I ever written is – about you.
Thinking; how right the world would feel if this dream was real.
You could transform my dark to light.
… But it’s just another night.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
at a young age,
most girls took the time
to plan their future wedding
with cakes and flowers
and music that kissed the crowd
and lights that danced the night away.
but me,
I was too busy
wondering why
anyone would want that
in the first place
because where i come from
the only thing that dances
are the shadows
in the corners
i found myself hiding in,
and the only thing that gets kissed
is my father's ***
whenever he was two beers deep
and feeling pretty entitled.
the only future i ever saw for myself
that involved another man
was getting away
from the ones in my life
because where i come from
the bruises and the *****
are far few in between
and love was only shown
by a dollar sign
nagging at my hand
crying take me
this means love
when it only really meant war.
the only thing i ever felt
remotely good at,
was hiding away
in the dark depths
of solitude.
and i made a promise to myself
a long time ago,
i would never lose myself
to gain love the way i saw it
and i would never feel love
the way it was shown to me
and i would never let someone
not hear what i have to say.
i told myself,
that if i ever fell in love
it would never be someone
like me, or my father
or any of the men in my life.
so i fell in love
and fell in love hard
but then just as i felt myself falling,
i slipped on the ground
i was stuck on to
and i reverted to something much simpler,
solitude.
and all those promises i made to myself
got flushed away,
by lack of affirmation
and my fear of abandonment
because i'm not sure what's worse
not being able to formulate how you feel,
or being too scared to feel at all..
I have been taught only
what i was willing to teach myself
and I was too busy
trapped in dark corners
and tip toeing around circumstance
to teach myself how to feel properly
and my environment was so dark,
i never gave myself a chance to see the light
I have done many things wrong in my life,
and you are not one.
but why do I feel so lost inside myself
like the hands of time
are grasped around my neck
as i choke on every word i wish to say to you
I have become terrified of truth
and obsessed with affirmation
that soon i will lose
the only thing i hold sacred
and thats you.
.... but I don't want to.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
the clouds looked like they were suspended there by strings. and you were the puppet master for this show. you called all of the shots and there was nothing that I, as a simple puppet, could do. you were hypnotic, mesmerizing me as I followed your every instruction as you moved your hands about. that's all that it took; a simple hand movement. I couldn't stop myself, I really couldn't help it. I had no choice but to fall into your every word and trust that every action you performed was for me. my heart. my soul. my well being. however, you were truly only putting on a show. it was for audiences' entertainment. it was never for me, or even remotely about me. you then retired from your position as a puppet master and moved on. as you have left me sitting on this shelf, I am tortured by her presence in your life. yet I am but a puppet, your puppet, and I cannot seem to break this spell. if only I were like Pinocchio. maybe if I were a real girl, you'd love me too. -hvj
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
timing is probably the most important thing
in the entire universe
when you really think about it -
it's like when a certain record comes out
and it defines that entire era
of your life
like the summer of 2001 when I was nine,
in the car with my dad on a hot summer day
and he stumbled upon "I'm Like A Bird" on one of the stations,
and we turned it up, rolled the windows down,
and we knew that that song would always be
ours.
and it's truly just so crucial to our existence,
the timing of things -
like when I met this beautiful person on the internet
who soon after became my best friend
and turned my whole life around. but the timing of it
was perfect and had i not met her right on that day of that month
of that year, i probably would not be remotely close
to who i am today.
and I already know that this summer is going to be associated
with Daft Punk's 'Random Access Memories', with "Get Lucky" blaring loud
on every stereo in the city,
it will remind me of Eisley's album, "Currents", and the song "On My Balcony"
by the band, Flunk.
Six months from now when I look back on the summer of 2013,
I will think of those songs and those records,
I will think of how hard I was trying to stay afloat and become
a better person, for nobody but myself,
and how good of a job I was doing with the action
of letting go of things that were toxic for me.
I will think of blonde hair and dancing in the rain, hot sweaty shifts
running around a crowded restaurant, being sad about how much time
I still have left until I get to see my favourite person again, and I will think of
boredom and sunburns and bad poems and love and hope and willingness
to overcome fear. And music. So much music.
This isn't really a poem but more of a very lengthy acknowledgment
regarding the importance of timing, especially perfect timing,
and how even bad timing is usually disguised as
perfect timing in the end.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
Mirage of red
passion coursing
emotional courting
Love being placed
hopes being fostered
an inner dawn offered
Seeing worlds flourish
strength arisen like lazarus
nothing remotely hazardous
How one person
can paint your world anew
dripping in the glory imbued
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
vase.
your fingers;
so delicate
and fragile;
cool to the touch
as i allow
my fingertips
to trail down
the surface
of your smooth skin;
almost like porcelain
to the touch,
you calmed me,
just being in the same vicinity as you
made me suddenly feel
overcome with a sense
of serenity,
of peace
and because of this,
i couldn't get enough of you;
i had never in my life
seen anything i regarded
as remotely close to
as beautiful as you were,
causing me to place you
on the highest of pedestals,
an insurmountable target
with which i used
to compare
every other person;
and none of them did;
the way
you complemented a room
made me have to compliment you
for i have not once
come across something
so pure,
an untainted piece of art
that i fear
will leave my life
sooner than i'd like,
for,
by a stroke
of awful luck,
you'd been dropped
many a time
by undeserving people
that didn't recognize
the priceless masterpiece
they once had
to call their own,
leaving you
to pick up the shattered pieces of yourself
and put them all back together
and while there are scars,
permanent indents and grooves
endlessly reminiscing previous pain,
i am not deterred in my quest
to show the whole world
what a magnificent specimen you are.
and because of this,
i vow to cradle you,
to protect you,
and to love you;
and i'll hope, every week,
that you like the flowers
i got for you to hold
(they glimmer well
with the hint of your eyes)
when the light
from the early morning sun
illuminates every corner
of those daisies,
and more importantly,
the beautiful vaselike angel
caressing them
as if she's the only thing
keeping them from
the rest of the world;
the parts of reality
that don't notice,
that don't realize
the significance
and the simple beauty
inside of both of them;
which is why, darling
i understand
with your broken past
you fear falling apart
but i promise
to keep you safe
after all,
you're my work of heart.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
I lose count of how many times I am catcalled on my way to the gym
I think that maybe turning around, eating an entire pizza and
never coming back would stop this from happening
I realize it wouldn't
I would still be a woman
"Smile baby,"
I hear as I leave my car
Just 3 hours of sleep to get me to where I am and
I am tired enough to silence a response from my middle finger but
not enough to quit
A guy standing at the bus stop sees my hands wrapped and
tells me that boxing is ****
I wonder how clenched fists
self-protection and
the desire to make it home alive
each night is **** but
I don't ask
When I don't hit the bag hard enough
I remember the force of
his body and
I let my knuckles do the speaking
there is no stopping after the rage is
reborn
A man tells me how lucky I am
to have this figure
ignorant to the fact that hard work is nothing
remotely similar to luck
a string I have been stretching and pulling
that is what my body is
luck,
I think about how he will never have enough of it to touch me
I like the way it feels to
be sore from something willingly
to get up from the ground without a hand helping
these bruises are proof of my attempts
I have been practicing my run
to make up for all of the times
I havent had the guts to
my limbs are reaching forward for
every time they've been held back
I like to say that survival
is a choice made in the aftermath of destruction
the conscious decision to chew through broken glass rather
than swallow it whole
survival is not as simple as I didn't die
it is deciding not to
Hand squeezing wrist,
he told me I'd never be enough for anyone anyway
well today I am enough for
me
I'm working on myself
for myself
building ash into bone into muscle
this is strength learning how to show
this is me learning how to pull through
this is me doing exactly
that
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC