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"voicemail" poems
and here i am again at the intersection of pedestrian language & old wives tales swallowing gum like 7 year memories opening umbrellas inside cause i can't seem get away from all of this rain i ********** with my left hand cause i was told back in highschool that "it feels like someone else is doing it" it gets me wondering about the difference between losing you and finding out that some one else found you or my sleep or lack thereof its starting to tear me apart i keep having this dream where you are in an unfamiliar body of water trying to wash my poetry off of your hands or the one where something happens in my chest every time you sit on someone else's bed i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced but don't have the heart to look for anymore tired of you saying my name like you're trying to bury it i'm tired of wondering if you can tell the difference between the absence of my voice & silence the other day i almost started sobbing at work when a woman asked me about our equipment i was explaining how things come apart and almost mentioned your name it made me think of how you used to say things like "what would you do if i showed up on your doorstep one day?" now, i haunt the windows in my house i don't leave for weeks at a time i sit on the porch like the dog you didn't shoot behind the shed the one that refuses to die until you come home again i told somebody once, that you didn't even know what my voicemail sounded like i wonder if they thought it was because you are so important that i never let it ring that many times before picking up or if you dont know what it sounds like because you've never called you can't be the ****** weapon and the search party i'm tired of all the seats to the ferris wheel in my chest being empty tired of your voice being the one i look for in abandoned places that one sound i beg to bounce back down vacant hallways i just seem to stand there in all of that quiet like someone looking for a mistake on an eviction notice so i guess the hardest part isn't letting go it's forgetting you ever had a grip in the first place and since you've been gone i wonder if when you pushed yourself away from me you used your left hand so it felt like someone else did it
0
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
TomLeveille
epithet
and here i am again at the intersection of pedestrian language & old wives tales swallowing gum like 7 year memories opening umbrellas inside cause i can't seem get away from all of this rain i ********** with my left hand cause i was told back in highschool that "it feels like someone else is doing it" it gets me wondering about the difference between losing you and finding out that some one else found you or my sleep or lack thereof its starting to tear me apart i keep having this dream where you are in an unfamiliar body of water trying to wash my poetry off of your hands or the one where something happens in my chest every time you sit on someone else's bed i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced but don't have the heart to look for anymore tired of you saying my name like you're trying to bury it i'm tired of wondering if you can tell the difference between the absence of my voice & silence the other day i almost started sobbing at work when a woman asked me about our equipment i was explaining how things come apart and almost mentioned your name it made me think of how you used to say things like "what would you do if i showed up on your doorstep one day?" now, i haunt the windows in my house i don't leave for weeks at a time i sit on the porch like the dog you didn't shoot behind the shed the one that refuses to die until you come home again i told somebody once, that you didn't even know what my voicemail sounded like i wonder if they thought it was because you are so important that i never let it ring that many times before picking up or if you dont know what it sounds like because you've never called you can't be the ****** weapon and the search party i'm tired of all the seats to the ferris wheel in my chest being empty tired of your voice being the one i look for in abandoned places that one sound i beg to bounce back down vacant hallways i just seem to stand there in all of that quiet like someone looking for a mistake on an eviction notice so i guess the hardest part isn't letting go it's forgetting you ever had a grip in the first place and since you've been gone i wonder if when you pushed yourself away from me you used your left hand so it felt like someone else did it
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93
ground zero i become aware of boundaries i am a dog chasing cars i sing your voicemail to sleep there are no surgeon general warnings to tell me that *the objects in the mirror are more depressed than they appear* so how do i tell you that there are parts of my life that move slower without you in them? or that i look for you every day in emails & unanswered calls in the sunrises i didn't choose to be awake to watch that i sometimes still stare at doorways hoping you would walk through them    stage 1 you tell your new lover you've got a splinter and they pull the sound of your body falling asleep on mine out of your fingertip    stage 2 your new lover says something at dinner that makes you choke so they call 911 & the paramedics do the hymleich not knowing you would ***** our promises all over the the restaurant    stage 3 your new lover surprises you by cleaning the house & washes the shirt you kept next to the bed, not knowing it was the last thing you had that smelled like me after people always ask what was loving her like? after a really long silence i just say "it must be nice" but i never say it's watching paint dry i never say it's a window seat in hell i don't tell anyone about the dreams where i am reading you bedtime stories each one is a different way you die & every time i can never save you dreams where what i think are angels in my bedroom are just homeless versions of myself you never loved i have dreams where i pay someone to shoot me just to see if you would cry just to see if you would cradle my body i don't tell people that loving you is like playing piano for someone who can't hear that it's hitting repeat on my favorite song & forgetting the words every time it starts over that it's finding out there's no milk after you already poured yourself a bowl of cereal it's getting locked in the dark & being told to look on the bright side that loving you is like being reminded of what it felt like the first time you accidentally let go of a balloon as a child it's drowning without the water it's the feeling you get when you start to dance & the song ends
0
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
TomLeveille
stages of detachment
ground zero i become aware of boundaries i am a dog chasing cars i sing your voicemail to sleep there are no surgeon general warnings to tell me that *the objects in the mirror are more depressed than they appear* so how do i tell you that there are parts of my life that move slower without you in them? or that i look for you every day in emails & unanswered calls in the sunrises i didn't choose to be awake to watch that i sometimes still stare at doorways hoping you would walk through them    stage 1 you tell your new lover you've got a splinter and they pull the sound of your body falling asleep on mine out of your fingertip    stage 2 your new lover says something at dinner that makes you choke so they call 911 & the paramedics do the hymleich not knowing you would ***** our promises all over the the restaurant    stage 3 your new lover surprises you by cleaning the house & washes the shirt you kept next to the bed, not knowing it was the last thing you had that smelled like me after people always ask what was loving her like? after a really long silence i just say "it must be nice" but i never say it's watching paint dry i never say it's a window seat in hell i don't tell anyone about the dreams where i am reading you bedtime stories each one is a different way you die & every time i can never save you dreams where what i think are angels in my bedroom are just homeless versions of myself you never loved i have dreams where i pay someone to shoot me just to see if you would cry just to see if you would cradle my body i don't tell people that loving you is like playing piano for someone who can't hear that it's hitting repeat on my favorite song & forgetting the words every time it starts over that it's finding out there's no milk after you already poured yourself a bowl of cereal it's getting locked in the dark & being told to look on the bright side that loving you is like being reminded of what it felt like the first time you accidentally let go of a balloon as a child it's drowning without the water it's the feeling you get when you start to dance & the song ends
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68
To the deadbeat I hate to call my father, I can’t say I hate you, for I would be hating myself. You walked out of my life when I was four, Yet came back a decade later asking me to ignore what you put me through, Asking me to put the past on the highest shelf Of my metaphorical closet. I did as you asked, thinking this time around things would be different. For a year I was overjoyed, you put me before yourself But as the saying goes, what goes up must come down, And your façade began to crumble. Slowly but surely my calls went to voicemail, My texts were never received, Our plans rain checked for another day that never came. I told you it was okay. I was afraid telling you my feelings would make you runaway. My anger was taken out on the woman that you hurt My anger was taken out on the woman you cheated on and abused. All the horrible things I wanted to say to you, I said to her instead. My mother, the only parent I truly have, began to call you too. Everyday, her and I would fight, trying to figure out what to do. Well I’ve decided I’ve had enough. You are not a man. You are unfit to be a father. You choose your own happiness over mine. You say I asked for a lot- When all I wanted was to catch up. Ten years is a large gap. I know I’ll see you at family gatherings, I know I’ll have to deal with you eventually. But I refuse to be fooled by you again. You are a coward. You have three daughters that need their father. Two of them refer to their step-dad as their only dad. I unfortunately do not have that luxury for my step father is a lot like you. They say ignorance is bliss, but that is not the case. You’ve hurt me too many times and there is no one to blame but myself. I let you back in. I listened to your lies. From now on, I will not hide this problem on that metaphorical shelf. You are the issue. I am done with you. I cannot hate you, as I said before. Half of me is you. But half of me is my mother. The half that is kind and strong and knows when to move on. I know you’ll want to be a part of my life again, but you’ll be too late. I thought I needed my father, but I have enough people in my life to fill that role. You are irrelevant to me. I do not need you now. I will not need you later.
0
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
kayla-hood
Deadbeat.
To the deadbeat I hate to call my father, I can’t say I hate you, for I would be hating myself. You walked out of my life when I was four, Yet came back a decade later asking me to ignore what you put me through, Asking me to put the past on the highest shelf Of my metaphorical closet. I did as you asked, thinking this time around things would be different. For a year I was overjoyed, you put me before yourself But as the saying goes, what goes up must come down, And your façade began to crumble. Slowly but surely my calls went to voicemail, My texts were never received, Our plans rain checked for another day that never came. I told you it was okay. I was afraid telling you my feelings would make you runaway. My anger was taken out on the woman that you hurt My anger was taken out on the woman you cheated on and abused. All the horrible things I wanted to say to you, I said to her instead. My mother, the only parent I truly have, began to call you too. Everyday, her and I would fight, trying to figure out what to do. Well I’ve decided I’ve had enough. You are not a man. You are unfit to be a father. You choose your own happiness over mine. You say I asked for a lot- When all I wanted was to catch up. Ten years is a large gap. I know I’ll see you at family gatherings, I know I’ll have to deal with you eventually. But I refuse to be fooled by you again. You are a coward. You have three daughters that need their father. Two of them refer to their step-dad as their only dad. I unfortunately do not have that luxury for my step father is a lot like you. They say ignorance is bliss, but that is not the case. You’ve hurt me too many times and there is no one to blame but myself. I let you back in. I listened to your lies. From now on, I will not hide this problem on that metaphorical shelf. You are the issue. I am done with you. I cannot hate you, as I said before. Half of me is you. But half of me is my mother. The half that is kind and strong and knows when to move on. I know you’ll want to be a part of my life again, but you’ll be too late. I thought I needed my father, but I have enough people in my life to fill that role. You are irrelevant to me. I do not need you now. I will not need you later.
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50
i miss you so much it hurts my whole body. do you remember when we talked about going to seattle? you said you liked the rain and the fact that no one there would know you, i just wanted to be wherever you were. i was never afraid of the dark when you talked about yours. i still don't have words for what i felt when you told me the only other number you had saved in your phone apart from your mother's was mine. i keep telling myself you're not allowed to just exit and re-enter my life as you please, but i leave the door unlocked, so what does that make me? the last "i love you" from the last time we spoke, is still stuck to the roof of my mouth. other lovers have tried to pry it out of me, but the memory of you is like lockjaw. i miss you so much it hurts my whole body. do you remember the lizard you caught last summer? you let me name him forrest. if life is a box of chocolates, there are pieces missing, and whatever is left has gone stale. i can't smoke cigarettes in my backyard anymore without wondering where you are or if you're smoking too. i hope you're not drinking, i know you hate what it does to you. your secrets are still tucked between my ribs, i will hold them safe and repeat them back to you if you ever lose your way home. i miss you so much it hurts my whole body. do you remember when you told me about the person you were afraid of becoming, i said i wasn't scared, and i told you i was proud of you? i'm still proud of you. i hope you're in school or at least keeping busy. i hope you still make yourself laugh. i miss you so much it hurts my whole body. do you remember what movie we were watching the night you got arrested? i still can't finish it. i am holding the place. can we pick up where we left off? can we stand up and wipe the dust off? i never got to tell you why i only write in pen, or why i can't sleep with socks on, or about the day i caught god with his hands in a public fountain fishing for change. i'm not mad at you for disappearing, but i'm lonely. the only reason i haven't called is because i'm afraid of being sent straight to voicemail, but if i ever find myself in indiana again, you'll be the first to know. - m.f.
0
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
berry
the crow
i miss you so much it hurts my whole body. do you remember when we talked about going to seattle? you said you liked the rain and the fact that no one there would know you, i just wanted to be wherever you were. i was never afraid of the dark when you talked about yours. i still don't have words for what i felt when you told me the only other number you had saved in your phone apart from your mother's was mine. i keep telling myself you're not allowed to just exit and re-enter my life as you please, but i leave the door unlocked, so what does that make me? the last "i love you" from the last time we spoke, is still stuck to the roof of my mouth. other lovers have tried to pry it out of me, but the memory of you is like lockjaw. i miss you so much it hurts my whole body. do you remember the lizard you caught last summer? you let me name him forrest. if life is a box of chocolates, there are pieces missing, and whatever is left has gone stale. i can't smoke cigarettes in my backyard anymore without wondering where you are or if you're smoking too. i hope you're not drinking, i know you hate what it does to you. your secrets are still tucked between my ribs, i will hold them safe and repeat them back to you if you ever lose your way home. i miss you so much it hurts my whole body. do you remember when you told me about the person you were afraid of becoming, i said i wasn't scared, and i told you i was proud of you? i'm still proud of you. i hope you're in school or at least keeping busy. i hope you still make yourself laugh. i miss you so much it hurts my whole body. do you remember what movie we were watching the night you got arrested? i still can't finish it. i am holding the place. can we pick up where we left off? can we stand up and wipe the dust off? i never got to tell you why i only write in pen, or why i can't sleep with socks on, or about the day i caught god with his hands in a public fountain fishing for change. i'm not mad at you for disappearing, but i'm lonely. the only reason i haven't called is because i'm afraid of being sent straight to voicemail, but if i ever find myself in indiana again, you'll be the first to know. - m.f.
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57
One. When my mom found us asleep in my bed at 4am and screamed at you to 'Get the **** OUT of her house,' you texted me the very next morning and asked to see me as though it never even happened. Two. When my family went out of town without me for Thanksgiving, we stayed the whole day at your place and watched foreign movies and ate pasta. Three. On our first date, we sat in your car until 3am just... talking. Four. When my sister really wanted that new Pokemon game and my local Walmart sold out, you voluntarily drove almost 5 towns over just so she could get it because you knew I couldn't for her. Five. The first time we had *** I cried. I still don't know why. You held me the whole time. Six. You woke me up with tickets to one of my favorite musicians of all time, for a tour I didn't even know about. Seven. When my dogs died, you stayed up with my the whole night as I cried. Both times. Eight. The first time you kissed me was at a gas pump at 10pm after I changed out of my blouse and into my hoodie. Nine. You took me to Buffalo Wild Wings even though you're a vegetarian. You even put up with my singing each 2008 Billboard Top 100 song as it played. I could tell you were embarrassed for me, but you laughed and kissed me anyway. Ten. When I told you I hadn't been to the art museum, you took me. When I told you I'd never been to Chipotle, you took me. When I told you I hadn't felt safe in years, you made me feel the safest I ever have. Eleven. After you kissed me the first time, you admitted the thing that "made" you kiss me was my purple-stained lips after I ate Superman ice cream while belting out songs terribly and sitting in the passenger seat of your car. Twelve. When I told you that you were a terrible tipper and I was a waitress, you immediately stopped tipping terribly. Thirteen. You left me a voicemail telling me you appreciated me, that you felt lucky to have me, and you claimed you didn't deserve me. While I disagree, I felt it. That was the first time I heard you say "I love you" before you had actually said the words "I love you."
0
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC
jessica-r-falk
13 Ways You Said "I Love You" Without Actually Saying "I Love You"
One. When my mom found us asleep in my bed at 4am and screamed at you to 'Get the **** OUT of her house,' you texted me the very next morning and asked to see me as though it never even happened. Two. When my family went out of town without me for Thanksgiving, we stayed the whole day at your place and watched foreign movies and ate pasta. Three. On our first date, we sat in your car until 3am just... talking. Four. When my sister really wanted that new Pokemon game and my local Walmart sold out, you voluntarily drove almost 5 towns over just so she could get it because you knew I couldn't for her. Five. The first time we had *** I cried. I still don't know why. You held me the whole time. Six. You woke me up with tickets to one of my favorite musicians of all time, for a tour I didn't even know about. Seven. When my dogs died, you stayed up with my the whole night as I cried. Both times. Eight. The first time you kissed me was at a gas pump at 10pm after I changed out of my blouse and into my hoodie. Nine. You took me to Buffalo Wild Wings even though you're a vegetarian. You even put up with my singing each 2008 Billboard Top 100 song as it played. I could tell you were embarrassed for me, but you laughed and kissed me anyway. Ten. When I told you I hadn't been to the art museum, you took me. When I told you I'd never been to Chipotle, you took me. When I told you I hadn't felt safe in years, you made me feel the safest I ever have. Eleven. After you kissed me the first time, you admitted the thing that "made" you kiss me was my purple-stained lips after I ate Superman ice cream while belting out songs terribly and sitting in the passenger seat of your car. Twelve. When I told you that you were a terrible tipper and I was a waitress, you immediately stopped tipping terribly. Thirteen. You left me a voicemail telling me you appreciated me, that you felt lucky to have me, and you claimed you didn't deserve me. While I disagree, I felt it. That was the first time I heard you say "I love you" before you had actually said the words "I love you."
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26
My poems idealize your tongue on my tongue your breath in mine, these verses will romanticize how we skipped from street to street our arms swinging between your left hip and my right like I did not think about how my parents never doubled their strength to pull me up above ground as we walked through parking lots. I needed to fly and no adult could let me but you. The sudden hurt, I have not yet dramatized that morning you returned my voicemail unsuspecting unknowing my intention to whisper I hate you I hate you I hate you. Every bone in my body had broken because we could not levitate any longer: you were not even strong enough to keep yourself grounded. I make you sound beautiful I make you sound ugly, but neither is real, just as how there are no words for the New Year ball dropping.
0
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
sarina
adjectives
My poems idealize your tongue on my tongue your breath in mine, these verses will romanticize how we skipped from street to street our arms swinging between your left hip and my right like I did not think about how my parents never doubled their strength to pull me up above ground as we walked through parking lots. I needed to fly and no adult could let me but you. The sudden hurt, I have not yet dramatized that morning you returned my voicemail unsuspecting unknowing my intention to whisper I hate you I hate you I hate you. Every bone in my body had broken because we could not levitate any longer: you were not even strong enough to keep yourself grounded. I make you sound beautiful I make you sound ugly, but neither is real, just as how there are no words for the New Year ball dropping.
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16
I never suspected I had OCD Until I replayed your voicemail On the answering machine A total of twelve times Every evening Just to hear your voice again Or until I opened your dresser drawer Thirty times Before I went to bed Just so I could smell Your leftover scent Wafting into the air Or until I rearranged my shoes In the closet four times Before I left the house Because you hated tripping over them On your way out But I knew I didn't have OCD When I finally locked the door And turned off the light And made the bed on your side For the very last time.
0
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
asphyxiophilia
OCD
I never suspected I had OCD Until I replayed your voicemail On the answering machine A total of twelve times Every evening Just to hear your voice again Or until I opened your dresser drawer Thirty times Before I went to bed Just so I could smell Your leftover scent Wafting into the air Or until I rearranged my shoes In the closet four times Before I left the house Because you hated tripping over them On your way out But I knew I didn't have OCD When I finally locked the door And turned off the light And made the bed on your side For the very last time.
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22
Ignore the itch you can't scratch deep in the palm of your hand. Ignore the morning alarms, just sleep right through them. Ignore the sound of the coffee bubbling over, let it spill. Ignore the toothpaste stain on your new shirt. Ignore the voicemail notification, who listens to them anyway? Ignore the mailman at the mailbox, he didn't really say hello. Ignore the stare of the drunk man in your lobby. Ignore the morning brigade of children running behind you. Ignore the damage your heels are doing to your feet. Ignore the whistle from the man half your height. Ignore the traffic light, the cars are going the other way. Ignore the loud honk from the trucker as he speeds off. Ignore the liquor store, and the desire to take a shot. Ignore the "Baby let me talk to you," from the **** wannabe. Ignore the text message, don't let them know you have a phone number. Ignore the cigarette smoke invading your lungs. Ignore the baby boy getting slapped by his mother. Ignore the bakery with the tres leches cake you like. Ignore the bank, you're probably broke. Ignore the homeless woman, she just wants to buy drugs. Ignore the Facebook notification, just another ALS challenge. Ignore the time, you're at work early. Ignore the habits, listen to your conscience and speak loudly and clearly. You are so much more than ignorant.
0
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
tntcl
Ignorance
Ignore the itch you can't scratch deep in the palm of your hand. Ignore the morning alarms, just sleep right through them. Ignore the sound of the coffee bubbling over, let it spill. Ignore the toothpaste stain on your new shirt. Ignore the voicemail notification, who listens to them anyway? Ignore the mailman at the mailbox, he didn't really say hello. Ignore the stare of the drunk man in your lobby. Ignore the morning brigade of children running behind you. Ignore the damage your heels are doing to your feet. Ignore the whistle from the man half your height. Ignore the traffic light, the cars are going the other way. Ignore the loud honk from the trucker as he speeds off. Ignore the liquor store, and the desire to take a shot. Ignore the "Baby let me talk to you," from the **** wannabe. Ignore the text message, don't let them know you have a phone number. Ignore the cigarette smoke invading your lungs. Ignore the baby boy getting slapped by his mother. Ignore the bakery with the tres leches cake you like. Ignore the bank, you're probably broke. Ignore the homeless woman, she just wants to buy drugs. Ignore the Facebook notification, just another ALS challenge. Ignore the time, you're at work early. Ignore the habits, listen to your conscience and speak loudly and clearly. You are so much more than ignorant.
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24
V-is for vowing to never drink ***** While on our voluntary vacation. We have voiced our verification In a high voltage volcano While playing volleyball And checking our voicemail. While in this void, A terrifyingly vivid ***** Who was a model for vogue In which she wore a V-neck dress, And ate all her vitamins Vocabulized with much volume, Her vow To always, Drink *****
0
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 10:16 AM UTC
alyssa-renee
V
V-is for vowing to never drink ***** While on our voluntary vacation. We have voiced our verification In a high voltage volcano While playing volleyball And checking our voicemail. While in this void, A terrifyingly vivid ***** Who was a model for vogue In which she wore a V-neck dress, And ate all her vitamins Vocabulized with much volume, Her vow To always, Drink *****
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15
my hands are shaking my bottom lip is trembling and I stand, like the rocks that await to be hit by the sea, I raise a fist and take it to my own left upper-arm, it hurts a little but not enough, I do it again, raising my right fist and striking it against my other arm, this time it hurt a lot more, but I'm still not satisfied, I hit and I hit for around twenty minutes until my arm is all kinds of colours; blue, purple, yellow, I am covered in bruises; I am crying now and my vision is blurred; I pick up the phone and listen to the voicemail you left for me when I was too drunk to say my own name, and I lie down on the floor trying to remember how your lips moved when you spoke your words of hate and how your eyes would always fill with tears when you saw me take the bottle to my mouth
0
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
bukowski
frustration
my hands are shaking my bottom lip is trembling and I stand, like the rocks that await to be hit by the sea, I raise a fist and take it to my own left upper-arm, it hurts a little but not enough, I do it again, raising my right fist and striking it against my other arm, this time it hurt a lot more, but I'm still not satisfied, I hit and I hit for around twenty minutes until my arm is all kinds of colours; blue, purple, yellow, I am covered in bruises; I am crying now and my vision is blurred; I pick up the phone and listen to the voicemail you left for me when I was too drunk to say my own name, and I lie down on the floor trying to remember how your lips moved when you spoke your words of hate and how your eyes would always fill with tears when you saw me take the bottle to my mouth
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31
123... I hug you then you hug me we go our separate ways like the red sea. 123... You call my phone already feeling alone, I send you to voicemail leave a message at the tone. 123... Theirs tears on my pillows aswell as my sheets, just wishing if oneday again we can meet. 123... A few months go by I hear a knock on my door, wondering if it's you coming back for more. 123... I'm taken by surprise, it's you standing infront of me wiping the tears from my eyes. 123... I can't live without you and you can't live without me, this is our 123 game of uncertainty.                                   I Love You Tho
0
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 9:49 PM UTC
jesibell-arz
123... Game
123... I hug you then you hug me we go our separate ways like the red sea. 123... You call my phone already feeling alone, I send you to voicemail leave a message at the tone. 123... Theirs tears on my pillows aswell as my sheets, just wishing if oneday again we can meet. 123... A few months go by I hear a knock on my door, wondering if it's you coming back for more. 123... I'm taken by surprise, it's you standing infront of me wiping the tears from my eyes. 123... I can't live without you and you can't live without me, this is our 123 game of uncertainty.                                   I Love You Tho
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14
Monday 10:20 PM I drank hot tea once you left and I guess I drank it too soon. I burned my ******* mouth.  I think that has a correlation to you leaving me. Monday 11:00 PM Please come back.  Please don't really leave.  You promised to always stay. Monday 11:11 PM Please, I'm sorry.  I'm begging for you. Tuesday 12:04 AM leaves voicemail sobbing Tuesday 12:25 AM We can work through this, please. You promised. Tuesday 1:40 AM Goodnight, my love. I'll love you forever. Tuesday 6:00 AM I hardly slept, I woke up clenching my pillow craving it to be you instead.  It wasn't.  Will it ever be you again? Tuesday 7:17 AM I'm not handling this too well.  I really need you. Tuesday 12:00 PM I'm going to try and work... I love you. Tuesday 12:05 PM leaves voicemail sobbing uncontrollably Work called me off.  I think that's a sign for me to cope at home.  However, I was looking forward to staying busy. Tuesday 2:37 PM I love you with my entire being.  Please think about this.  You're ending 9 months in one day. Tuesday 11:00 PM (INCOMING TEXT) I hope you're doing okay. Tuesday 11:01 PM I've missed you so much.  I'll be okay. Tuesday 11:10 PM Please tell me you love me. Wednesday 1:30 AM I love you, sweet dreams. Wednesday 7:30 AM Good morning, still little sleep.  I can't stop thinking of you.  I wish I could skip work today, I don't really know what's happening to my body right now.   Wednesday 2:00 PM I'm trying to hide from everyone at work.  This is really ******* hard.  It's hard to try and act okay while providing good first impressions. Wednesday 6:00 PM Can I come over? Wednesday 6:40 PM Is it too soon to see you?  Please say no.  I need you. Wednesday 7:00 PM (INCOMING) Yes, it's too soon. Thursday 6:02 AM I haven't ******* slept at all.  I need to hear your voice.  I keep listening to your voicemail's, but I only get 5 seconds in without crying.  I shouldn't have made you everything.  Now, my everything is gone and not okay.  I'm not okay.  I should have made you at least a little less of everything, so maybe I would be a little OK.  Maybe I would be able to recover that way. Thursday 12:00 PM I'm at work again.  It's just as hard.  You're not with me and I've hardly slept this week.  If you were with me though, I'm sure I wouldn't sleep either.  My heart has been pounding out of my chest this entire week. I can't eat either. These have been the only consistencies this week.  That and my dizziness.  I have been so ******* dizzy.  Everything is always spinning.
0
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 1:47 AM UTC
allison54
viraag
Monday 10:20 PM I drank hot tea once you left and I guess I drank it too soon. I burned my ******* mouth.  I think that has a correlation to you leaving me. Monday 11:00 PM Please come back.  Please don't really leave.  You promised to always stay. Monday 11:11 PM Please, I'm sorry.  I'm begging for you. Tuesday 12:04 AM leaves voicemail sobbing Tuesday 12:25 AM We can work through this, please. You promised. Tuesday 1:40 AM Goodnight, my love. I'll love you forever. Tuesday 6:00 AM I hardly slept, I woke up clenching my pillow craving it to be you instead.  It wasn't.  Will it ever be you again? Tuesday 7:17 AM I'm not handling this too well.  I really need you. Tuesday 12:00 PM I'm going to try and work... I love you. Tuesday 12:05 PM leaves voicemail sobbing uncontrollably Work called me off.  I think that's a sign for me to cope at home.  However, I was looking forward to staying busy. Tuesday 2:37 PM I love you with my entire being.  Please think about this.  You're ending 9 months in one day. Tuesday 11:00 PM (INCOMING TEXT) I hope you're doing okay. Tuesday 11:01 PM I've missed you so much.  I'll be okay. Tuesday 11:10 PM Please tell me you love me. Wednesday 1:30 AM I love you, sweet dreams. Wednesday 7:30 AM Good morning, still little sleep.  I can't stop thinking of you.  I wish I could skip work today, I don't really know what's happening to my body right now.   Wednesday 2:00 PM I'm trying to hide from everyone at work.  This is really ******* hard.  It's hard to try and act okay while providing good first impressions. Wednesday 6:00 PM Can I come over? Wednesday 6:40 PM Is it too soon to see you?  Please say no.  I need you. Wednesday 7:00 PM (INCOMING) Yes, it's too soon. Thursday 6:02 AM I haven't ******* slept at all.  I need to hear your voice.  I keep listening to your voicemail's, but I only get 5 seconds in without crying.  I shouldn't have made you everything.  Now, my everything is gone and not okay.  I'm not okay.  I should have made you at least a little less of everything, so maybe I would be a little OK.  Maybe I would be able to recover that way. Thursday 12:00 PM I'm at work again.  It's just as hard.  You're not with me and I've hardly slept this week.  If you were with me though, I'm sure I wouldn't sleep either.  My heart has been pounding out of my chest this entire week. I can't eat either. These have been the only consistencies this week.  That and my dizziness.  I have been so ******* dizzy.  Everything is always spinning.
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44
the glass jar full to the brim; steaming teaming with drowsiness he left it out lid-less 7 pages , front & back he said he had so much to say he could've gone on for biblical lengths he drove 45 minutes out of his way just to say nothing Only glare he said he thought about me for the last 3 days even more at nighttime in the dark room unhinged; TV on I unfriended him nervously phonecall phonecall phonecall phonecall phonecall voicemail
0
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 2:38 PM UTC
dev
Chloroform
the glass jar full to the brim; steaming teaming with drowsiness he left it out lid-less 7 pages , front & back he said he had so much to say he could've gone on for biblical lengths he drove 45 minutes out of his way just to say nothing Only glare he said he thought about me for the last 3 days even more at nighttime in the dark room unhinged; TV on I unfriended him nervously phonecall phonecall phonecall phonecall phonecall voicemail
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27
I don't want to listen to old voicemails over and over, taking me back to the damage I did and the distance I drew, listening to you love me so much, until you couldn't. Reminding me of my sick satisfaction as I drove you away just to know I'd be fine without you. And you moved on, long forgot about me. It's a year later and your recorded voice cripples me with a crave for closure I'll never get. But, still I listen to that voicemail out of the same sick satisfaction I get from pushing limits before it becomes self-destruction.
0
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 10:27 AM UTC
Alice-Rose
Lovely Self Destruction
I don't want to listen to old voicemails over and over, taking me back to the damage I did and the distance I drew, listening to you love me so much, until you couldn't. Reminding me of my sick satisfaction as I drove you away just to know I'd be fine without you. And you moved on, long forgot about me. It's a year later and your recorded voice cripples me with a crave for closure I'll never get. But, still I listen to that voicemail out of the same sick satisfaction I get from pushing limits before it becomes self-destruction.
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1
The first thing that you forget, when you stop talking to someone is the sound of their voice. So I suggest with every voicemail you receive, save it. Whether it be from your grandma or your aunt or your boyfriend You'll miss them sooner or later if they leave you. When It's a healthy time for you, and you miss them a lot, You'll still have their voice. The way they spoke, every lisp every stutter You'll hear it in that old voicemail. I once loved a boy. Some know most of  the story, some only know half But only he and I know every end and out of that year and a half. I still have his voicemails, but they aren't only the happy ones. Matter of fact, he only left me a voicemail when he was angry or when he had news he couldn't keep to himself long enough. I deleted the happy ones after we broke up. But I didn't do it because I was angry, I did it because I wasn't worthy. And yet, they're still in my trash bin waiting, ready to be recovered. Because some days, I wonder if he's happy. Then I'll hear his voicemail telling me he got his GED. And it was because of me. Because some days I wonder if he misses me Then I'll hear his voicemail telling me he loves me and always will See, I have a problem: I'm a hoarder I horde voices. I horde the sound of laughs and cries, I horde the angry and the happy times. I take them all and keep them close. And I try and keep phones for as long as I can. Because when the phone goes, So do the voices that I hold dear. So darling if you wonder if I still have every old voicemail you've ever sent me the answer is clear. If I miss you, I press my phone to my ear. But now it's been so long that your voice scares me. The old voicemails sit and take up my data since I'm too afraid to delete them. That means your gone forever And while I may have broken your heart I hope you forgive me And I hope this voicemail makes you smile.
0
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
backgroundcharacter
Old Voicemails
The first thing that you forget, when you stop talking to someone is the sound of their voice. So I suggest with every voicemail you receive, save it. Whether it be from your grandma or your aunt or your boyfriend You'll miss them sooner or later if they leave you. When It's a healthy time for you, and you miss them a lot, You'll still have their voice. The way they spoke, every lisp every stutter You'll hear it in that old voicemail. I once loved a boy. Some know most of  the story, some only know half But only he and I know every end and out of that year and a half. I still have his voicemails, but they aren't only the happy ones. Matter of fact, he only left me a voicemail when he was angry or when he had news he couldn't keep to himself long enough. I deleted the happy ones after we broke up. But I didn't do it because I was angry, I did it because I wasn't worthy. And yet, they're still in my trash bin waiting, ready to be recovered. Because some days, I wonder if he's happy. Then I'll hear his voicemail telling me he got his GED. And it was because of me. Because some days I wonder if he misses me Then I'll hear his voicemail telling me he loves me and always will See, I have a problem: I'm a hoarder I horde voices. I horde the sound of laughs and cries, I horde the angry and the happy times. I take them all and keep them close. And I try and keep phones for as long as I can. Because when the phone goes, So do the voices that I hold dear. So darling if you wonder if I still have every old voicemail you've ever sent me the answer is clear. If I miss you, I press my phone to my ear. But now it's been so long that your voice scares me. The old voicemails sit and take up my data since I'm too afraid to delete them. That means your gone forever And while I may have broken your heart I hope you forgive me And I hope this voicemail makes you smile.
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38
I live my life on the phone, listening to the never ending ringing and a prerecorded voicemail asking me to leave a message. it's not even your voice, which is all I've been longing for the twang in it, the way you say your name, the way you say mine, I miss you, I love you. my body craves your touch but my soul craves your sound and the way it makes me feel. five years ago it started and since then I've spent it waiting, always waiting, waiting for you to love me like I have always loved you.
0
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
niki-elizabeth
waiting
I live my life on the phone, listening to the never ending ringing and a prerecorded voicemail asking me to leave a message. it's not even your voice, which is all I've been longing for the twang in it, the way you say your name, the way you say mine, I miss you, I love you. my body craves your touch but my soul craves your sound and the way it makes me feel. five years ago it started and since then I've spent it waiting, always waiting, waiting for you to love me like I have always loved you.
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6
if ears had lips mine would gladly tell you all the things they can and cannot comprehend they would explain the difference between hearing and understanding; just because they hear a sound doesn’t mean they know what it is or where it’s coming from just because they hear a voice doesn’t mean they discern words they would ask you to please speak louder and tell you that even though volume is their friend if you take a jumble and turn up the juice sometimes it becomes clearer other times it’s just a loud jumble they might tell you that writing things down saves time or that texting works better than voicemail they would tell you how much they miss the rain’s incessant song the wind’s sweeping whistle a dropped pin’s pinging ping earthy crashing blue green wave sounds a lover’s soft whisper eavesdropping’s noseyness distance’s subtle sounds footsteps’ proximity a fire’s warm red orange crackle freeway traffic’s rushing background noise a phone call’s lively conversation a tv show’s clever, non-closed-captioned script a radio’s soulful catchy lyrics live performance’s vibrant voice the timbre of each note in a chord as I strummed my guitar they would tell you how the ringing tones inside my head compete with your words they would speak of their frustration and indignation when you ignorantly accuse them of selective hearing they would apologize for asking you to repeat and laugh with you at my disability they would thank you for dealing with me anyway they would smile in appreciation for your exaggerated syll•a•bi•ca•tion if ears could see mine would overlook your rolling eyes and exasperated sighs and expressions they know it’s not your fault that they don’t work good and hope you know it’s not their fault either
0
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 3:21 PM UTC
del-maximo
If Ears Had Lips
if ears had lips mine would gladly tell you all the things they can and cannot comprehend they would explain the difference between hearing and understanding; just because they hear a sound doesn’t mean they know what it is or where it’s coming from just because they hear a voice doesn’t mean they discern words they would ask you to please speak louder and tell you that even though volume is their friend if you take a jumble and turn up the juice sometimes it becomes clearer other times it’s just a loud jumble they might tell you that writing things down saves time or that texting works better than voicemail they would tell you how much they miss the rain’s incessant song the wind’s sweeping whistle a dropped pin’s pinging ping earthy crashing blue green wave sounds a lover’s soft whisper eavesdropping’s noseyness distance’s subtle sounds footsteps’ proximity a fire’s warm red orange crackle freeway traffic’s rushing background noise a phone call’s lively conversation a tv show’s clever, non-closed-captioned script a radio’s soulful catchy lyrics live performance’s vibrant voice the timbre of each note in a chord as I strummed my guitar they would tell you how the ringing tones inside my head compete with your words they would speak of their frustration and indignation when you ignorantly accuse them of selective hearing they would apologize for asking you to repeat and laugh with you at my disability they would thank you for dealing with me anyway they would smile in appreciation for your exaggerated syll•a•bi•ca•tion if ears could see mine would overlook your rolling eyes and exasperated sighs and expressions they know it’s not your fault that they don’t work good and hope you know it’s not their fault either
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49
I wait and wait Phone tight in my hand Never far just in case I texted you yesterday Still I'm waiting Yet no reply I called you twice To see if your alright To see if I did something Yet it rang and rang Voicemail not set up Still...no reply Is it me What did I do What didn't I do Is it over between us Did something happen to you Are you in trouble What the hell is going on No reply Nothing and Im getting worried But even more depressed Because I'm in love And I'm missing your voice and your reply
0
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 1:48 PM UTC
robert-guerrero
No Reply
I wait and wait Phone tight in my hand Never far just in case I texted you yesterday Still I'm waiting Yet no reply I called you twice To see if your alright To see if I did something Yet it rang and rang Voicemail not set up Still...no reply Is it me What did I do What didn't I do Is it over between us Did something happen to you Are you in trouble What the hell is going on No reply Nothing and Im getting worried But even more depressed Because I'm in love And I'm missing your voice and your reply
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24
The modern robots are all dead -- the metal ones rusted, the human ones bled. For courtesy's sake, we'll call it square -- A voicemail's ghost in a tentative field. Manner's are infants' wails hung out to dry -- a starving microphone with tubes pinched shut. A scared off circuit in surgical riptides -- Our favorite pastime alive on the screen.
0
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 11:46 PM UTC
kara-rose-trojan
Bottomed-Out Technology
The modern robots are all dead -- the metal ones rusted, the human ones bled. For courtesy's sake, we'll call it square -- A voicemail's ghost in a tentative field. Manner's are infants' wails hung out to dry -- a starving microphone with tubes pinched shut. A scared off circuit in surgical riptides -- Our favorite pastime alive on the screen.
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12
The truth is that life isn’t fair– it isn’t, but “you do the best you can” – at least that’s what I’ve been told. The truth is I don’t even know which one of ‘me’ is real and I’m scared of the many times I leave my body and can no longer communicate, it makes me feel unsafe and the truth is it happens every single night. The truth is I’m scared all the time because at any minute I could change into someone else and bad things can happen. The truth is every single night my body aches with sharp and persistent pain, and I cannot rest, or find comfort. And the truth is I prefer not to be present when the pain becomes unbearable. The truth is I feel overwhelmed with the chaos inside my head and the pain in my body – and the truth is I know that no one will be there, so why would I even ‘write’ how it feels anymore? The truth is DT has no idea what happens now because the truth I don’t think he really wants to know and he wants to believe that because I don’t ‘email’ him or leave him a ‘voicemail’ that I must be doing better. Good Job, Nita, you are doing such a great job navigating through the pain, in a much “healthier” way. But the truth is he doesn’t know anything about my “nightly navigation”. The truth is no one wanted to know the TRUTH then, and no one wants to know it now. No one wants to see, or hear, about a man fu@#ing a kid. Because the TRUTH is that it’s disgusting and revolting, and horrifying…and the thought really turns the stomach of anyone who hears it. And the truth is, if it makes you feel that way to hear it, then imagine how disgusting it feels to be a kid who was fu@#ed. The truth is I scared as hell that one day I will seriously hurt or **** myself. Because the truth is that we do tend to hurt and **** ourselves, and if ‘one’ of us does it – the rest of us are scared as hell that it will happen to another survivor! The truth – the truth is a journey into madness…and you can’t handle my ‘truth’. Because your truth and my truth are WAY to different… The truth is I’m not that scarred when I’m covered up – and the truth is no one wants to see those scars because it’s uncomfortable and perhaps a reality check that the world really is fu@#ed up – and adults really do f@#k kids – and people like me really do hurt themselves and **** themselves. The truth is everyone ignores what isn’t “spoken” and the truth is everyone is shocked as hell when the unspeakable happens. The truth is “I” am not the one with the blinders on. And the truth is you don’t see me now because you don’t want to see me. Because you WANT to believe that I’m doing “better” as a result of your “boundaries” and “limits” (what a good doctor you are!- pure genius…she finally ‘accepts’ the limitations –and as a result huge sigh she’s doing so much better) – but the truth is you don’t know because you don’t ask, and you don’t ask because you don’t want to know- because it’s not pretty and it certainly isn’t something you see in a showroom window. And the truth is you don’t know what my reality is because you don’t want to know, you don’t want to see. Because my reality is covered up with clothing, eyes that hide the truth, the ability to use humor to hide even the most painful feelings, and a bright smile. And that’s okay – but really….your truth and my truth are as far apart as Earth and Venus. Smile Pretty for the Camera, Nita ...that's "perfect."
0
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
nitaann
The TRUTH
The truth is that life isn’t fair– it isn’t, but “you do the best you can” – at least that’s what I’ve been told. The truth is I don’t even know which one of ‘me’ is real and I’m scared of the many times I leave my body and can no longer communicate, it makes me feel unsafe and the truth is it happens every single night. The truth is I’m scared all the time because at any minute I could change into someone else and bad things can happen. The truth is every single night my body aches with sharp and persistent pain, and I cannot rest, or find comfort. And the truth is I prefer not to be present when the pain becomes unbearable. The truth is I feel overwhelmed with the chaos inside my head and the pain in my body – and the truth is I know that no one will be there, so why would I even ‘write’ how it feels anymore? The truth is DT has no idea what happens now because the truth I don’t think he really wants to know and he wants to believe that because I don’t ‘email’ him or leave him a ‘voicemail’ that I must be doing better. Good Job, Nita, you are doing such a great job navigating through the pain, in a much “healthier” way. But the truth is he doesn’t know anything about my “nightly navigation”. The truth is no one wanted to know the TRUTH then, and no one wants to know it now. No one wants to see, or hear, about a man fu@#ing a kid. Because the TRUTH is that it’s disgusting and revolting, and horrifying…and the thought really turns the stomach of anyone who hears it. And the truth is, if it makes you feel that way to hear it, then imagine how disgusting it feels to be a kid who was fu@#ed. The truth is I scared as hell that one day I will seriously hurt or **** myself. Because the truth is that we do tend to hurt and **** ourselves, and if ‘one’ of us does it – the rest of us are scared as hell that it will happen to another survivor! The truth – the truth is a journey into madness…and you can’t handle my ‘truth’. Because your truth and my truth are WAY to different… The truth is I’m not that scarred when I’m covered up – and the truth is no one wants to see those scars because it’s uncomfortable and perhaps a reality check that the world really is fu@#ed up – and adults really do f@#k kids – and people like me really do hurt themselves and **** themselves. The truth is everyone ignores what isn’t “spoken” and the truth is everyone is shocked as hell when the unspeakable happens. The truth is “I” am not the one with the blinders on. And the truth is you don’t see me now because you don’t want to see me. Because you WANT to believe that I’m doing “better” as a result of your “boundaries” and “limits” (what a good doctor you are!- pure genius…she finally ‘accepts’ the limitations –and as a result huge sigh she’s doing so much better) – but the truth is you don’t know because you don’t ask, and you don’t ask because you don’t want to know- because it’s not pretty and it certainly isn’t something you see in a showroom window. And the truth is you don’t know what my reality is because you don’t want to know, you don’t want to see. Because my reality is covered up with clothing, eyes that hide the truth, the ability to use humor to hide even the most painful feelings, and a bright smile. And that’s okay – but really….your truth and my truth are as far apart as Earth and Venus. Smile Pretty for the Camera, Nita ...that's "perfect."
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15
Two days after you left I cried an entire ocean into existence Because who was I without you? One week after you left I called you crying and you didn't answer So I poured my tears into your voicemail box A month after you left   I got drunk and deleted all of our texts Because all they did was remind me of how much I missed you Three months after you left I took your number out of my phone Four months after you left I realized that I could no longer remember the color of your eyes Or how it felt to kiss you I hardly think of you anymore I have stopped waking with your name on my lips I waited for you to come back for so long But I am done waiting I am giving up on you, not because I don't care But because you don't
0
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 5:18 PM UTC
rachel-rode
goodbye
Two days after you left I cried an entire ocean into existence Because who was I without you? One week after you left I called you crying and you didn't answer So I poured my tears into your voicemail box A month after you left   I got drunk and deleted all of our texts Because all they did was remind me of how much I missed you Three months after you left I took your number out of my phone Four months after you left I realized that I could no longer remember the color of your eyes Or how it felt to kiss you I hardly think of you anymore I have stopped waking with your name on my lips I waited for you to come back for so long But I am done waiting I am giving up on you, not because I don't care But because you don't
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20
For me, you are Sunday. Today is Sunday, and tomorrow will be Sunday. Because I am stuck in gingham yellow sheets, small white saucers with matching ceramic cups, cigarette ashes like a crop circle around them as I sip homemade coffee. The ***** brown liquid sloshing in the back of my throat, scorching my insides as I swallow something not nearly as painful as looking up for an answer to the crossword and realizing you are not in fact actually there, and your hand is not on my thigh, tracing the outline of my knee with your thumb. I am stuck like a kid on the monkey bars. Deciphering between reaching my hand out to grab the next rung or just allowing myself to fall into the wood chips, welcome that scraped skin and soil in the worry lines of my palms. Because calling you, reaching out to that line, could end with me face up on my bed staring at the blades of my fan trying to pinpoint just one to follow around and around again. Or I could get your voicemail. Or you could see my number and decide to hang up. How close were we really anyway? Or you could answer and we could talk through how bad the weather is, how we've been doing, and then get to the poignant silence, that hum in the background that coils through the wires into my ear, down the canal, and sinks into my heart until the pressure becomes too much. Until I tell you that its Sunday. That I need the 1994 Tony Award winning musical for 3 across, and hopefully, you'll give me the right answer.
0
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
sophie-herzing
Sunday Morning
For me, you are Sunday. Today is Sunday, and tomorrow will be Sunday. Because I am stuck in gingham yellow sheets, small white saucers with matching ceramic cups, cigarette ashes like a crop circle around them as I sip homemade coffee. The ***** brown liquid sloshing in the back of my throat, scorching my insides as I swallow something not nearly as painful as looking up for an answer to the crossword and realizing you are not in fact actually there, and your hand is not on my thigh, tracing the outline of my knee with your thumb. I am stuck like a kid on the monkey bars. Deciphering between reaching my hand out to grab the next rung or just allowing myself to fall into the wood chips, welcome that scraped skin and soil in the worry lines of my palms. Because calling you, reaching out to that line, could end with me face up on my bed staring at the blades of my fan trying to pinpoint just one to follow around and around again. Or I could get your voicemail. Or you could see my number and decide to hang up. How close were we really anyway? Or you could answer and we could talk through how bad the weather is, how we've been doing, and then get to the poignant silence, that hum in the background that coils through the wires into my ear, down the canal, and sinks into my heart until the pressure becomes too much. Until I tell you that its Sunday. That I need the 1994 Tony Award winning musical for 3 across, and hopefully, you'll give me the right answer.
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