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Sep 2019 · 288
someone like you
zb Sep 2019
it's been twenty-five years since i've seen you last
it's been twenty-five years since i set foot in these halls last
since i've heard your voice echo down these staircases and in my very bones
we're forty-three years old
a far cry from the eighteen year olds we'd been
before everyone had left and
before i'd held your hand for the last time

you're there with someone else
someone probably better for you in every way i wasn't,
couldn't ever be;
you've gotten a hair cut, i notice; it looks good
you look good in that shirt, under those lights
you look good
you've always looked good, to me

i'm standing in the corner.
where else would i be?
surely not in the fringes of the middle, by your side.
the lights are too dim to see you clearly
but i still remember your smile
the lights are too bright
to consider daring to approach;
i've spent years content in your orbit
i can do it for a night more

i'm glad i get to see you again
i don't know if i will, ever, after this
you live half-way across the country
you don't live alone
you don't think of me
not like how i think of you.
twenty-five years, and i'd never
forgotten the warm press of your hand on my arm,
the brush of it on my neck
i'd never stopped longing for you
but our paths diverged too early, and
we were too young, and
i had only ever been the one pining.

i can't get any closer, anyways,
you'd notice me
you'd remember me
you'd smile at me
you'd hold your hand out,
and of course i'd take it.
but there'd be no familiarity, no comfort,
not like how i want it;
there couldn't be.
she's right there, and
you never thought of it like how i did,

i wish we were eighteen forever
i wish we could spend an eternity
as seniors goofing off in the library
as juniors at opposite ends of the school dance
as sophomores in the hallways after school
as freshmen hiding in math class during lunch.
i wish i could hold to that simplicity forever
no pressure
no isolation
just you and me, friends,
comfortable with each other
comfortable in each others' spaces.
who cares what kinds of feelings i harbor?
who cares what you think of me?
i had the freedom to press my hand
against yours, and you
had the freedom to put your arm
on me as i slept,
and that's the only thing that
ever mattered,
could matter,
would matter.

i wish i could stay here forever
i wish twenty-five years from now never happens
i wish i could stop time;

i wish you were mine.
Jul 2019 · 296
zb Jul 2019
i'm so glad i'm still here-

there are so many people
(genuinely good people)
that i've met

that i have yet to meet
Jun 2019 · 209
up all night
zb Jun 2019
i hope one day your teeth drip with
the taste of your own cruelty

one day you choke
on the fog of your own anger

i hope one day your fingers dangle
slick with pain and regret


i hope one day you r e g r e t
zb Apr 2019
i barely
remember you.

i barely
remember your
hands on my waist

your face
on my neck

your hair
under my chin

i barely
remember holding you

i barely
remember loving you

i had
everything, and
my everything was you

it was you and
your hair and
the way you moved

i fell
for you, i think?

i think
i fell, for you.

for you
i fell, i think.

you fell,
i think, for i.
come back? i miss you.
Jan 2019 · 259
zb Jan 2019
when you get mad,
i know it's because you want to prepare me
you want me to be ready for the real world
you want me to grow up
and be your perfection

oh, i'll be ready,
but not for the reasons you think
i'll be ready
because no one
could ever hurt me more than you have
and i could never hate
anything more than what you've said to me
Jan 2019 · 421
zb Jan 2019
you destroyed me in the best way possible
your hands on my heart
impossibly warm and all-too hot
i never planned on loving you
the way i do now;
you've earned it
(as if my love was anything worth earning)
you haven't seen it
(as if my love was anything worth seeing)

you destroyed me in the worst way possible
because you mean so much to me
you're just out of my reach
i never planned on losing you
the way i have now;
you smile at another
(as if i could look at anything else)
you care for another
(as if i could care for anyone else)

you destroyed me,
but maybe i destroyed myself
for you
Jan 2019 · 348
past, present, future tense
zb Jan 2019
how different am i,
that you can no longer love me?
i swear not very long ago,
or maybe yesterday,
or maybe tomorrow,
i smiled, smile, will smile at you
it is the same smile, on the same face
you just haven't seen it
in quite some time

you ask me if i am the same,
you ask if i am still me,
and i answer of course,
because i am more me than ever
and maybe that is why you're so scared
that i've changed
zb Dec 2018
i remember the grit of the rocks under my feet,
the tug of tiny waves at my toes,
the smudges of mud on your cheeks,
we were so small.

the grass was dead and the air cold
and you knew exactly why,
always smarter than me
but how could I ever even think
of holding that against you?

we never made promises,
but even death couldn't do us part
blood is thicker than water, isn't it?
i hate that phrase,
hate everything it means
and everything it's done to me
but you are my closest
and maybe it is the blood
running through our veins
and dripping from our noses
Dec 2018 · 387
zb Dec 2018
i'd do anything you asked me to
because i know
you'd never ask of me anything that would hurt me
zb Nov 2018
am i a puppet?
what are these strings?
i was told i
could become so many things

i'm used to the whispers,
i'm used to the lies,
i'm used to the looks
i've been given so many times

am i not my own?
can i not fly?
instead of being given my wings
i'm told not to try

kick me while i'm down,
split my lip across your fist,
i'll be what you want,
the nightmare for which you've wished

don't cry when i come,
don't cry when i leave,
i was never a thing
for you to grieve
Nov 2018 · 712
negative space
zb Nov 2018
i found love
in the burn in your throat
from wanting to cry,
in the breath of air after a lie,
in the space between heartbeats,
and in the chill of broken air-conditioning
in an empty room

i found love
in the dripping of a tap
left on and abandoned,
in the echo of voices in a canyon,
in footprints dried in years-old mud,
and in the negative spaces of my hands
where yours used to rest
Nov 2018 · 473
quiet evenings
zb Nov 2018
open textbooks like broken promises,
pages creased and corners frayed,
sticky notes smudged;
my eyes blur over the words
the words in black and white and blue;
my fingers in blue spots and red tint
fumble with the edges of the paper,
cold and clumsy -
it's hard to stay awake.
Oct 2018 · 175
zb Oct 2018
i hope you're happy with her,
i hope her hands fit perfectly in yours
i hope it's everything you ever dreamed it to be,
i hope her smile makes your dreams come true, i
hope, i
hope, i
that every cliché i see
when i think of you,
you can find in her
Oct 2018 · 1.2k
zb Oct 2018
i smear oil paint across your lips.

your face, outlined in pale brown and
robin's egg blue and
rests gently in negative space.

part of me hurts
when i look at this part of you,
this part i am
so familiar with,
in an unfamiliar way.

the lines of your eyes
(eyes i've gazed into a thousand times)
betray my secrets and my soul;

the whisper of your hair
is the same as the quiet brush of mine
on the tops of my bare shoulders;

i reach out to touch you,
and my fingers touch dried oils
in shades of raw umber and cadmium lemon;
my paintbrush still dangles, wet,
from my other hand.

the creased wax paper on the table
carries swatches of color,
the potential energy of
my pigment-smudged hands;
you are still unfinished.

i am still unfinished.
Oct 2018 · 265
zb Oct 2018
you left me, you know
see: i don't think you do
i don't think you've ever, ever realized
what you did to me

but whenever you ask
my tongue freezes up
fear clogs my throat
and i can never seem to get out
the perfectly-worded, numbered list of grievances
i laid awake composing in the dead of night,
throat raw from whispering my vindications
to myself over and
waiting patiently
for situations exactly like this one
zb Oct 2018
raindrops crown your face
a wreath to your purity
your smile is enough
to make me forget even the
sun, hiding behind clouds

i'm caught in the riptide
that swirls beneath the tug of your lips
behind the timbre of your voice
you have me,
even if you do not know it
zb Oct 2018
i see you from across the room
i see you, and you shine under the lights,
and i miss your face

i miss your earnest smiles
i miss the sweetness of your gaze
i miss the gentle tone of your voice,
familiar and warm and everything that calms me

i see you, and i think of you
even as i look away
even when i can't see over the crowd
you pervade my thoughts in a way i never wanted

you dance, i dance
i wish it was with each other
but i am content with seeing,
with absorbing
the sight of you like a plant in the sun

i see you, and i dream of you
i tried, tonight, to forget;
the ghost of you that lives
in the deepest part of my heart
wouldn't let me

the ghost of what could have been
the ghost of what i could have been,
you could have been,
we could have been

i see you from across the room,
eyes bright, smile wide
i see you, and you do not see me
later, you said you looked for me
by that point, i had stopped glancing your way
but i never stopped looking
zb Oct 2018
the air, cold in the bottom of my lungs,
calls me out to face the chill,
let raindrops bless my skin,
gaze up, squinting into the sky,
and feel tiny droplets scatter on my cheeks like freckles

i love rainy, cold weather,
i love letting my sleeves fall down over my hands
i love too-wide smiles and wet toes from splashing
in puddles full of mud and hazy reflections of people i love

i love the shiver down my spine
whenever i step out the door,
walking between school buildings with friends,
laughing as loudly as we can
tucking strands of wet hair behind our ears,
checking everyone's backpacks are closed
to protect english papers and math homework

i breathe deeper in the autumn
because the bite of the cold at the sides of my lungs
gives a high i can't replicate
any other time of year
zb Oct 2018
you took your thumbs
and brushed them over
the bruises nestled above my cheekbones

my eyes, half-closed, but so bright
because the warmth of your palms on my face
kept me from losing my mind

i'm so tired
my fingers, my brain, my soul
i'm so tired but you still hold me
zb Sep 2018
i miss the days when
i was content with what we shared
when i had hope we could be more
but didn't want it

i miss the days when
your smile, i thought, could be for me
when we were simpler
and feelings easier

i miss the days when
we were younger and closer
when i knew you better
when i knew me better

but you feel different, and not quite so close
and i want more
and oh, i wish i didn't
because when it was just you and me,
i was content
zb Sep 2018
i wish i could see myself through your eyes
and convince myself i'm beautiful
Sep 2018 · 680
another year
zb Sep 2018
growth is charcoal-smudged fingers
and the rustle of papers

growth is smiles with a little less pain
but also a little less innocence

growth is stopping to gaze up at the stars
when it's three am and the whole world is asleep

growth is breaking and healing and breaking
the shards of your thoughts cupped gently in your shaking hands

growth is accepting distance
and demanding closeness

growth is forgiveness,
and growth is pain,
and growth is hope,
but growth is always
Jun 2018 · 336
oil paints on canvas, 2018
zb Jun 2018
my skin is blue with depression
my breaths are yellow with anxiety
i bleed red from anger
and my heart is grey with apathy

i love in chocolate browns
i hurt in deep maroons
i sleep with the deepest of blacks
i speak with the quietest of greens

my shame is pale orange
a sickly, strange color
it coats my fingertips
and it hurts to look at

my fear is a midnight blue
soothing in its constancy
it sings to me in the ruddy moments
it calms me during the greyest of days

my loneliness is a royal purple
in the paintings of my youth
it stands out
it overpowers all other colors

i live in shades of colors
together they paint a picture
of a person
or, a palette
zb Jun 2018
windows in train cars
full of grime and stray fingerprints
we exchange glances
via our reflections
distorted through glass
and our own warped perceptions
of those around us

no words are spoken
the silence revered

we exist in bubbles;
no, not bubbles
we are trees
we whisper quietly
words of no meaning
and we reach so silently
for each other
but cannot move
zb Jun 2018
i wish i could tell you


the fights
the tearful nights
the pain and the hurt

it's so hard to keep things from you
because your eyes hold concern
and you worry for me
i can see it

but i've been taught,

and the very thought of those words leaving me
the taste of my confession on my lips
makes my being so very, very afraid

and sweetheart, you're
not in a position
to protect me
i still
love you
zb May 2018
talking to You feels like
leaving a message on an answering machine
how do i know You can hear me?
call me selfish,
but i wish i could see Your face
May 2018 · 212
are they even alive?
zb May 2018
is sixteen too young for
existential crises?
because it's too easy
to see the humans around me
as nothing but
ones and zeros
clearing out my drafts
zb May 2018
do you ever have
those moments where you want to die
because you're happy
and you never want to feel bad again?
May 2018 · 386
my summers are my fear
zb May 2018
summer is sunlight warming your jeans
chlorine up your nose
mosquito bites on the back of your knee
sweat pooling behind your ears
late nights and late mornings
scalding stone walkways under bare feet
dry grass crumbling between your fingertips
burrs in your socks
sunscreen dotting your nose
air conditioner whirring to life
fans spinning so hard they shake the room
car rides over hours of half-melted tar
lake water soaking your tennis shoes
afternoons spent at home

afternoons spent wishing you were somewhere else
zb May 2018
music soft like honey
notes drops of nectar on the skin of your wrist
the bass is your heartbeat
and the warmth of my hands on your cheeks

could we stay here forever?
you and me and the ferns
sunlight drifting in
you and me and our greenhouse
this moment is a thousand years
or, i wish it was

i can see us in my mind
dancing to music
that's been stuck in my head
for years
you are my daydreams
and i am the whispers
exchanged between us,
two souls in a glass house

my fingers find yours
you fill the negative space of my body
i reach up to touch your face
you smile gently, and i feel it

the melody of our song is
the rush of blood in my veins
when i hold your hand
you press my hands to your chest
and i feel the bass of your heart
May 2018 · 346
where is my light?
zb May 2018
my bad days are black holes
like ink spots on your perfect universe
from where someone pressed down
too hard with a fountain pen

my blood is the ink
and your eyes are the stars
i am a corrosion of your beauty
i am hungry for the planets
that adorn your wrists like jewels

i am gravity without the heat of passion
could you still love me?
could you let me stain your skin
could you let me brush my lifeblood
over the divots of your constellations

i am a perfect sphere of loss
homeless, exhausted
please, let me stay
let me soak the warmth from your fingertips
let me absorb the light from your smiles
like dusted galaxies stretching across the sky

i am a black hole
and you are my universe
May 2018 · 1.9k
little red abrasions
zb May 2018
sometimes an acrid heat
rises in my vocal cords
it tells me to do things
i don't want to do
but i do want it
i just wish i didn't.

it steals my voice
it masquerades as honor
it whispers justifications
it reveals itself to me
in a way i can't refuse

it tells me
it reminds me
how sweetly it stings
when i drag my fingers
against my skin
how could i say no?
i am weak

it wants me to hurt
i want to hurt
it wants me to hurt
i want to hurt
i(t) want(s me) to hurt
because it never was anything
but my own desires
i just didn't want them
to be mine
zb May 2018
my mind is a vinyl record
in some places, scuffed, scratched
it skips every once in a while

covered in dust
the shine below
smeared with fatigue

a haunting melody of one hundred and forty thousand, one hundred and sixty hours
over and over and over
looped, destined to repeat forever
the same melody, the same song
a soundtrack of forgotten impulses
and broken thoughts
and misplaced trust

i listen,
my own audience,
and i wonder when
the key change is
but all i hear
is the chorus
i'm fated to sing
for an eternity and
a few spare minutes

because who knows
how long it takes
for a finished record
to stop spinning
May 2018 · 210
still here? why?
zb May 2018
it's one am
i'm still thinking of you
my bones have so many words
but not enough letters

your fingers twine with mine
two sources of warmth,
one bright
one tired
both touching the other,
red and blue light make
the prettiest of twilight purples

steady, solid,
you're still here
you've stayed,
you don't know
how much that scares me
because no one else has
the same way you have

i'm still drawn to your smile
i'm still a flower to your sunlight
i'm still yours to hold
so please, please hold me
finals ate me, and they haven't even started
May 2018 · 238
renaissance paintings
zb May 2018
humanity is just
finding meaning
where there wasn't supposed
to be any
May 2018 · 422
sensory overload
zb May 2018
soft sweaters and
harsh breathing
fabric pulled tight
around cold fingers,
the grooves of the stitches
an odd comfort

hair tangled with eyelashes
a dark curtain
a shield from the outside world
knotted and wavy
from days without brushing

toes, flexing
mouth, twitching
unable to stay still
unable to stop moving
for fear of losing self
in a world of bright lights
and too many warm bodies

blood, bubbling like soda
under skin
get out
get quiet
get dark
please, silence,
no more

breathe in
fingers play with hair,
the texture soothing
May 2018 · 425
a letter to a broken soul
zb May 2018
dear twelve-year-old me,
i could tell you ten million things;
cheer up
don't be so sad
stop hurting yourself
it'll be okay
just breathe deep
but i know you wouldn't listen
you don't believe yourself,
you don't trust yourself,
after all.

dear twelve-year-old me,
i could tell you ten billion things
but you only need to hear one;
just hold on, sweetheart
help's coming.
you can't see it now,
you can't feel it now,
but it'll come.
your hope will survive
you'll continue to breathe
you can still love
you're broken
you're *****
you're fractured
but wounds heal
scars form
water cleans

hold on,
hold on tight,
and one day,
you might
zb May 2018
do you remember
the pictures of flowers
we drew in english class?

you probably don't.

i do.

i poured
my heart and my soul
into that flower,
that one little,
on the edge of
a cliff,
wavering and unsteady,
framed by an open sky,
filled with smudged pencil marks
i was that flower

when we each wrote
a few sentences about those flowers
you were the only person
to write about mine.
i wish i knew what you said
i wish i knew what you thought
of my little flower
fragile and unbalanced
on the precipice of a life
it didn't know it could have.

i am a little flower
i crave your touch
please, string together sentences
of words
of thoughts
what do you think of me?
my petals quiver,
my stem wilts,
my rools curls,

but i stay.

i cling
to my cliff of
pencil and white paper
and you stand and
peer into my world
my world of new things
my week-old world

i am a young flower
ready to bloom
ready to explore
this undeveloped world,
please, won't you
write me your words?
what do you think
of my week-old world?
zb May 2018
they kneel in the
corner of the room, unaware
maybe uncaring
most definitely unfeeling

apathy: a symptom of depression
in their case, undiagnosed suffering

over the years of fighting
a disease that wanted them dead,
they learned what the worst part was.
not the self-hatred.
not the permanent exhaustion.
not the intrusive thoughts.
not the suicidal urges,
not the emotional instability.

it was the apathy.

they had periods of time,
hours, maybe days
in which they couldn't feel anything
a horrible numbness
like saltwater crawling in their veins
like their skin was drawn too tight
like their heart had stopped beating
hours of nothing.
days of nothing.
terrifying, but not
because they couldn't feel fear.

the apathy was an infection
they could not find it in them to care
they could not find it in them to smile
to laugh
to cry
to shout
to love
they could not find it in them to live.

the apathy was the
emotional equivalent
of a sensory deprivation chamber,
the kind intended for torture;
a horrible lack of sensation
designed to bring a person
to the brink of an indifferent insanity.

years later,
and i have recovered
i have grown
but in the darkest moments,
when i feel the saltwater
lap at my ankles
when i don't feel the terror
i know i should

i wonder
if this time is the time
from which i can't
i wonder
if this time is the time
in which i will forever lose
my ability to love.
zb May 2018
when i was younger,
afternoons meant screaming matches;
sorry, i mean screaming
lectures, maybe
or sessions
never matches-
we were never allowed to reply
or she'd scream louder and

i grew up ashamed.
ashamed of my body
ashamed of my personality
ashamed of my quirks and ticks
ashamed of what made me, me
i hated them.
i wanted to strip them away,
peel off my skin,
bleach my face,
burn my hands,
remove anything
that made me her target.
to this day, i still
hold out hope
that i may one day
stop hating myself.

crying was a weakness
unworthy of comfort
i have no memory
of being comforted
or held
my pillow and my stuffed animals
for company
oh, how i longed to be held
just once
just for a moment,
someone to hold me up
when i couldn't breathe.

she used to tell us
the reason she screamed so loudly
was because she had tried, in the past
to speak softly.
apparently, we never listened.

i don't remember her
ever speaking evenly
i don't remember a day
without screams
(oh the screams)
filling the house, my mind
and even if she had tried so hard
to be quiet with us, and failed,
aren't mothers supposed to be patient,
even if the children do not listen?

i hated the way she would scream, yes
but more than that i hated
the way she would tower over me
face inches from mine,
eyes alight with what i could only
describe as
pure hatred
the image still haunts me
i'm still scared of her eyes, sometimes.

she gets so mad, sometimes.
i'm convinced she is not aware,
she does not remember
the things she says
when she is taking out her anger
on me.
a blind rage.
isn't that all i am?
an outlet for her anger?
the antagonist to her lead character?
the useless child she has to drive to school
for two more years?
will i ever be anything but
the result of years of anger?
the target of her mockery?
the recipient of her insults?
will i ever be more than
a monster
a brat
a demon
a pig
an animal

i have only ever known her to be sharp
disgusted with anything i do
that's why it hurts
when she gives me brief hugs,
tells me she only screams
because she loves me
because i know
her intentions are pure
if her actions
are knives slotted between
my ribs.
a vent poem, inspired by some of the stuff i've been reading here.
May 2018 · 280
two am, would you stay?
zb May 2018
i wish you knew
the way i sit in my room,
drifting, gazing at the ceiling,
headphones slipping down my ears,
thinking of you
listening to songs
that remind me of you

it's dark outside
shadows dance on my popcorn ceiling
i wonder
how it would feel
if you were with me,
lying next to me,
breathing in each others' air
feeling each others' warmth

the room is still
my digital clock blinks two am
my skin remembers
the brush of your fingers
the softness of your hair
my heart remembers
the way your soul looks
when you smile at me

would you stay?
would you hold my hand?
would you drift with me?
would you smile at me,
that smile that melts my insides
ever so gently?
would you love me
the same way i love you?
zb May 2018
broken earbuds and
torn-up hightops and
dented dreams of a better life,
i long to find myself
in the words i write and the images i see
in the dark, in the moment
before i lose myself to sleep

my blurry eyes
find the outline of the stars, shining
and bright even as I
fight to stay awake.

what will i dream tonight?
zb May 2018
what if i died in my sleep?
what if i died weeks from now? months?
have i seen all i was ever going to see?
do i know all i was ever going to know?
have i dreamt all i was ever going to dream?
have i lived all i was ever going to live?

maybe i was never fated to eat breakfast tomorrow morning
maybe i was never fated to read the questions on my test tomorrow
maybe i was never fated to hear the cheers of my classmates at our graduation
maybe i was never fated to walk the halls of a college campus
maybe i was never fated to meet the one person I could spend my life with
maybe i was never fated to hold my child in my arms
maybe i was never fated to see the top of mount everest
maybe i was never fated to witness the death of stars
maybe i was never fated to dive the depths of the ocean
maybe i was never fated to watch the sun rise a thousand times

but maybe i was
my past thoughts have led to my current indifference to death.
May 2018 · 300
a child's longing
zb May 2018
if i could do anything
be anything

you'd find me way up with the clouds
i'd be a fearsome sight!
all tawny-brown, white-speckled feathers backlit by a rising sun
oh yes, the dream of my childhood
was to have wings
was to fly

unstoppable, i'd
soar in a low-pressure sea of blue
my wingtips carving clouds
into the most beautiful sculptures

adrenalin, epinephrine
sixty miles an hour
loop-de-loops and barrel rolls
death-defying stunts
blink and you'll miss me

i'd drift so gently
so effortlessly
free to move
with the stratosphere as my stage
each powerful beat of my wings
lofting me higher, faster, higher

looking down,
everything so small below my
dangling feet
giant leaps
from treetop to roof to treetop
wings casting the prettiest of shadows
long feathers feeling the wind ebb and flow

my back aches with longing, sometimes.
you can never really be rid
of the dreams you conceive at twilight
the dreams you imagine with a young mind
in my dreams, i can fly.
May 2018 · 1.3k
fragile - handle with care
zb May 2018
my heart is a violin
with too many strings

play my heartstrings
let your fingers pull my emotions
rest your hand on the back of my neck
i cannot make anything beautiful on my own
but sweetheart you can make me sing so softly

hold me close
dear i'll always love you
feel my skin, polished-smooth
warm under your hands
and know i'm yours

calm my frazzled strings
soothe my worn-out pegs,
drawn tighter and tighter and tighter
straining so deeply to hold
the strings in place
let me cling to you
let me take solace and peace
for but a few moments

my heart is a violin with too many strings,
played by too many people
my strings have been drawn taught
my body has grown tired
my music has grown dull
but with your gentle hands
encompassing the surface of my heart
i can learn to trust again
i can learn to sing again
and sweetheart i can sing so sweetly
for you
Apr 2018 · 518
color is our concept
zb Apr 2018
whispers are just words in black and white,
so let your voice fill my ear with sepia-tone
paint my skin monochrome
let your words tint my blood with white-out
and my skin with ink.

touch my hair
and rub the colors of your heart
onto my split ends
like hair dye from a discount store,
stain my face
press your dyed fingertips
into the hollows of my cheeks,
because they lack color.

let your gaze
cast honeyed light on my shoulders
let it warm my freezing fingers
let it thaw my frostbitten lungs,
make my elbows lighten
with the heat of your palms
imprint the spaces between my ribs
with the marks of your fingers
like puzzle pieces, meant to fit together.
six hundred and eleven
zb Apr 2018

i forgive you
for the stakes you drove into my chest
for the afternoons of raised voices
for the tears i couldn't stop

i forgive you
for never showing me what a soft hand looks like
for never guiding me through the stormy seas of my own emotions
for never comforting me like i longed to be
(for never holding me when i cried)

i forgive you
for giving me the words i wielded
against myself in the privacy of my solitude
for teaching me promises are meant to be broken
for making me think my own memory was failing me

i forgive you
for letting me trust you
for telling me to trust you
for breaking my heart

i forgive you
because it's finally stopped hurting
to do so
Apr 2018 · 207
writer's block
zb Apr 2018
where did my words go?
zb Apr 2018
i search out
glimpses of you,
passing moments,
stills of a life
in which you always smile at me
Apr 2018 · 293
zb Apr 2018
i can't fight it
it pulls at my lungs
trying and trying
to make me succumb.

i know it's right.
i do not sleep enough
but i don't remember
what it feels like
to be fully awake-
a time when fatigue did not weigh me down,
lost in my childhood amnesia.

my conscious mind
drifting gently like
a sandstorm in an hourglass.
i am not strong enough.
it forces my body
to submit
to the weight of my
tired eyelids.

exhaustion is the constant of my current existence
will i ever sleep long enough
to be free of it's power?
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