Hello, I'm Me- Nice To Meet YouI stand in the rain- until I’m soaked to the bone with the scent of itUntil my clothes stick to my skin and it’s uncomfortable to peel them offI crawl out of bed at 2:33 am just to go look at the stars- even if I’m too tired to name themEven if my hair is still wet from my shower and the tips start to freeze because it’s under 20 degrees FI walk with my hands grazing the branches of trees- lips turned up the cornersLips turned up at the corners because I get along with nature better than I do with humans- -I give way too much ‘change’ to veterans asking for money- even though I know they may be lyingEven though they may be, but what if they’re not?I listen to cashiers as they spill their tales of bad days across the scanner- as they scan 10 cans of cat foodAs they scan 10 cans of cat food, I smile brightly- one that somehow reaches my eyes- and wish them a better tomorrowI visit my town’s Radio Shack way too often- the two freq
On Unrequited LoveQuick beats of the drum-- that is your heart in the dark, echoes too loudlyAnd he covers his ears a bit because he can hear itAnd it’s painful for him because he knows his heart won’t beat for yours like yours does for his.
Long Lost LongingWe search for loveWhere we are less likely to find itWe reach too far and strain our eyes for something we thought we saw in the distanceWhen in reality perhaps we should have stretched before we took off runningOr maybe we should have looked around us before we left- thus leaving so much of what could have been behind.
Throw Me AwayThe indifference existing betwixt the space of your finger tips and my less than warm skinSets my soul ablaze.
The Beautiful Things In My DestructionMy lungs no longer scream for airAnd the pain in them has eased to nothing but a dull throbAnd the coral reefs are so beautiful when you’re down below them looking up.
Maybe I Have Too Many Heartbeats LeftWar paint- overflowing my cupped handsAs she gently dips her finger in that which resembles bloodAs she gently paints a picture on my brow of the war that is going on inside my soul-And hands me the mirror in hopes that I can learn how to sew myself back togetherGlass shards- buried deep within the soles of my feetBecause I dropped the piece of mirror she gave me at the sight of the fighting inside of meBecause maybe it’s still too soon to face-And I tell myself to calm down and just face it, face it allTrying to keep my composureBut it’s so hard when everything inside of me is shattering just like the mirror she gave meTrying to keep my composureBut it’s so hard when my lungs are rattling around in my chest like my hands are in hersTrying to keep my composureAnd I am but it’s costing me.
I Won't RunI won’t runEven though your venomous words set my skin aflameI won’t runEven though you out right refuse to even acknowledge my outstretched handI won’t runEven though you’re too afraidI won’t runAnd I will fightFor youEven when the light fades from my eyes.
I used to be afraidI used to be afraid of the darkUntil I embraced it more than I did the light- for the light hurt my child eyes and made the pain worseI used to be afraid of the darkUntil the dark became afraid of me- for I was holding on too tightly and it had other children to scareI used to be afraid of the darkBut now I’m only afraid that it’ll leave, just like everything else.
She could have lived til 90Words spill so quickly from her lipsWrapping around her pale throat like an intricate necklaceAnd as she rapidly-elegantly spits them- they squeeze her neckAt least no blood is being wasted as the words burn into her skin… And she can’t breathe for a while nowWhile the magic is finishing up- taking some of her life as payment.
day seveni. melodrama please, please, please; i cannot take a moment more. you know you're making a scene with your wallowing, with your wailing, and with your near-constant wellaway and i cannot help but collect your chaotic complaints for later use; i'm just a shudder shy of shattering and all my shards are ammunition.ii. dispassion some souls shroud themselves in clouded cloaks unfeeling; i suppose apathy is all the rage, but i cannot fall for nothing some souls are blank below the surface just moving through the motions and i, i'm one for conflagrations not those who are naught but embersiii. entitlement i am no p
HopeThere are so many dayswhen humanity frightensthe most compassionateperson awayit takes only a knifeor a word or a gun, andoh god,we scare so easy.I'm tired of livingwithout faith,without promise,I'm tired of not believingin tomorrow.There may not be a god abovebut believer or not,there are so manyreasons to loveI'm not giving upI'm not letting go;I'm going to dreamand one dayperhaps I will flyand I will believethe best of peopleuntil it kills me,because the momentthat you give upis the momentyou become the problem.
eggshells in my throatI am cradled,rustling ribcage burstingin feathered fragmentsthrough still air,and you ask what's wrongbut each breath is a triumph;words would be a desperate freefallI cannot fly--I'm barely crawling.I am embraced,entwined in almost-whispers,struggling, and I flinch awayfrom compassion; it would be kinderjust to leave.I am caged,my cries for help flutter in wing-beat echoes fromlarynx to liponly to collide,beaten and bruised,with the towering wallsseparating speechfrom silence.
day threei. learn uncover her skeleton whispers, her rampant regrets, and her secret dreamings she is bursting with words that have never been spoken and she is full to the brim with faltering desires that have never been given breathii. share you are all cogs and clockwork magic show her what makes your minutes pass by iii. think sometimes her mind will run two steps ahead of her tongue and she will ( smiling ) stumble but she's attracted to intellect and you're a wonderfully precious kind of precocious; so let your pillow talk lapse from sweet nothings to science to society &
day teni. alpha i. omega i am not ready to grow up, i am not ready to grow up, but dissonant chords, memento mori, but the promise of independence, autonomy, and the date of my birth and of making something of myself clamour sharply at my senses keeps me moving along the path, abusive, aggressive, morose - terrified, uncertain, hopeful - i wonder how other people i wonder if i
In TimeI wait: underneath my thoughts, blood pulses through its riverbeds.One day, tears fall into dry banksand mountainmemories fill them.
desolatei want to write something bitter,sour and acidic, like the firstshudder after a taste of lemon;i want to write of how youkill me with every breath,every kiss, every sporadic, treasured touchi want to spill words onto the pagelike ink out of a broken bottle,i want to stab and wound with the fragments;sear, scratch, piercebut when i bring you to my mind,i cannot conjure anger,nor passion; only a cloud of sadnessi am unable to shake.there are no nightmares lingering here;only long forgotten dreams.
day twoi. fear i talk talk talk all the time but i never really say anything and you can read whatever you like into that but i know i know that i'm afraid. i'm afraid of the way sincerity sounds on my lips i'm afraid that speaking my mind will result in a dictionary definition I never asked for; one that outlines each and every one of my flaws, boils me down to the bare bones of insecure of hopeless of lost.ii. falling i've always fallen in love like i fall asleep; not at all often enough, deeper than i should, and far, far too late - w
Trust FallingTrust Fallingtrust your stomachrather than your mind.understand that judgement fails you;senses never do.trust it even when your gut isfalling. Like something of anangel with clipped wingslosing its ability to fly.lofty exceptions of what could be is never quite what you intendednever quite what we expected as we plummet.gaining force as we arrow towards it.in only romance-laden dreams,nestling their way into our cracked psyches. love is late night talks--only a quarter of the night do we trulyventure near an iota of sleep.eventually we cradle it from head to chest.
celeste's notion She likes to ravage poetry; destroy it as it falls off the tip of her tongue, along with the poison in her veins. She likes to devour words like death, consuming life; like a kiss that claims the soul. She likes to funnel frustration into a lullaby, into a stanza; she likes to coalesce contradictions – "hurt" with "harmony" "scream" with "sigh" "insult" with "inspire" because it's all the same to her; She likes to caress literature with her lips, with the slight whorls and spirals in her fingers; intoxicating and intimate and the slightest bit innocent. She likes to feel seraphic; feel powerful and godly in a world
day sixi. companion you've never claimed to understand the machinery that whirls and whirs inside my troubled mind, but you listened with a compassionate ear and offered me your company ( and a true abundance of sarcastic-secret names for those i've loved or lost ) you've always complemented me, your sense and logic tempering my every heart-fueled melodrama; you are my balance, my ground, my anchor, and for that, i am forever grateful.ii. the girl who whispers velvet the day we met, you'd never ridden the bus before. it was the first day of high school, and i noticed you because you looked so nervous and because you clasped your father's hand
MalignmentMalignmentYou're so dramatic,hot and cold in the same fractured sentence.You frustrate me;like a picture framethat isn't quite centered right.Left hanging by a threadthat maybe it'll look okayfrom a different angleor a different light.But us, no matter what angle,or day or night,we were like puzzle piecesthat didn't fit.And it drove me crazy to see those two piecesjust sitting away from the game,that we had a misaligned frame.We were never on the same level.You, you were a constanttemptation to insanitywith your ill-chosen words,oh-so-innocent smiles,protestations of 'I love you'and whispers beneath the sheets.The road to your goodwillstretched out to forever,and I grew so tired of trying out configurations;the countless positionsthat never quite seemedto startle my senses,although they alwaysstimulated yours.Your tongue was a clichéBut it wasn't the polished edge,I was most concerned about.It was t
here, stilli must confess,i have walked the highway's edgeflirting with the sidewalk, andwondering whether to takethe one step towards therushing waves of traffici have balanced upon precipiceafter precipice gazing downward,the finality of flight a strangeand dangerous daydreamthat pulls me inand i have stood at water's endingthe sea a susurrous caress, andyearned to move forward once,again, again, until the oceancan carry me homeso many storms i have weatheredso many burdens i have shoulderedand yet sometimes i forget themost important thing of all;i have made it this far,i am herei am worthyi will go on.
Beneath Her Beautiful"I'm a tailor," he told her, when they first met. "A dressmaker, too." He knew it wouldn't catch her attention the way a doctor or a CEO might, but his passion was what got them all interested in the end. When she asked about his work, he played up the sensory aspect - the sight of a newly created outfit; the fresh scent of his fabrics and the sheer artistry involved. He talked, too, about the pleasure he found in spotting the imperfections beneath the outer beauty.By the time he got to his customary pick-up line, the one he'd stolen from a popular song, she was already pretty taken in. He stole her breath when he asked her to show him the imperfections she hid.***He hummed as he manipulated his instruments, scissors making small cuts here and there. The tapestry he was creating would, he knew, be a masterpiece. Like a surgeon, he made precise snips that allowed for a perfect edge.Everything was just right, and as he pulled her skin away from the muscles below, he sang happily to h
Being Okay Is The Hardest Thing We DoBeing Okay Is The Hardest Thing We Do because being okay is expected,if we’re not okay, that’s not okay,what can we do to be okay?we can scribble illegible wordson a canvas made for by paintersmasquerading as notebook paper,and hope that we can sell the burnof stinging emotions for some paper.but the funny thing about that thought?is that american money isn’t paper,it’s 75% cotton and 25% linen fibers.so even the money you'd earn from your misery,isn't anything you can write onwhen you realize your money isn't made to heal. even if it does talk. but it never really ever says enough, does it?But that's okay...being okay is the hardest thing we dobecause sticks and stones do break bones,but you can hide the scars with a jacket or longer sweatshirt.or put on pants as opposed to athletic shorts.words kill, words heal, and words are so much more.and you can't hide the scars that riddle your face,the way your
Wishing Cranes--C.The street-level apartment,abandoned from wear and tornadolast spring, tells us love storiesin graffiti inscriptions.Close enough to the roadthat it leans looming over it,the complex slumps, unused,except by an eight year old boy;old enough to have been told not toand young enough to not understand.He has hands that stutter—hesitate—because he folds paperlike he seals envelopes:with purpose.He has a mind that isn't reluctant;why wish upon a starwhen the beingsthat can grant wishesare in the spacesbetween constellations?Together, his head and handscraft paper cranes.Between knotted levels of rope,cranes spread layered wingsand bob, breath-like,waiting.He molds shapesout of hangers,nestling his dreamsinto metal and numbered pages.He has soul in his eyesand heart in his palms;why doubt the beauty of selfwhen he can craft itfrom discarded treasures?A sound heard from his right tightlyto loosely on his left: an injured birdis cultivated on t
PiecesI say that I’m alright becauseit is easier to lie, than for youto peel away the layers, and bedisappointed with the personI am underneath.
virulenceWith a bitter twist to the tongue,he treated his final words likeammunition;"You're like catching lightning,and I'm tired of chasing storms."She couldn't help but smileas he walked away from her.She's partial to the idea of beinglethal.
You Blew Out Your CandleI feel my emotions dieAs I watch the color of your eyes fade outJust like the light in your heart-which was extinguished despite my attempts to keep it alive--I purposely stopped breathing just to save more oxygen for the flame…