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StarvedThere was a soft un-tucked tethering in her brain,
a wallowing that gave sound to the bitter symphony silencing her elusive twitches, which no one seemed to notice. She breathed in stale air, and tasted remorse. Not for anyone she knew, but herself.
And the thing was, she didn't know herself anymore.
It was just past 10:00, too early to sleep and too late to grumble down the streets, her bag tossed over her shoulder, still shaking without her fix. The nearest gas station was closed and it was over an hour walk to the closest open one. Cigarettes were the closest thing to speed, and she wasn't close enough to get that deal anyway. All the pill-dealers knocked out on their recent swing of high-indulged habits. This wasn't enough.
Luckily, for her, there was a brand new cartridge in her purse.
A set of steel, sharp shattered razor blades.
Close enough to a speed induced high as she could get,
and far more dangerous.
She took a round about, spun on her heel, and let the light from the post
Boyfriends who were never thereMy worst fear was saying I love you,
knowing that someone has the power to take those words and twist them into something sinister and bold.
And when I crossed over that bridge, I feared for you leaving.
It is 3 months after I stopped being afraid,
and the worst thing has become of us.
You don't care if I leave or if I stay.
So we sit on opposite sides of the town,
with everything to say but no words being exchanged,
and I worry for the love you once said you had,
and the promises you gave me.
I've done everything you asked me to.
But you still don't love me.
Spontaneous MeThere is this thing in the center of my spine, sucking secretly, the life from me.
It harbors, hollowing the bone, and while I dream at night,
I dream of that winter gray water tower, on Senseny Rd.
You gave me my power, pushing it up and out, my stomach and my throat. I gagged on a prison before you opened its cells.
I didn't know what this was. A rebound, relapse. Something to relax.
I was 300 miles away,
in the dark,
in the rain.
He drove up, parked the Cherokee, and yelled me by name.
I shivered off my outer layer,
the part you gave me,
and asked when he reached for my shoulder,
why he was touching me.
He pursed, growled, and bit.
And you were no where to be found.
Four days later,
I got a stronger taste,
ice cold in April,
and you didn't warm
I pushed out the power, grounded myself on you.
You who taught me to be patient,
quiet, and loving.
The exact opposite of everything
I am a birdi've been chasing stars for four years counting,
the harbor pulling me in before i even knew what the ocean looked like.
now that i'm here, all i want is to chase the Appalachian mountains,
climb the mighty trees.
they say God lives in the woods, and his song is heard through the wind.
so i write my prayers at night, singing back, play it for me, please.
i am a pigeon,
i am a goose,
my chin held up high, my neck baring blows.
i am a raven,
breathing heavily at night, words leak down the pages.
i stretch my wings, form a shape of a triangle
where secrets etch the surface,
midnight sea claiming lives too bold.
i am a seagull, screaming with the howling wind; hear my call.
i fight in flight,
with the stars in the sky, blown up against the night air, brushed up gracefully in dark contrast, silver against black, the frosty clouds provide the obvious.
i am a bird, singing for the morning,
breathing for the night.
Kid with a sob storyyou were sixteen and you used to call me kid, like i was the one who needed to grow up, not you.
well now i'm eighteen, and you're nineteen and i guarantee that i'm way ahead of you on every aspect.
so when you got engaged to the same girl i was so jealous of the first time, and i realized you were an actual human being with actual feelings, i didn't get angry, i got numb with content.
you were sixteen when you took the best year of my life,
lonely girl at fourteen, heartbroken for a year, and ready to give up everything important to someone who certainly didn't deserve it.
i look back, read the words i screamed at night and realize,
shit could have been so much worse.
and i realize, you were sixteen, barely past being a kid, yourself.
well now i'm eighteen, and you're nineteen and you're probably playing tricks for steady living, and i'm busting my ass seven days a week,
clean, honest, minimum wage, two jobs, at eighteen.
call me a kid.
Visibleit is sad to say
in the least that it is 2:00
in the morning and
i still don't know your
name, but the color of your
eyes and the deep soul
drives me up the wall at night
and i have nightmares.
PassageI don't know if I am weak for forcing myself to forget, and say good-bye, or if I am strong enough for staying alive.
There is a silent rule in my family that when bad things occur, we just don't talk about it. If you can give me a reason other than the emotional capacity of my family is at level 0, I'll consider it. Other than that though, we stay silent. I think this is the reason I became a vulture for trauma.
I've heard there are ways the brain automatically deals with trauma. And usually, people who experience trauma in their lives, the ones who deal with it unsuccessfully, end up with some other mental illness.
Somehow I ended up with an on again off again suicidal, angry depression harboring in my rib-cage.
Regardless, the first stage of trauma I ever went through was when I was barely two years old. My mom's boyfriend, Robert, an abusive fucker, beat the hell out of her constantly. I don't know what demons he possessed, but they were strong enough to persuade him that hitting h
FallingWhen we broke up the first time
I compared you to every boy I'd ever deemed important.
Why you were better than every one.
Why you were worse than every one.
When the second time came around,
I stopped asking questions,
and just reflected on how different you are now
You don't see you the way I do,
just like I don't see me the same way.
You've grown so much,
that same insecure devoid of emotion boy,
hiding through distractions,
same as me.
I stopped being so insecure,
stopped blaming everyone else,
stopped being afraid of feeling
and stopped hiding.
You were my revelation
to all the lies, and all the secrets I held in.
And I don't know,
but I hope that anger you hold means the same thing.
NightAm I destined to share the same fate,
turning wheels, rocket to the moon dreaming?
She kissed the space below my wrist,
a tribute, to remember her when she's gone.
I breathed in that soft scent,
floral shampoo, but not hers.
She wants me to stick around long enough
to indulge in her own shampoo,
this one borrowed.
If I have to wake up every morning
wishing she were here for a
lifetime of her being there,
I hope I make the cut.
I am night, casually running my fingers through
golden hair in my dreams.
I am most alive when it is 2:00 am
and you aren't here.
Tell me what it takes to be there,
300 miles away.
I am a bird, feathers outstretched towards
home, head north till the sun breaks the sky above.
No more level with earth sunsets,
no more ocean water ricocheting my dreams.
Wait on me;
when you're sleeping,
know I am night.
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
the certainty of imminencei.
tomorrow spills over
inevitability-rapt and enveloping,
as wakefulness startles,
i'm caught up in past-time
i forge(t) myself in oblivion
midnight so hollow,
we all stop
with the clocks.
nothing looks the way it did
and i guess it seems
i'm blinkered, brevity-bound
in century footsteps forever stumbling,
always being blindsided
by the passing
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)
I hope the title caught your eye,
because this is about you.
Many of us speak in superlatives
and ambiguous language.
In imagery-laden text masquerading
underneath double entendres
keeping us from a part of the truth.
But purple streaks and red bands,
harp strings and soft hands
don't begin to explain
the love I have for you.
So I lay these words down
simple in its vulnerability,
blemished and raw in its purity.
The term lissome fits you in many ways,
but not necessarily it its textbook form.
I speak on the part that is not readily seen
but what is easily most cogent.
Your consciousness' cognizance
is graceful in the way
you fold one syllable over
another, supple in its meaning
that can take many forms
going from idle lies
to how we idolize hollow eyes
and uncovered hip bones.
Elegance is an understatement,
but I refuse to speak in cliche superlatives.
I speak honestly
but not with exaggerated grandeur.
Because your immediate app
ScienceI am more than my
F L A W S;
a masterpiece of
S C A R S
a delicacy of
D R E A M S
a sculpture of
B O N E S
R E A C T I O N
a well of
A broken heartI promised myself I'll never fall in love
Whenever I fall in love I feel renewed and happy
But like a drug
Once everything finishes
I'm crying, depressed and the wreckage of my heart
I always end up feeling worse
I want to find someone that is special
But I'm afraid to suffer again
I'm afraid of losing another person
Do not want to suffer
Do not make me suffer, do not lie to me
Do not hurt me, no more
I will not hold on to people who only sink me
I'll be free and live with have left
A cold and lonely spirit.
She never made it homeThere's something very fascinating about the change of wind. It doesn't brush up against her cheeks in an attempt to knock her to the cold cracked pavement, it's instead lingering around her frame and giving her a reason to push forward. All she wants is to be alone.
The lights stack up, repeatedly blinding her from the two feet that cross paths, make a path for her. The funny thing, for a situation like this where running for such a long time kills her, she feels like it's almost worth bursting her lungs. It's almost worth it if it means never looking back and never giving in.
The streetlights are lining up and lighting the way for her but all they really do is cause shadows and she's more afraid of admitting that she's frightened than she is frightened at all. Up, ahead she sees the flashing of the police come to drag her where nightmares never end and sleep is always impossible. She can't go back, she just
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