sevenyou told me to stop feeling sadas if it were somethingtangible in my graspthat i could simply dropon the floor next to your olddress shoesto sweep under the carpetand forget about.but in the end we're going tohave to lift the carpetand all of that dustis going to filter into my lungsanyway.you're a fool if you think otherwise.
bleeding wateryou're eleven when he tells youhe loves youbut that he loves her morebecause the ribbon looks nicest in her hairand you think you can understandbecause, really, she has great hairbut he kisses her and not youand you feel like your life is overand your mom laughs and tells you it'll be okaybecause you were only elevenbut it doesn't make it hurt any lessyou're only eleven when you realizeyour heart is just a touch more tenderthan most peoples.you're twelve years old when youstart to really feel differentstart to grab the skin around yourthighs and pull away when hetries to do ityou're twelve years old whenyou think about deathyou're thirteen when you think youmight be in love with your best friendbecause she makes you feel safewhen no one else canyou're still thirteen and feeling differenthas turned into feeling sickand you cry to yourself in the mirror, watchingyour reflection bleed water from its eyesas if you're watching a movie becauseit's you but you ca
threeshe left the sweet-soft scentof her vanilla perfumeon your nightstand;a little bottle of writer's tearsbecause she loved you –but not enoughto stay
I lost my innocence, that day.When I was younger,there was a time where all of my friendswere boys.Girls wanted to play mommy and poniesI wanted to play tag and race carsand so did the boysso we did.Not a big deal.I was six when I went over to a friends house for the first time.He was really neat--He had a box full of race cars and a bubble machinethat made the biggest bubbles.One day, as we were having snacks(because snack time is serious business, no matter what age you are)I decided I wanted another one.It was a stick of string cheese, and I was six--clearly I was a growing lady and I needed my dose of dairy.So I walked up to his mother and said"please," because my momma raised me right, "can I have another string cheese?"And I will never forget the hesitant look I gotthe curious head tilt, the squinted eyes;it's forever in my mind. It's always there.Anyway, I didn't understand why it was so confusing.Really, I just wanted another piece of cheese.To be honest, I don't remember if she ever
twenty-sixoh, fuck. you taste like poetry
aliveThe scissors were too fucking dull.
outsiders don't understanddad,i'm sorry that i takeup more spacethan you want me tobut i wish you could justmaybetell me i was okayjust okay sometimes.
.i think the hardestthing is coming to termswith the fact that youdon't need me anymore.(i don't have the right, but i am sad.)
requiem for a queeni.don'tgoi knowthat it's sohard to stick around;dig your claws into the ground andhowl, pray to be found before you're lost six feet under.ii.theydidn'texpectyou to fightback; threw you intothe shack of the wolves, but no, youreturned leading the pack. the forest named you wolfsbane.iii.therewassilverin your heart,bullets in your skin,and you tried to keep them hiddenfrom the still world that just did not want to let you in.iv.howlonguntili forget?'cause i know that i'mnot ready to see you go. so,kiss the clouds and demand a downpour; you will be mourned.
you can't have the world.i never meant to make youhate me; i only wantedyou not tolove me.
.i.the high is at itsbest when i can't remember why i hated myself.ii.death is a nightmare only when i realize youare not in the dream.
pine cone heart. it is 9:36 on a Tuesday night. i don't know if it's still snowing, but i do know it's cold and my palms are covered in a thin layer of sweat. slowly, it eats away at my epidermis like a parasite. soon i will be nothing more than skeletal muscle and a decaying pericardium. i think this is beginning to happen already, this disintegration. it began five minutes and thirty seven seconds ago when i realized two things: you will never love me. i will love you all the same. our timelines were never meant to connect, not really. there was just that second-long contact, a chance, a lifetime in my eyes. i keep replaying that moment again and again. i don't remember what you were wearing, how your hair looked, the way your smile looked. no; all i can recall is how your skin felt on your forearm, the sound of a marker against flesh. i realize that that is all we will be: a fleeting smile. a promise to keep in
virginity is like an envelopemy mother said her mother knew.i wonder if she stumbled home like i did,fifteen and beer-loosetied to the door like a thunderstorm with black lipsand i wrote a story about disaster,a quiet two sleds long.a box full of beads, i swallowedfifteen needles, mommy. don’ttell me i’m not sorry.don’t call me a whore you bag of bonesyou lock-loose suitcase do you evenrecognize me look at my face my toothache skini am not the one with the knife.my mother never slept with a boywho didn’t love her never let a boysleep on her while she lay awake beneaththe shroud of his skin breathing onlywhen her voice-box gathered too much dust.you have to know i didn’t doit on purpose. he slid beers down my throattill i felt like a landfill.i was not yet a crescendo. maybe i was a polka-dot.you couldn’t tell. i got homewith my legs full of nightmare.the doctor said xanax.i said i am a ruin like the oneswe saw in peru.a balloon in a funeral poem.
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
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’mtrying to break in the wrong size of shoes.Sometimes I sit and stewover how you’re seventeen andyou think I’m a princess the trapped-in-a-tower kind and how you wear suits and talk about politicsand think you know the world.My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling soundsometimes when I think about you, and howyou deal out advice where it just isn’t called foryou quote science-fiction to justify warand you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princessand you just have no blooming idea.Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mindBut until then we’ll never fit right.In truthI’m afraid –that even after that day you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
FearFear.It controls us.Stops us from chasing our dreams.Causes us to live in solitude, away from potential pain and also happiness.A fear of heights is illogical; it's the fear of falling that scares us.A fear of water is irrational; it's the fear of drowning that consumes us.A fear of a dangerous animal is unfounded, it's the fear of pain if we're attacked that frightens us.Our main fear is of fear itself. This is true.But what causes fear itself?The unknown.The unexpected, the unidentified, the unfamiliar, the mysterious, the unexplained.This is genuine fear, for how can we not be frightened of things we do not know?
Giving UpSometimes I pray that I can dieI want this life to endI cry because I want to kill myselfAnd I cry because I can'tI know there are people out therewho have harder lives than meThis poem is for us, with hard lives.People who have had their bodies usedfor a pleasure not their ownJust as it has been done to mePeople who are lonelyeven though they have friendsfriends who dont seem to want toreach out and helpJust as I have feltPeople with parents who find them"useless" or "not good enough"Just as my mom has told me.People with parentswho get drunk all the timemaking us worrywhen they never come aroundJust as my dad has done to mePeople with siblingswho make fun of uslaughing at us in front of their friendsJust as my sister has done to mePeople who have lost loved onesPeople who have been heart brokenPeople who have been injured serverlyPeople who have been harrassedPeople who have been beat downPeople who have felt low
It Hurts So MuchIt hurts so muchTo think of the pastIt hurts so muchTo think of what could have been the futureIt hurts so muchI can't even seePain is better than nothingIt's part of lifeBut no one ever told meIt would hurt this muchIt hurts so muchTo think of usIt hurts so muchTo be aloneIt hurts so muchTo watch you with herIt just hurts so much
contactwould it be possibleto grow so comfortable withanother person'sskin,that distancewould feel like tearing off your own?
how to healthey say honeyto soften the wound, but i let the woolwet with ethanolgnawuntil i amweeping,again, and again,and again
.Believe me, the world endsin screams and smokeshattered glass and fireengulfing allIt doesn't endin the soft soundof your heart breaking.
For all the lost love that was never mineI know placesbetween sleep and awakewhere the dead birds sangwhile I wasbleeding painto the groundcutting off myhurtsand I've been heldin my empty roomsso dark andblackyou couldn't see methereeven with the brightestof yourlightsyou knowI've always beendrawn to dark thingsand this is whatkeeps me breathingunderwaterwhen they try todrown mewith their poisonous whispersI know placesyou can'tfollow mebutif you were mineI'd give youall the shattered piecesthat are stillleftof mebut you're notso I must mournfor all the lost love that was never minefor all the lost lovers who were never real
RelativityLooking in the mirrorthrough the mirrorseeing a stranger,My chest swells and my heart lurchesThis girl isn't me, not at allShe looks like someonebut not me.A movie star, a homeless person.Even when I look at photosno memory comes upno allowing for the thought that I have a bodyOr that the cold of my fingertips,the throb of anxiety inside my ribsreally exists.I see my arm, an armbandA scar, a vein, a ring that has no meaningNot anymoreBut it did, to this girl in the mirrorEven if memory failsExistence is relative
-there's hopepinned to the edgeof every word you utterfor the holy constellationof a manwho's neither in me.and there's a smile you shine,when your heart is tilted down,because there ain't no halosround any tongue,but we play make believe.
the basicsthe more people know youthe more shallow you get.stay alone,stay deep,keep being ableto mix with anything.it's painful.it's hard.keep looking for antonymswho could die for feelings.trust them,appreciate them.mix.promises will mean something...
he called it the art of destruction.she had nice eyes,the kind you liked to drawwith watercolor tearsand ink like the moon'sstolen glow.he had memorizedher midnight lashes,the half-closed shuttersand memories locked awaybehind a pupil,and his pencil was thekey.yellowwere the specks in heririses of emeraldsprings;everything she touchedturned into gold,everything she toucheddiedand rose anewlike budding flowersafter the blizzard.his pencilcould never do the same,he knew;but he'd give those eyes awayfor a dime apiece,ignoring the factthat ebony charcoaland half-dried acrylicswere all that she wouldever be.
Are We There Yet?Caught between the bud and bloom.
.Sometimes,the ghosts thatclaw at my eyesand the demons thatpour from my mouthlook a lot like you.