[x]

what was once our home is now our horror.when i'm not talking to you
i feel like vomiting,
walking behind a boy
who wore the same cologne
as you.

i can't cancel us-
we aren't a subscription-
before we have been
worn through
like soles of
old shoes.

and i think you
know that,
too.

the silence,
as heavy as it is,
is nothing
compared to the weight
of our hearts.

i don't know
if we'll ever
let this go;

but before we're done,
i need you
to look at me
full on,
the way you would
a mirror,
and not a naked girl
undressing in front
of you
for the last time.

glass windowswe are windows,
made of glass
and shattered
in the old houses
of our bodies.

the wood of our
fragile frames
has been dismissed,
extricated from
their interlocking
webwork,
and pulled a
thousand miles
into the heat of georgia.

i will miss the
weighted feathers
of your hands,
the sun spilling
across your face
and painting your
smile,
graffiti,
across the city
of barcelona.

i am terrified
to lose you
to the sea,
ever-growing,
between
you and me.

i just pray
to the same god
you believe in
that if our ship
sinks,
we will each
remember
to float.

if my body could talkit's probably not a good thing
when what you want to say
to your ex boyfriend
is the same
as what your body
wants to say to you:

i don't know why
i still insist on you
when you want
nothing to do with
me;

you don't care for me
the way you did
before;

i wish everyday
that things
would change;

you are ruining me;

i don't know how to
deal with what you're
putting me through;

why can't you love me;

everything you do
hurts me
and i know it shouldn't
matter
but everything that matters
shouldn't, i guess.

what i think i mean
is i need you
to give me my soul back-
i am killing this flesh
without it.

split me open like a sunrisei promise
i don't think about you anymore
not even a little
like a mouse;
but the moment
i fall like the autumn,
the one we spent
at the in-between-
a crossing of streets,
the lovers
and strangers-
seeing you
is like
seeing my own hands
for the first time.

i stumble with numbness
and a definite lack
of control(led motor skills)
as i fight for an instant
where i feel it is safe
to breathe,
or to let my heart beat.
i hate to see your eyes.
they are too warm
and i know that if i were
to reach and touch your skin,
it would be, too.

what did i do before i watched you,
a figure eight
winding in the periphery?

what did

the sickness of breathingi thank god's hands
for creating you
and bearing you
to me;
and i fear the day
that he takes you away.

i wish you all the wellness
bubbling up from the ground,
and all the mud from which
we were each made.
and all the same,
i know better than to
believe it
when i feel
you will stay.

tonight, i know you
will leave me
again.

when you do,
i need you to
kiss me like your mother
kissed your father
the day she left you
all behind,
packed her suitcase
full of flowered clothing,
and shut the front door behind her
quietly.

colour the desperation
quietly on your face.
i want to see you feel
before you turn
away from me

bokonon, interrupteda mire of snakes,
thick,
sticking,
stinking-
sinking.

we are mud
made into man,
flesh of the earth
and our only decision,
our only non-epiphany,
when god loosens
our marionette strings
for a human moment,
is how to best
destroy ourselves.

when someone you loved becomes a memoryi'm interested in things falling,
breaking,
and being forgotten.
i like to see
glass bleed,
it makes me realise
i'm not the only thing
running red.

when i look,
i see passing eyes
roam the lines of my arms,
italian winding roads,
and quickly rush away
into their houses.
nobody likes to watch
something
slowly crumble-

if it isn't a crash,
a tragic accident,
an innocent death
at a hundred miles per hour,
but a drawn out,
intentional decay,
a condemned building
with cracking windows-

you will always see
the whites of their eyes
as they turn away
so as to never meet
the deadness
in yours.

a note in my pockethow
do i go
about releasing
a thin mark,
an invisible fishing line,
from a heart
so unknowingly caught

he calls me little
until i feel
my most near to human,
a drum in my stomach
with a tightening skin;

my heart does not
follow his song,
but i feel his fingers
tangle its veins
with every mention
of smallness.

i am the telephone wire
strung between
these brick buildings,
connecting
without intention
the two spheres
of our lives.

i stretch my fingers
to snap it,
yet fear the whiplash
of (e)motion
that may or may not
sink me to my knees.

instead,
i burn a small effigy,
pinecones singeing
as makeshift hands,

bxsi am not keen
on the baby
my belly imagines
that it holds,
nor the aches
in my waist and thigh,
nor the sting
once buried
brought to a froth
at the surface of my arms.

i am tired.
the orthostasis rings
silent to every ear
but my own,
and i fear i will
not be pleased until
its mournful song
plays loudly enough
for every heart to hear.

i would rather be asleep,
a million miles
beneath the face
of this vessel,
crammed to the corners
with adipose
and heaviness like
the night sky.

i would rather watch
the tide break
over my teeth,
hot and unwelcome
as it singes soft tissues.

i would rather feel
the tension in my st

wasting usi want you, ok
i want you to be on your knees
all scraped and red and raw
like you're a child again
because that's all you ever
were
i want you to be aching
the way i've been aching
since the last rays of summer
said goodbye to us,
goodbye to us
and i want you to never forget
that just because
you don't remember my birthday,
that doesn't mean
you'll ever,
ever
forget the feel of my skin
on yours
for the first time
and that someday
this memory will stop hurting.
it never will,
and i promise you this:
every time it crosses your mind-
while you wait at the bus stop,
during a chemistry exam,
the next time a girl touche

medical dust, medical wastei am made of medical dust,
small picks, and combs
left to catch
the open sores
of a tired man
roaming the shores,
to make him my own.

i never meant
to bring you below.
you were always
a boat, ebbing and flowing
a thousand metres
from the ground
stretch far
from you, and far
beneath.

it was only as real
as a papercut,
flooded with the salt
of our ocean,
from the mason jars
filled with the night
we touched under the gaze
of a blanket of smoke and stars.

emotion, embodiedthere are things
living in me
that bring the floor
to my knees-
powers like concrete
and steel,
fierce infrastructure
of my bones
filled with something
like fire,
or smoke.

i have been
holding my breath
for so long
that i am scared
to let my body
breathe,
or give vessels,
these things
living in me,
the means to
become something
when i
myself
can't.

i pray to god,
a being unseen,
that i will
kill off these things
living inside me;
instead,
all i manage
to do
is kill off
myself.

first datei wanted to hold your hand, but i sat on mine instead.

i have the right not to give excuses or reasonsi am not going to
explain myself
away.

i am no ocean tide,
ebbing and flowing
over the sands of us,
and your approval-
your pleasure
of what i am
is not needed.

you do not
need to know
why i am hurt,
why we do not speak,
or why i still love you.
you do not
need to understand
(the way the moon
does its stars)
why i feel and ache
and show this on
my skin and bone.

the fear,
however,
of keeping you away,
of creating distance
more than the miles
between home
and georgia,
relinquishes
the power i hold
between my teeth
and i burrow
like scarab beetles in the sand
into why,
why,
why.

i cannot wait
to breathe
an

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i'm whole and untouched,
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reality isn't worth much
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sometimes dissociating
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i just long for the day
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a watched pot never boils, you'd say,
but no one ever said anything about
a listened pot.
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smelling hot water
mingling with green tea leaves and pomegranate seed.

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i see stars spinning
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it's scary
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all under one band-aid.

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decide in the hot summer sun
that it's too late,
and that's how i lost five pounds.

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and here i was,
losing weight.

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and watch the numbers drop.
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because it makes me feel too much.
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a hunger artist

by *ohsostarryeyed, Jan 15, 2012, 7:01:08 PM
Scraps

the next time it happens,
maybe i won't be there.
i could have sold my soul
to the circus,
to starve myself
til my dying breath,
unadmired,
as it should be.

perhaps i will unravel,
skin like streamers
up to the bends of my elbows,
before you realise that, maybe,
you can feel the electrical discharge
from my broken circuits,
and that that is enough.

or better yet,
i will learn to love
another
while you're stuck
in your own crog,
muck and mire
piled to a level
just below the lips
i used to kiss
and keep safe
inside my memory.

but mostly, oh
but mostly,
i will never leave you,
dear,
i will never leave.
i am not faithful
but i'll stay
and someday, you
oh,
someday, you
will find it in your heart
to love me.

21 Comments

a hunger artistby *ohsostarryeyed

©2012-2013 *ohsostarryeyed

like kafka

from partial

~Carenial Feb 25, 2012

all of your poem is said really clearly! good poem~

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Feb 26, 2012

thank you

!

Reply

~Maria-Rose-nikki Jan 31, 2012 Hobbyist Artist

oh my god. This is so beautiful. And I'm sorry I have nothing else to say
but this is great.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Feb 5, 2012

it's nice to know you appreciate it

Reply

~gorskig Jan 18, 2012

Love the word choice and images in this.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Jan 18, 2012

thank you kindly :]

Reply

~AliceDanielle Jan 17, 2012 Student Writer

your work is just so lovely

the last stanza is just perfect. and so is the rest of it, by the way.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Jan 18, 2012

thank you so much

Reply

*dietcocaine Jan 17, 2012 Writer

_{That last stanza.
It just.
All the things I couldn't put into words --
<3}

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Jan 18, 2012

thank you, love

Reply

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