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i wish i could just be a monsteri am some
thing less human than
a monster.
my first drunk poemwriters write whilst drunk
because every word
fumbled and smisspelled
comes out beautifully
because of the truth it holds

my ear bleeds from constant burns
and my stomach burns from constant bleeds
because beauty is never enough untouched, it seems,
the way anything i put in me is always too much.

i bled and evoked sympathy tonight.
i drank until i needed a body to stand me straight.
my organs writhed like heathens in moonlight ritual
and i let it shake.
i shook to be honest
but i was never honest enough
to admit from where the vibration came.
i shook with fear
and trepidation
and loneliness
and never, ever being adequate
dissociationi have entered a tunnel,
archways and curled walls
of the clash of unwanted bodies,
fingers in my throat
aching to summon blood,
and palpitations.

i hear nothing.

trapped in the fence of my head,
i am thinking in scattered seeds to plot
in further regions, safer than
they can be now.

i am thinking loudly
about amorphous concepts and rhetoric,
the wavy distortions of my body,
the undulations of my skin,
the black vignette of my vision.
i am gulliver in lilliput,
enormous comparative to my surroundings;
the world is tailored to fit my body,
but nothing else.

i am dissociated,
i am a sliver of the moon
untethered-

at best, i am a petal in t
the destruction of destructioni leave
toenail clippings
bobby pins
&empty watter bottles
on your floor
in case you decide to forget me.

this is just our dynamic
this is just how our relationship works.
i read you chapters of the
silliest,
strangest book i know
&you have me create
voices for each character.
i am most comfortable as the narrator,
plain &unassuming,
but you like my crazier caricatures best.

it reminds me of how you like
the stranger ways my mind works,
&how you will pry sharp things
from my clawed fingers
&show up late for work
just to make sure i eat;

the hateful frustration i feel
when my body yearns for its
self destruction
only to be thwarted by somet
charlestownthere are days where everything-
every ladder,
every sister,
every river-
reminds me of charlestown

i jump to correct those
who are talking about south carolina
when i remember they're talking
of charleston,
but i can't flush out the feeling
that they're wrong,
or when there are no dropped r's
hitting the floor beneath them

there are days that nothing
but green eyes or gapped teeth
hold interest for me,
and nights where i feel myself
break
down
and i dream of you,
just you,
and you stand before me
in your newly-shaven hair
and dark-framed glasses,
and i can only feel
the most overwhelming sense
of completion.

it is nights like those
that t
things i don't know about you that bother me thati wonder what it's like
to fall asleep beside you
in a post coital haze,
and to wake in the morning
to run to class.
do you wake me,
do you kiss my forehead,
do we make love again-
i don't know,
not yet.

and do you wet your toothbrush
before applying toothpaste,
oh,
tell me you don't leave the sink running,
it must get awfully tired.

and what do you dream of
when i lie next to you,
blissfully more than just a body;
what will you dream of
a year from now?
please tell me i can fit into
your big picture
as easily as i can fit into
your arms,
eternally.
how to stagnatethe best way to stay
miserable is to hate
everything new.
listen honey, here comes your mani hear your gaslight anthem
playing in my head
on repeat
on repeat
for the first time in months.

my stomach is knitting itself
a raw sweater,
pink and greying flesh
from the sickness of worry.

i made the mistake
of playing it back to you.

you tell me you miss me,
you love me,
these songs in your vernacular
writing your thoughts,
but the thoughts are not yours.

it was well intentioned
but too far gone,
the thought has trailed
its way along lines
of train tracks-
i cannot think of you
unless you come back
home.
breathe deepbreathe deep.

breathe it shallowly if you need to,
if filling your lungs to bursting
is too much,
too soon;

but breathe the depth-

of ocean,
of history,
of tree roots
and ethnic roots
and the roots planted by love.

breathe deep
and the orgiastic fullness
it gives the empty shell
you try so hard to stuff
but nothing sticks;

breathe deep
because deep is star-soaked
with constellations,
desperate with creeping beauty
like attar and trellis
and the june moon.

this is how you keep her.
this is how you say,
this is our permanent address.
this is how you say i love you
with something more than words.
materialism .collabjohn's bed was crooked against the wall, with enough space between the two for his pillow to slip down every night. it is never made but usually empty, much like the rest of the room. his wallet was full of condoms, the box in the slightly opened nightstand drawer with two strays within. john's socks were paired up neatly in his dresser, and he had no closet. a baseball bat was stretched across the threadbare rug in such a way that it would trip someone unfamiliar with the layout. like a robber. things you will never find there are his iphone, ipod, and his grandfather's pocket watch from when he was in the world war.

evelyn paints a small c
leonardwoodi had missed you before i'd met you;
i am missing you before you've left
&today you are gone.

there is nothing,
no drink nor organic acid nor chemical high
to dim the lights on the epilleptic flashes
of love i can't let go,

the panic i blindly follow
as your airplanes leave from boston
&chicago and turn from wings to wheels
as a bus takes you three hours further
to a war zone in missouri.

you told me you loved me
as you vanish for nine months
of the next year.
you promise letters to make up
for the fear you impressed upon us,
love i never let leave,
an empty room i could never stay;
you promised me words
&a heart a thousand miles west
&hop
lovedrunkshe looks at me, all big doe eyes and cupid-bow lips, tells me, now i'm not trying to say i'm about to kill myself, but i'm about to kill myself.

the traffic light is glass.  not that it's reflective, not that it's bright, but that it's so slow, a liquid, moving like a year.  it's also what my blood has become with these words.

we're in my car but i'm scared.  i know i'm the one behind the wheel, but i don't know what she's got in her purse.  i don't know her name but i do know she's drunk.  so am i.  i know we shouldn't be driving but i couldn't leave such sad eyes at a bar.  i guess, if i'm being entirely honest, i also couldn't leave suc
go to sleep for the love of godi kind of feel like ripping my face off.

look-
it's not one of those sad, suicidal stories.  i mean, if i believed in suicide in the way that means i could do it, then yeah, it would be.  but i don't, and i guess you're kind of lucky for that because now you can go to sleep with a clear conscience.

i won't ever tell you about how many pages and books and scraps of paper and unsent text messages and notes on the backs of my hands i've written for you, or how inarticulate you were when you wanted to say how you felt.  i won't ever tell you how i wished for a few words that could tell me that i was loved, even a little, and i sure as fuck won
100 theme challenge001. morals
there is nothing wrong with leaving behind politeness for happiness and we could all do to remember.

002. parade
the aches in my skin parade within my bones like a sin.

003. prayers
i say your name over and over like it is a prayer to keep my head above water.

004. clear skies
just because things are cloudy doesn't mean there's no sun behind them.

005. happy birthday
i give you a feminine loofa, funny boxers, and your favourite candy- i want this to show you i love you even though i'm broke.

006. apples
my white flesh browns under my thin skin- i am rotting to my core.

007. letters
hours of letters written and phone calls si
schadenfreudei found love
in your bone structure,
troublingly beautiful
with your soul worn across your lips.

you remind me of the sunshine
i lost in the circles
i left behind
to find someone an ocean
less far.

instead,
i am here,
watching the birds take flight
from the edges of your mouth,
watching their wings curl
with every word
strained with an accent
owned by my ancestors
born on ships.

i want you to tell me again
about the times
you found a purity in his eyes,
the blank skin upon which
they were set like jewels
and those when
you grinned cheekily
when i told you how
terribly beautiful
you really were.

i find myself wis
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there is no love
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this is where i write my life story,

red fingers, blue thumbs
my eyes are on you still.

i am missing something
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the paper ships will not set
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invidia.lover
legs like stems
arms like thread
you are all but gone to me.

you sneaked your way
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jaw heavy with bone
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your limbs, branches
trees in their bark
weak and thin as water.

my stomach was nausea and invidia
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you were the heart's hardest ache,
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i fell in the arms of your brother,
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adulthood

:iconohsostarryeyed:

when you interact with other grown-ups,
there are things you need to remember.
i am learning the fine art of Adult Small Talk-
banter for banter's sake and smiles and short, impersonal anecdotes
because you can't risk letting anyone in,
god forbid someone actually gets close.
you keep your friends in your stomach and swallow them at night to keep them close
and put your cheery face on for medical professionals even when your throat is too swollen
to drink down those friends.
those friends, you know they'll never let you down.

you see your human companions on lunch breaks and weekend days.
at night, young adults have sex and fall asleep together;
at night, older adults complain of headaches and sleep on opposite sides of the bed.
your human friends don't make you feel as good
as your other friends make you feel.
they ask about your life and how you're doing,
ask if you're still in therapy and if you're eating,
and god forbid you let them in.
they're your human friends but they don't get you like misters daniels and jameson.

i hear this is what growing up is.

there is a shift in the places you find joy.
you smile primly at a job promotion,
the purchase of a new handle to last you half the week,
and when your bills are all paid.

when you are no longer a child,
you shouldn't wear green leggings and power rangers sweatshirts.
i broke that rule yesterday and i felt happy for the first time in months.

898

84 29 16
:iconohsostarryeyed:

adulthoodby *ohsostarryeyed

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i own that outfit. i like it. thank you, f21.
©2013 *ohsostarryeyed
Category: Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Urban & Spoken Word

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February 27
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:iconmcguire613:
~McGuire613 Apr 16, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
"misters daniels and jameson" :)
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Apr 17, 2013
<3
Reply
:iconv-espertine:
~v-espertine Feb 28, 2013
always respect a woman in a power rangers sweatshirt.
keep being you, love. you are really cool <3
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Mar 6, 2013
i feel like a champ when i wear it. thank you!!
Reply
:icondamagedhomewrecker:
~DamagedHomewrecker Feb 28, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
i absolutely loveeeeeeeeeeeee that last stanza. its such a refreshing burst of breath. i love it. its just ever so hopeful.
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Mar 6, 2013
:] thank you so very much!!
Reply
:iconbmwysp:
~BMWYSP Feb 28, 2013  Professional Writer
I would wear it..
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Feb 28, 2013
i'm wearing the sweatshirt right now :]
Reply
:iconbmwysp:
~BMWYSP Mar 1, 2013  Professional Writer
-High fives- AWESOMESAUCE!
Reply
:iconstravincy:
~Stravincy Feb 28, 2013
I barely read anything on DA, but this caught my eye and it was a great read! :)
Reply
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