[x]

revelations in the mudi only want to fall in love
if someone is there
to fall with me.

i want to jump from high places
and pretend i'm flying,
i'm a bird, i'm light enough at-fucking-last
for the air to catch me,
and the harsh grounds beneath me?
can't touch this.

but i'm earthbound
and parachutes will not work
if you do not open them,
and i am just so sick
of feeling like maybe,
becoming an abstract painting
on the rocks below, would be enough...

but there is something beating in my chest.
i'm very afraid of what it is.

and i don't know a lot,
like the size of the universe.
or why you sought solace in the south.
or how i came to be in this cr

the vomiting crowd of coney islandthe destructive walls are shaded
in grey and i am remembering
every feeling i have forgotten-

i am terrified.

this is a city that never sleeps,
the bones of my chest thrumming
like taxi cabs in the streets,
my fingers shaking
in want for comfort and solace
and love.

i am not standing
in lorca's vomiting crowd-
i am his vomiting crowd,
looking high and low
and between my clenched fists
for catharsis and purification,
for the reason of this illness
pressed against my skin,
for the indefinable sickness
i drown in like bubbles of spit
day in and day out.

i fear the restraints
i've placed for myself,
that they may not be the

write what hurtsi'm here to tell you
about fire and living
& how both burn even if you ignore them

it's not about what feels good
it's about what doesn't
cornering what hurts
and exposing it
really displaying it
pedestal on high
for what it is
and not what it pretends to be

you are not living
until you hurt
you can't be alive
if all you know is comfort

comfort is only a sign
that you are doing what you know
it is admittance of limitation
because you are human
and only know so much
and it's agonising to think
that you can be comfortable with that
and not want to reach out
and touch every thing you find
and read every book you see
an

why jk rowling embodies depression as dementorsi wanted to talk to you about happiness
but i don't think anyone in this room is qualified to talk about something
they probably don't know much about, and
how it spends most of its time
seeping out of your skin in whatever ways it can
because maybe your body is too toxic for it.

that's when you start having your moment.

the moment when you're not sure
how to be alive,
when strings become nooses
in the stars of your eyes,
thin objects mock your bones
and the instruments of your heart
act like knives thirsting for blood.

pavement shatters underfoot.
the cracks become teeth,
sharp and unfriendly as you pass;
they're grey, great

before georgia takes you again

my dead gay brother becomes memore and more i am becoming an invisible monster.

i can't cry without an audience
i am willing to bend and bend and bend and
break
to just get a little
love love love lovelvoe lvoelve love love love
love me
i will do anything for you if you just tell me you love me
i am a nobody
with backbreaking pains to become something beautiful
and if i can't have that
i want to be invisible
i want to be nothing
and still
oh how i wish it wasn't so
but still
as nothing as i am
i want you to love me.

barcelona is burningi owe you an apology-
you, in the crowd,
the one panicking about reading
or the mess at home
or the sheer volume of people
pressing into you like corners;

you,
the woman who birthed me into this world
through hours of agony
as though that wasn't enough
because doctor appointment after therapy appointment after residential stay after thirtieth pound lost,
i've put you through countless
sleepless nights
warped into months of agony
you never asked for;

and you, oh, mostly you.
you, because as hard as i've beaten my own heart into the wall,
and as deep as i let you bury mine,
i know, somehow, i managed to do the same to you.

yo

first weekend and realisationsyou begin to talk
because talking means that
someone else can't
&you start to realise
(as most girls do)
that you have a boyfriend

&soon
he's not just a boyfriend;
he's your boyfriend
&he's not just better than
anyone else in the world
he's better than
anything else in the world

&you would trade years off your life
to spend a little longer with him
or to see him smile when he's sad
or to feel his face in your hair
the way he does when he hugs you
&you can't feel it
because right now he's too far away

but distance is only the space between
point a and point b
between you&between me
&if you give it just a little more tim

bipolar IIa week is spent
in throes of excitability,
irritation, unstoppable words,
and ideas with wings of their own-
they soar in their preternatural flight
without a second's notice
and meander along separate currents.

sleep is an elusive,
abstract idea,
fought for so ruthlessly,
only to have it slip away,
silent,
mere hours later.

i am icarus, resin-winged in thought
and flying til my fingers can
almost
brush the sun.

i am icarus, resin-winged in thought
and watching my feathers drop
until my body
is subject once more
to the relentless rules of gravity.

hitting the dirt
hurts more every time-
physics has no mercy for bruise

how not pretending anymore is a blessingi won't pretend to anyone that i'm not scared. here i am, standing before god-knows-how-many-people, telling them things i don't have the heart to even tell my mother. especially things i don't have the heart to tell my mother.
i could never tell her how many times i've looked at the stars and used them to hold onto my wishes on paper strings, make them hold onto my wishes and me, mostly me, like a marionette
until the sky faded from black to blue, just like the bruises i put on my skin. sometimes a girl doesn't know how to cope, and that's why those paper strings, those thin, angry lines hanging from the heavens,
found their ways to my ar

virgin culturethere's a little more to love than lust
and a little more to a person than a label.
you can try to sum me up in five words or less and you'll find those words,
but you won't be able to reduce me to them.
you can't turn me into something that can be thrust,
curse-like,
down the grapevine
when there's something more to me than the colour of my eyes or the size of my chest.

and that's something we could all do with remembering.
but this is the culture we were born into.
where the length of your hair is more important than the sincerity of your words,
and nothing matters as much as the kardashians' latest scandal or talking some hot c

on casting hope asidethe very ground we stand on is unseen. i know very little, but i know that your eyes are green, and that it never fails to strike me like a blow of lightning each time i find them so close to mine.

your father is a carpenter and your mother cuts hair. you are on your way to becoming a neuroscientist and have a fascination with shoulder musculature. you live further away from me than i deem comfortable, and you have two brothers, one of whom is an exact replica of you, five years in the past. i find this endearing but because you knew i would, i refuse to tell you.

i also will not tell you how hard it is for me to fall for someone as eas

the most terrifying thing in the worldnever knowing.

personificationi am a whisper no one else can hear.
yes, your butt looks huge,
yes, he will leave you
if you tell him how you really feel,
and no, you are never enough.

just because only you can hear me,
it doesn't mean i am any less real.
i will tint everything you see
like a pair of cheap sunglasses
with one lens opaque
so that you cannot see anything clearly
and your perception is skewed.

i am in the pilot's seat
and you will be mine
the second you let your guard down.

your heartstrings will connect my piano strings
as i hammer them down and knot with pain;
i will break you to your knees
and hit them to the pavement
like a child in the

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

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what are tearsit is monday and i am trembling
in sadness and hunger and reminiscence
and longing.
the moon is not out and the air is too cold.

it is here the line between you and him is blurred.
every hour you spend silent is another word from my pen,
pressed onto paper and equally of the cancerous loss of my
heart, and the uncomfortable absence of its stitches.

this is when i feel the ground fall from beneath my feet.
this is when i forget if i am looking (you) up or down,
if i am in love or in hate.

this is when i need you most, a solid set of arms
to steady myself as i am wrapped inside,
a body with a hot heart burning behind soft skin.

i

what made you so scared?i am selfish.

i want to see
no one touch you

i want to see
no poison kiss you

i want to see
the way my knees look
when you're kissing
the back of my neck
and down my spine

there is no love
with my hands across my face.

this is where i write my life story,

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

i am missing something
crucial, and i am scared.

the paper ships will not set
sail under the blues of my bruises, but
the further you are from me
the more i believe that
i am nothing to you.

invidia.lover
legs like stems
arms like thread
you are all but gone to me.

you sneaked your way
into my slumber
jaw heavy with bone
and body impossibly slight.

your limbs, branches
trees in their bark
weak and thin as water.

my stomach was nausea and invidia
seeing just how gone you were.

you were the heart's hardest ache,
you were the silence's most miserable keeper.

i fell in the arms of your brother,
all of six years old.

he was your blood.
he was your eyes when you wouldn't see me.
he was your heart when yours fell to the wayside
and all you could think of was
new architecture,
and wearing grey trousers
and making ugly hea

survivorship curve.going to fall out of love
and drown in the river,

going to push my breath
out to the edges of the sea,

to slip through trees
and the ribbons of air

and float with the feathers
of the most beautiful birds -

you've left me so empty.

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an open letter to a rekindled relationship

by *ohsostarryeyed, Aug 6, 2012, 7:55:58 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

we have travelled thousands of miles;
we have felt spite and fear for diminished feelings;
we have played this game for far too long.

last night we missed hearing others' poetry
to make our own.
i was not afraid of skin,
and you were not afraid to feel.
we were born with instinct for a reason:
follow it.

realising what you want is half the battle.
my other half is hesitation-
my other half is you.

i still swell with emotions my therapist
can't help me label
when i remember how you said
you weren't over me.
and how we joined again,
with an interim year,
and a new understanding of emotion
adding to and balancing the physical.

last night i put my skin in your hands;
i gave it with trust.
i left my nerves in my clothes and i shed them,
serpentine,
on the floor,
and spent time with initiation and impulse.

the bruises on my throat a result of passions,
i smile as i shield them from familial eyes.
the weight of a year has opened my bones
with lightness,
and a heart that is ready to
love you
again.

an open letter to a rekindled relationshipby *ohsostarryeyed

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2012-2013 *ohsostarryeyed

written on the worst car ride to blacksburg, VA

also drove back a few days later
sucks

~ChloroformBoy Aug 17, 2012

the fifth stanza is, you know, pretty >:l

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Aug 23, 2012

well, you know, thanks >:l

Reply

~Angelalala923 Aug 7, 2012 Student Interface Designer

"we were born with instinct for a reason:
follow it."

effing love that (:

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Aug 23, 2012

:] thank you!

Reply

~whoobie Aug 7, 2012

Like like like!!! Oh gosh it's just so intense and lovely. Thank you for sharing this

I am happy for you!

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Aug 23, 2012

aw, thank YOU!

Reply

~QuenWrites Aug 7, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Beautiful as usual

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Aug 23, 2012

thank you :]

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