[x]

you arei want a city ruined
every time you love me.
i want to show how loudly i shake,
enough to break
faults and how it will never be yours,
and bring down skylines
when you aren't here.

there are seven weeks until my blood runs blank,
but it is so full tonight
it could drown a man.
i hope it drowns you,
the way it carries the only beautiful thing about me
to you;
my heart, my love.

it's time you pull together
your telephone wires and breathe stars
back into my body-
it was so dark without you.
there was no moon,
just the kind of black
you know could be no emptier.

i am effulgent again
with the ways i've needed to feel,
i am

a letter to ethanyou're fifteen minutes away.

that's a quarter of an hour, that's ten miles, that's space enough that i never have to see you again.

but still i feel my heart beating like a rabbit's foot against my rib.

look.

i'm a girl still in denial
of being a woman with
breasts and hips and a womb.
i'm a child with my heart and i will surrender it foolishly
to the first boy to give me roses and push them into my hair.
i don't know how to love,
the way i don't know how how to stop.

but let me tell you this- it happens.
they both do.

i loved your fragile brown eyes like i'd never seen a warmer fire.
i sank my bones like an anchor to

100 sunday crosswordsthis is a story of broken pieces
letting go feature by feature;
shattered pieces, ice rain,
and something blacker than sadness
turning from snowfall to knives
and the scarlet ground that follows.

this is about knowing when to stop
but never knowing the time.

because fingers snap louder in the cold,
they shiver and shake, shiver and shake
until the tremours turn to bone
and you feel it when they break.
a century's warning isn't enough to prepare for an earthquake;
a thousand years is still a blink when the last sinews
split.

there is nothing welcome about the open air
and how it bites your exposed skin,
its teeth sharpen and g

between two months is two shorti like to think of you.
sometimes you are a butterfly,
wings stretched back
in long arcs,
bones breaking into flight
behind your protruding chest-
you are beautiful.

i find myself sinking
into the irish kills in your eyes,
the gaps in your smile.
i touch the cauterised cuts
sealed by metal and fire
on the backs of your swollen knuckles
and kiss your crooked lips.

in two months you will leave.
in the wake of st. valentine's sacrifice,
i will send my heart to war with you.
look beneath your pillow
and find it there;
look in the space between your walls
and there it will be;
look within your chest, beside your own heart
and

toy soldiers.there are few feelings
more southerly,
bitter and sour,
nerve endings, spray,
than the skin
tearing itself from your lips
because it knows
what it has once touched.

the left-behinds,
the never-weres
are strawberry-burnt
and sadder than the loneliest moon,
sinking for years
over the missouri banks,
the virginia hills-

i lost the sun to you.
you have promised to turn me into
the lone pair of
baby shoes slung about a telephone wire,
high and forgotten
and never loved;
promised a life full of wear,
fully effulgent and sweet laughter,
and instead hung limply
as a plaything for the wind currents.

i'm still a stranger in my

a thorough submissioni have found my heart-
it has put itself into this.
my hesitations are little more
than bad habits,
filed somewhere between
biting my nails and always saying i'm sorry.

the expectation of the winds
blowing softer til they ceased
ended with your mouth on mine;
the nerves fraying from fear
have been tended to with needle and thread;
and the water i so wiklfully wouldn't touch
feels warmer as it inches
like your hands
up my ankles to my bare knees.

i have found my heart-
it has put itself into this.
my stomach turns the ocean calm
when i think of the messes i'll make,
and the sewing you will stitch.
and i'm terrified
like ni

christmas doesn't have to be lonelythis is the first christmas
i have not spent alone;
when i have had arms,
sand-specked like the beach
and as encompassing as it is
to my body (of water, my ocean),
waiting to hold me
and steady my waves

there will come a day
that i am so fully loved
that the effulgence mimics and empty room
until entered,
and the engulfing fire
exudes the warmth missed
in the winter snow
in which i am kissed

this is the year
that my endless yuletide wishes
have been made.
this is the year i am christmas lights,
glowing,
warm
and loved
(again and again and again)

it's an analogy for you.your sweatshirt became ghost to me.

the first poem i wrote since i told you i love youthe star-soaked stains
that covered our nudity
gives way at last
to a tequila sunrise,
so low in the sky;

it's still bright enough
to sting my eyes,
and yet i can't bring myself
to hate it.

your body next to mine,
every effort is made
to move a heavy limb
closer
because any space
we have
is space i don't want.

i am sometimes humbled
by my feelings,
the way they swell
in my throat
just how the ocean
tastes the shore.

there is always something new
to find hidden in my heart,
summoned by my words,
or the salt of your skin
wearing like wind on shale
against mine.

i don't think i can ever tell you
i love you enough.

i

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

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

sandstormthere is sand in my teeth
from days i don't remember;
hot-sun deserts singeing
the hairs on the back of my neck,
feet back from burns:

i know what it's like
playing with fire.
i know how to perch
like birds on my thin toes
along a wire,
i know the electricity
coursing through the rubber,
a centimetre from death:
i have yet to fall.

precarious placements
on precarious precipices,
i am wondering if my wings still work,
or if i've purged them out;
if they've atrophied from my back,
or filled with bile.

the sand shifts
and i am looking at bone.
a skeleton, full and articulate.
the desert has charred him black;
his skin has

an open letter to a rekindled relationshipwe 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.

preemptive breakup poemif anyone ever tells you your sadness isn't physical,
show them the ache in your bones,
the raw skin on your arms or wrists or hips or thighs,
the imprint of your foetal body on your mattress from the days you couldn't bear to leave.

and you see this?
this is what hurt looks like.
i want you to look closer, lean in a little until you can feel the sadness on my breath
and i want you to watch my eyes. count how often they blink and count how many of them are forcing back words i still can never say.
i don't want you to miss a second of how you make me feel.

i want to be what keeps you up at night
i want to be the reason you can't eat

something i should've written a year agoare you happy?
you hear that, but you don't actually ask yourself if you're happy.
you assume you are,
you expect yourself to be, you should be,
it's not important enough to think about-
because what if you aren't?

it's last summer again.
you've locked yourself out of your car
and we're sitting with our knees crossed
on the pavement in front of kate's house.
somewhere, you can hear fireworks,
but you know they're illegal because the town is too broke
to put on a show this year.
you know no one minded.

look at me now-
what if you're miserable?

july cruises in like a convertible or some equally hot shit.
standing by the sea

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 818 bytes more ▶

More from *ohsostarryeyed

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

five down .collablove, tell me -
tell me i see the future and you
will wind up well alone;
i don't want you with anyone,
especially me.

i pull your air into my lungs,
an influenza in every syllable of
breath. and i am a cluster of hills
across your face, the reason you
said you didn't believe in
wearing sandals in july.

i keep track of time
in terms of crossword puzzles,
sundays especially difficult
because i used to pray like god listened
to my repents and hopes then.
you would take my unfinished columns
and fill them in with a different pen colour
and that was how i knew things were
wrong.

and there was never any bitterness
to it either, the passing hand

vasha ptichkai want you to read me stories,
the very same ones
as i wrap you into,
catch you in their bindings
and smell you,
clean and summer,
inside the pages.

standing in your shower,
i wear the bodywash
that is a signature of yours,
foreign on my skin.
sometimes you are there with me,
and we are children again
as we splash water
on one another's naked bodies.

i am turning you into
a bigger reader,
a braver hero,
a stronger soul;

you tell me that
you put your phone down
and buckle your seatbelt
when you get behind the wheel
because you imagine my face
if you told me you didn't.

i want to be something new for you.
a better lover,
a happier smile,
th

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.

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

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: December 27, 2012
File Size: 818 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 7
Favourites: 30 [who?]
Views: 364 (0 today)
Downloads: 1 (0 today)

[x]

life without you

by *ohsostarryeyed, Dec 27, 2012, 12:27:36 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

i watched you,
bone-handled
battered and floral
suitcase in hand,
as your knotted tree-branch fingers
grip the doorhandle.

i watched you
disappear
before the door swung
shut.
i saw your thin skin
slip between pavement
and cracks in the concrete
city walls.
your keys sunk through
the hole in your pocket
and are sitting at the
side of the sink,
your lunch in the bowels
of the toilet.

i watched your mouth
of broken teeth
spit vitriol soundlessly,
your tendons splitting
from your frame,
you have unravelled into nothing,
i watched you
pack your things and
i smiled.

life without youby *ohsostarryeyed

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2012-2013 *ohsostarryeyed

written in treatment, about a person, a loved one, a murderer

!justawhore May 10, 2013 New member

let's see how you smile when its my turn

you wont be such a sarcastic,loud mouth, nigger sucking cunt when we are together. This makes my life wortwhile. Nothing will give me more satisfaction. Please say something nasty. I want to hurt someone else close to you and tell them it was because you couldnt keep your blue toothed mouth shut. My homies are so looking forward to it. I got them all excited with your pictures(ok-it was the 7 year old ones)

Reply

~pengirl100and2 Jan 4, 2013 Writer

see ya.

You write the person as being broken, as someone deserving to be broken. It sounds vengeful but not cruel, if that makes any sense.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Jan 6, 2013

i think that explains my relationship with my eating disorder pretty well, actually. i have a lot to be angry for, but like as i'm yelling at it to leave its keys on the counter and not come back, i tell it good luck and i hope it finds happiness anyway. it's a weird thing

Reply

*IAmPoetry Dec 30, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This is great, all of it.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Jan 13, 2013

thank you!

Reply

~LasAlasDelAlma Dec 28, 2012

love love love this.

I MISS YOU.
you've been gone from here, and also kind of from tumblr.
i miss you and 'get well soon' is the wrong thing to say, but i don't know what else to say, because i just miss you and your pretty face and THE END.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Jan 28, 2013

I MISS YOU <333333

Reply

Previous
Next