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romanticism is such bullshiti don't understand a bit
what's so romantic
about missing-you and distance,
love stressed and strained like string
across miles of roping rivers;

it's ugly and sad
and there is no cure
because i will not wait by the letterbox
praying daily on my knees to a god i know i believe in but i'm not sure you do
to hear word from you-
that you're well;
that you're happy;
that you're eating and sleeping and feeling alive;

that's what i want, you know-
i want your vitality to blaze like the great chicago fire,
i want to see your scrawl emboldened with each word
i want to see you concretely on your feet
and certain of where you are going
without a ser
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
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
the saturday after your birthday is where i foundbefore you there was an incessant need to be touched
but for no longer than the time it took to touch, sweat, and moan
and never by the same hands twice;
for vacancies to be filled
and to never have an empty bed when sleep finally came.

when i found you it was dark and i was drunk.
it wasn't a story built for the centuries,
but we will be the lovers whose names are remembered for the years to come,
tied and woven in song and into the bodies of trees, we will be so in love
that the angels above will cry in jealousy because in my haze,
heavy and raw and with everything burning inside me, i'm afraid i fell in love that night.

being
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
denial can only stretch so farwhen asked if i am
in love, i shall say, no. well,
maybe a little.
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
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
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
alpengloweverything hard-kept in the heart is falling onto paper.  each word so well-fought to be kept within the chest becomes a snowflake from november skies, but the winds are unseasonably warm and a fire is kindled inside each bone in place of a bitter chill.

there are ten thousand things i can never tell you.

the way that wars are fought, i wage battles among my selves to keep the quiet.  you will never hear my voice, too soft like the pillow beneath your head each time our bodies find each other, say how my breath becomes a porch swing when we touch and i sway.

i can never call you by any name, given at birth or given by heart.  you will neve
across, a crossi like the things that go unspoken
between you and me,
like the night we spent on the beach
lying cramped on a shitty, five-dollar walgreens towel
with another frayed over us,
and hearing the string
of intoxicated teenagers walk by and say,
look
they're watching the stars at night.

and no matter how much that girl,
clearly filled to her brim
with vodka as she tripped along the sand,
lacked eloquence,
she spoke something more beautiful
than a van gogh painting.

we were romance, we were god,
and i know i must believe in god
because of the feeling building in my bones
when i see those "jesus saves" signs,
black with white let
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
centre for psychological healthit is three days
until march falls again,
false promises of spring
kissing the air
until it begins again
for winter;

three hours
until i feel my heartbeat
find its way
into the oceans
my blood spills,
poetry,
across porcelain
and skin
mirroring it;

three minutes
until i shift,
unbearable,
in a crimson chair
that begs for me releasing;

three seconds
until i swallow,
a bird,
sticking bones,
and pray for a
tooth of glass,
a jaw of metal, of
sharp,
kiss me,
an instant,
the way
you
once did.
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
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
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More from *ohsostarryeyed

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
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
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.
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
before georgia takes you again
the most terrifying thing in the worldnever knowing.

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playing god

:iconohsostarryeyed:

i am the last paramedic you want to respond to your call.

by no means am i inept at my job- i am, in fact, the best in my precinct.  my problem is sometimes i think i'm god.

the people who are drains on society - the welfare collectors, the addicts, the elderly, the people who wronged me in high school or remind me of the people who wronged me in high school; the people who cost me taxes?  oops, i made a mistake.  i'm sorry, mrs. doe, but john didn't make it.  our team failed to correctly assess and promptly address his condition.  our condolences.

i have let hundreds die on my watch.  just seen the spasms stop, the light leave their eyes.  i have saved hundreds as well.  i am god and i choose who is repentant and righteous and allowed to carry one; i choose who is to be condemned to an eternity of hellfire and brimstone.  

tell me- does this make me a bad person?
:iconohsostarryeyed:
sat on my bathroom floor last night after watching too many criminal minds episodes and wrote this in one go
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:iconjustawhore:
~justawhore May 10, 2013  New member
let's see who is God. Remember, now is the time to collect. Every dick you sucked, every scumbag you fucked. I want them too.
I want to see them bleed and tell them its because of you they are going to die. Its because you knew it was my pussy, and you let them fuck you anyway. YOu knew I would never let you get away with disrespecting me, humiliating me the way you have.
They will all lost thier dicks. My present for fucking my pussy
Reply
:iconkaitforest:
*KaitForest Feb 16, 2013   Writer
the artist's comments make this
you're just beautiful and so is this
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Mar 6, 2013
you're so lovely
Reply
:icondo-they-collide:
~do-they-collide Feb 13, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
" i'm sorry, mrs. doe, but john didn't make it. our team failed to correctly assess and promptly address his condition. our condolences."
i adore thee.
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Feb 28, 2013
i adore thee mosteth!
Reply
:iconthemadhatterscup:
~TheMadHattersCup Feb 13, 2013   Writer
Do you write in your bathroom sometime too? haha thought I was the only one. I really like this piece. The mood was captured perfectly and reflected a good deal about the character. Just one thing: I was wondering if the "...allowed to carry one..." should be "allowed to carry on?" But great piece overall. It was fantastic. Good job!
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:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Feb 28, 2013
haha nope sometimes it's necessary! yeah i fucked up, dammit. i'll fix it..i hope :P
Reply
:iconmasvida:
~masvida Jan 27, 2013
Slightly amusing and sad that people think that this is your personal view

But fascinating that you manage to portray it in such a way that fools people into thinking that way.

You understand people very well don't you.
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Jan 29, 2013
haha thank you, my dear!
Reply
:iconmasvida:
~masvida Jan 30, 2013
:) absolutely
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