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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
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
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
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
spoiled little girli have turned my body
into a void
so that i can love
with it
instead of my heart.
i feel nothing
so i feel nothing
for you,
but your skin has not
met mine
in a week
and it has me
worried.

this one
loves completely vanilla,
though there once were poems
of red clay and sun;
this one
kisses with no ridges
and i cannot seem to
find a way to stay captivated;
this one
touches when i cannot remember,
so i run
when i see the silhouette of his face,
giving flashes
like nightlights or fireflies
of a dark room
i seem to have almost
forgotten.

i think you have spoiled me terribly
because i feel nothing
worth feeling
and k
if people didn't filter their emotions and justthrowing yourself on
floors doesn't fix anything,
but it sure seems to.
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
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.
playing godi 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.
in lieu of emptinessi have theories spinning webs
in the corners of my head
about the tricks,
the smoke
mirror
and light
with which i play to make myself
into something less clear,
a less recognisable wolf
in a girl's clothing.

the reflections i make
as i look in the still sea
are impertinent;
the moon sweeps across the surface
and shines something brighter
and i feel softer,
smoother.

instead of sleepwalking,
i am awake.
sometimes a nerve impulse
skips from skin to skin
until our mouths become
lost in wide apertures,
and sheets become rivers.

at this moment my arms unfurl
like vines, hands like leaves
and i open, a midnight blossom,
leaving the sickness and
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
cumbersomei cannot say what i need to say,

there are many, many things we cannot talk about:

the military, its ploys,

its gunmetal toys;

the way a gap in the teeth

draws a crinkle like cellophane

to a face once filled

with green eyes and irish love;

the r's thrown deep into

the charles,

the dirty water in which

boys with lesser sense

might find themselves;

the greenery and celtic landscape;

and you,

entirely you,

you in full-

i cannot talk about you

because i miss you so much my heartache has a heartache

like acid reflux burning my body

and it is just so unbearably sad

to know

that none of this can be fixed

because in less than a
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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More from *ohsostarryeyed

frustrateevery time you say my name,
i hear 'i love you' in its place.
the insistence on apathy,
the determination to stay neutral,
is a constant stutter.
i want you to allow yourself
to want me,
to tell me what it feels like,
to know what i am.

i have nothing holding me back
but two arms like thin vines
grown on another girl.
she is why i am afraid
to love you
at all.
the day you flooded the worldyou left the shower running the day you left me.  
it flooded the bathroom, creating rivers
from the basin to the ocean of
our -- my --
bedroom floor.

i don't know what to do to make you stay, i said.
maybe because there isn't
anything.

i looked like a ghost, like how there's
always one or two sweatshirts
left underneath the bleachers
somebody forgot and that's who they are.
that is who i've become.

i hated this part.

the part where you
pressed your palm against my cheek
and cupped your fingers around my chin
so i had to look at you.

the part where i would still
remember this in fifteen months,
the w
sleep.my own bones are making me sad.

collarbones shouldn't show like this.

i shouldn't be this dizzy.

i will go to bed,
and wish that you called.
writing and other ironiesyou used to not be able to write on paper, only on things that don't exist. you used to feel your mind, deluging with thoughts and strings of pretty words and pretty worlds, urging your hands to write down the magic within, but the second you touched a pen, the blank paper was all the ideas you had. you used to bask in the loveliness of writing, feeling the catharsis, feeling beautiful for a moment of time.

you don't anymore.

today you've gone to write poetry seven times, and have come up blank. the instant you hold a pen, there is flooding words, gushing words, pain and blood and beauty and more blood. that is what your paper has become si
when bursting is imminenti feel like ten thousand stars,
fires in small jars
and a glass ready to break.

please, find me the ashes of what i could have been,
show me the moon and her disciples,
and prove to me that i am not fucking alone.
i take off my ring,
like that will soothe the panic,
like the silence and screaming chatter will quiet
just for a single breath;
just a pause in my heartbeat;
just enough to slow the anxiety.

my face is an ember,
still singing and loud and pervasive and shrill,
redder than arizona soil under the july sun.
i am hot as i shiver,
i am flooded with grief
and uneasiness
and reluctance to move from catato

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[x]

preemptive breakup poem

:iconohsostarryeyed:

if 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
or sleep
or laugh at your favourite tv programs
i want to be the reason
you walk with your eyes on the pavement
because too many things
remind you of me
i want you to feel the soreness of a heart unloved
loudly enough that the beating is mute and slow
loudly enough that you keep your hands in your pockets
when you move through the city so you don't touch anyone by accident
because right now a touch would be a touch too much.

what i want is for you, to be here,
tonight, two rows back.
i want you far enough so you can't touch me
and you won't feel it when my tears hit the ground but
i want you to see it all and i want to watch you take it in.

instead of me, the worm, the perpetual squirm,
the body beneath yours in warmth and rapture and fullness,
i want to see you watch me empty myself and see as nothing and nothing and nothing comes up in heaves.
i want to watch your eyes the whole time and never look down
because i don't want to miss a minute of this, i want you to see with clear eyes
what you've done and i want to see that you mean it when i say
you're sorry.
:iconohsostarryeyed:
we both feel it happening but i don't want it to
this is the hurt from last time and the hurt i'm feeling now
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:iconlynnisflying:
~LynnIsFlying 5 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Oh I can so much relate to this! :(
True story? Have you broken up by now? I hope so ...
Reply
:iconinsomniatic-poet:
~Insomniatic-poet May 22, 2013
Really good, I can feel the emotion
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed May 26, 2013
thank you!
Reply
:iconwednesday8996:
~wednesday8996 May 22, 2013
especially the line "I want to see you watch me empty myself and see and nothing and nothing and nothing somes up in heaves."
that whole stanza, actually. so touching and raw.

I've been having panic attacks every morning over my break up, and I've been dry heaving like that every. morning. for three weeks. it's terrible, but it's so nice to know I'm not the only one.
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed May 26, 2013
ugh, i'm so sorry, that is so miserable. hugs to you! i hope you're feeling better.
Reply
:iconwednesday8996:
Mood: Love ~wednesday8996 May 22, 2013
This is beautiful, and I really relate to it.

Thanks for writing something so personal. You have great skill and I absolutely love this.
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed May 26, 2013
thank you, love :heart:
Reply
:iconbmwysp:
~BMWYSP Feb 26, 2013  Professional Writer
Beautifully heart rending.
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Feb 28, 2013
thank you <3
Reply
:iconbmwysp:
~BMWYSP Feb 28, 2013  Professional Writer
You are welcome. :)
Reply
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