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if alice in wonderland was set in 2012,i might cut my hair if it didn't remind me of you,
but just like the fade from september into the pits of october,
i'm not alice, this isn't wonderland, but i am just as surrounded by things that yell,
"eat me! drink me!" and they don't say it but i know they'll all make me bigger,
sadder, fatter, too big to fit into a house, my arms my legs come shooting out,
everything i feel is just too loud-
i should be better than i am.
i should be taking the world by the shoulders, shaking back its shoulders because i am a storm, i am a force of nature and you will take notice-
but my winds are quiet. my rain is sad.
i'm too afraid to swell up in full vigor,
to take what is mine in case it's taken from me again,
i will never forget what you did- in camera flash moments, in sharp moments-
to leave me broken.
there are some cuts that never close up.
there are some things that never get spoken.
and there are some things yo
not always miserablethe last time you kissed me
was two augusts ago.
the boston harbour was bluer than
the eyes you so loved
looking back at yours when we said
i never meant goodbye.
take my lips
their feel, their taste
and press them to your own
i love you and will not
take you for granted.
i am so happy to be
in and on itself.
but time does not forget.
i remember the first time you kissed me
and how much i trembled,
my first kiss and you told me i could do better
so i melted
my face in your hand,
and let our skin stitch to the other
with the beads of excitement
that rolled down our fingers.
i know from the thick of my marrow
that the weight of your arm
(the first time)
was so immense, it should have taken
fifteen men to move it, tree-like,
to around my shoulder;
i remember the heat of your nerves
and the vibrations of mine,
getting to know one another.
(i think they fell in love, too.)
from the eyes of a loverit's easier to write about yourself
from the eyes of your lover
over the beauty of eyes that turn into the golden hour
or smile lines you hope mean many more to come.
it's easier to let yourself be loved
when someone tells you, no, shows you
everyday with every breath they take every second
that you are born from immaculate conception,
borne from the ashes of something that needed to shed its skin
to let the love come in.
i guess it's not too much of a secret
that i'm not easy to love-
wires stick to my skin
and i bury them back in-
but god, when i let him in-
god, i know i've done something right.
he makes me feel less alone
when i don't want to breathe;
every cup of tea he brings me
has just the right amount of sweetness
without having a grain of sugar;
he kisses my cheek
and the butterflies in my belly
like i've never been kissed in my life.
i hope you find love
that makes being who you are
a little bit easier,
i hope you find love
that gives you hope
that you m
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 such a beautiful body at a bar, either. especially if some guy with worse intentions than i couldn't pass her up.
talk to me, i say. i don't glance up from the road because i'm scared of what i'll see, and what i won't.
you're not my fucking therapist, she tells me. i know she's wearing red lipstick and i imagine it turns to venom with those words.
for those who want to be in loveyou want to fall in love
hard enough to break your bones and
lighten your feet
lighten your heart
so softly that the butterflies you feel
pattering with their gossamer wings
beneath the cage of your ribs
and the breath,
blue in the summer,
can kiss you and the monarchs
as sweetly as your love
and her lips.
you dream of them at night.
silken like clean bedsheets,
familiar as your favourite chair
when you curl up with
a mug of herbal tea.
you feel at home
with her body curled in yours,
only able to sleep
with her skin under your fingers
scenting the blankets
with something no perfume
could ever mirror.
you write love letters
you dream emptily
unless she is there.
you want to fall in love
the way the gods drink ambrosia,
you want to treat her
better than their nectar,
sweeter than honeybees
and their summer-sticky feet.
you want a love beyond poetry,
from winter flurries
to springtime rosebuds
to summer sweet lemonade
to autumnal red leaves u
i swear-i am sad from wanting
but not from wanting you.
the winters worn away
and with the snow melted the brokenness
we were and i am not sorry for it.
i've stopped cussing beneath my breath,
been wearing more black
and if you so much as
cross the threshold
of my house
this isn't about you.
this is about the way you still manage
to pull at my heartstrings strung
across countries and continents,
the length of the world,
my soul tangled
how your hand still manages
to wrap around mine and i hear your voice,
thick with culture,
the stereotype supreme of irish catholic,
murmuring in my ear that it's all
right while you move my fingers
into my throat-
this is about how-
no matter how far you move (away)-
you will keep your grasp tight on me
and crush me if you can
just so you don't
upon finding your first boyfriend on facebookyou've changed your glasses
and have more hair than i know what to do with,
but you're down a genuine smile and all the photos
we took together.
i would rather see light in your eyes
and a prettier girl on your arm
than see that i hurt you,
bird with wounded wing.
nine long months before it healed,
broken to the marrow i bled you out, you touched no one, you loved no one
because i broke you down to the heart;
i wish you'd cut me down instead of
cut me out.
beautyif you watch what i photograph
to know what i fear losing,
see that i am terrified
to live with no beauty.
my pulse slows at the bend of a body
and the light between limbs;
the curve of a stem
and shallow lines of living.
to embody that
is a dream just beyond reach
of another dream.
my heart picks up double time
and my eyes turn window-wide
when it becomes real
that my slender shapes,
my delicate bones,
have tucked themselves
into the bed of my skin.
i feel the shame
burrow beneath my heart.
i swallow mouthfuls
of something that tastes
my reflection skirts away from my eyes,
until it is caught and there it is held.
to look away i need to feel
my camera cradled in the basket of my hands,
white like wicker and smooth,
i play with light until it laughs;
my shutter shudders as it
when breath breathes itself
and everything turns airy,
i am buoyant.
you call me an angelyou call me an angel
in spite of the bruises left on the fronts of my knees
stains of sin left on my skin;
the knots in my back,
you liken to the wings soon to burst from my shoulders
&tell me you can feel no sadness
when looking at my face-
eyes you analyse
into paints of the colour wheel,
several shades i have yet to see;
despite its crooked nature
thinning enamel from my sickness-
you still find me amongst the heavens.
as this once,
i kissed you to shut you up.
my skin is removing itself after my clothes
in the winter,
too unlike the white night of russian summers.
i kissed you &it was wet because i was crying
&every time our lips parted
another sob stuttered its way through the gap.
you heard what words i couldn't swallow,
the ones straining to pass over my tongue
yet drowned upon existence.
you listen to me until i lose my headstrong aim
to starve back to bones,
to see the angel wings i've lost in my skin
you touch &feel are there;
NaPoWriMo: Day 2sometimes,
i have this
sudden urge to cut
most of the time,
i just wish I were anything
other than me.
a rocket ship, a bird-
the sweet flavored smoke
I promised my girlfriend
these briar patch lungs
would not in.hale.
i have fallen in love
with the strangest of things-
eyes that intimidate
the way my scars
play hide and seek
with her hands. -
the love letters
that start and end
pressed against limbs.
i make promises
i know i can not keep.
but if i were a liar
i would say i was tired
of writing to the stars.
beauty is a state of mindforgiveness is the
scent the violet leaves
on the foot that stomped it;
I am beautiful in remembrance:
I am beautiful
in a body two sizes too
large, in eyes dilated
with questions (eyes
you cannot name; gray
like the ocean, blue
like the heart, green like
the fever dream I cannot
wake from) I am the
hair of a lion, a wild
thing, ignition upon
tempted glance. I am the skin
you cannot name, always fleeting;
you always see
but never truly take in.
and I know a boy
carved of ivory silence,
We Traded Our Hearts for StarsFor every boy I ever kissed,
the trembling of her lips matches yours.
(Poet, breathe now.)
I should write this down,
the last piece I ever write about you.
You’ve been gone finding
constellations, ambitions, and things in between,
and this is me being brave,
dancing on the fire escape.
(I wore you like a bruise.)
I have been too sad to tell you.I have been too sad
to tell you that I love you
when I am tearing my hair out
and smashing my bones on the floor
to make myself whole.
And I have been too sad
to tell you that I love you
when you are keeping my hands
from pulling at my skin,
when you are holding my body down to the
safety of the floor with your arms wrapped
around my chest as though maybe they can
keep my sadness still.
But lover, I am not too sad
to write this poem backwards on
your face with my lips.
I hope that one
day you look in the mirror
and it's there, loving you
as much as I do.
hollow love poemthis
is a hollow love poem.
i am writing it
for the kisses
we might have shared
not the ones we did.
that only ever tasted
like doubt and stolen alcohol)
i am writing it
for what might have been
not this lonely togetherness,
this mutual drowning in empty ink and scar tissue.
is a hollow love poem.
i feel it twisting my tongue
and i pretend
it could have meant something.
its stillborn words echo
with the meanings they could have had.
i think i could have loved you.
i think i could have kissed poetry into the arch of your neck
your sun-stained shoulder
i think i could have tangled myself in you
the way we tangled ourselves in your bedsheets
fingers twisted together beneath the covers
in sweet uncertain certainty
i think i could have lost myself in you for a while
gone wandering with you for a while
i think we could have counted the stars behind our eyelids
like the scars traced over my forearms--
is a hollow love poem.
even this will f
not sure the scars make the pain go awayhe's not sure
what's real anymore --
flashes of light
dance behind eyelids that are
rubbed raw from sleepless
nights without waking
his bones creak
like the floorboards beneath
feet that won't
walk anymore; he's
too tired to
remember that the days
don't make the
clock turn, but
the ticking makes
his hair stand on end
the voices in his head
beat along to the drumming
of his heart
against his ribs, broken
when he wasn't looking
that's just how the
the only time the flashbacks
don't dig too deep
into his rotting cerebrum
is when his
veins are pulsing
to the sound of car traffic
and breaking glass; he
never knew the
world was colored in
ways that relate
to just one;
otherwise the words
cause the world to tilt and spin --
he can't tell
up from down anymore
but it doesn't matter
his blood's been
drowning him for months now.
the light never
bothered him the way
the shadows hiding between
changedi wish i could write
like i used to,
about stars and rain and hypothetical
but i'm not that
person anymore -
i can't write in
fixed forms with
out breaking the
i can't imagine myself
as a three year old with paper boats
and paperclip anchors.
i'm reusing old memories
and it's this cycle of
it's all the same now
and i can't go back,
but i can't go forward.
i'm locked in to writing about myself
or referring to the same person
places you areI bet all the leaves
And feathers on the ground
Turn to watch you as you pass.
I bet your ankles get get itchy outside
in the grass and I bet your
Whole body feels it when your love
Snaps in half, I bet the skin on your
Cheeks glows bright when you laugh.
There’s this lilt in your voice
Every time you say name, I
Wished you here, I wished you
Hard, but you never
and that isn’t your fault. Separated by
A continent that even God himself couldn’t
Walk and there’s something in you
That’s so long and so patient, so
Kind and so ancient- the same
Way that fire is kind when it
Burns the countryside so that
It can grow again-
I bet you yell fuck and scrunch
Your nose when you burn your hand
Or stub your toe and I bet the way you
Write poems on paper sounds beautiful,
genius- mad, but passion- slow. I bet your
Body aches when it has nowhere to go and
I bet your weed smokes good, I bet your
Joints burn slow. I bet you leave
A little piece of yourself i
the atlantic ocean is big enough to hide secretsin that twilight period of summer turning to fall-
in that bend in the road from september to october-
i couldn't explain it but i so desperately wanted to send a piece of myself to you
so you would have something to look forward to
i said, if there's a force to change the tides and turn the earth
and people think it's the most essential force in this world,
then i know they've never met you.
'who me? little old me?'
yes you, little old you,
you have enough resonance in the beats of your heart
to make armies march,
you have enough light in your smile
to make a blind man see,
you have enough magnitude in everything you do
to cause earthquakes to destroy the world,
or maybe just me:
i would die in your hands if you would only let me.
the beginning of october is stunning when the colours
are like fire engines and fireflies and fireworks.
bright flashes of everything that is beautiful and nothing that is hurt.
but after an immense burst of light;
FeaturesI just wanted to take some time to share some lovely works I have read on here. It was a rainy day today, and I had a cup of hot cocoa, this was the loveliest way to spend the afternoon. Thank you, all you lovely poets!
War by WeirdAndLovely*Lost in Love* by Delice1941
how to grieve for people you do not know by Echolalic-Elliea poem on the inner workings of my chaotic mind by PrussianPersephonePart of being Human: by Lawli-Artsheepskin by Nullibicity
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