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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
moments of being awakehearing from you
gives me road rash
the kind the drunk man
who touched the shoulders of women
in long, lingering lashes
gets when he's thrown
from the bar
it slaps me in the face
harder than winter wind
after a night spent
alone in a bed
or not alone in a bed
i wonder if you wonder
if i'm sleeping with somebody
if i'm in love and happy
if i'm alone and miserable and
aching for someone like you
because i admit i do-
i spend some time
wondering about you.
ruined flowersi open myself up,
til the water
bathtub ring stain
pink on porcelain.
i used to be nature
i used to be beautiful.
chemicals & acid
ate through my flesh
& i became
but something i could not want
something i could not love.
i am dried petals
forgotten to be pressed
of a loved book
or even one hated,
just left to desiccate.
i have plucked my own roots
from the soil
thinking i could become
i did not know
i would ruin what i was.
i did not know
i was beautiful- sad, yes,
but i was beautiful,
just as i was.
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
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 never, ever being adequate
or even happy
but i smiled and let everyone know
that i felt like myself,
and no one ever needed to know
that the only reason i felt so honest
was because i never feel like i can
stand on my own two feet unaided
or stop from trembling
or hold in outbursts of emotion
because if i do,
i know i'll break.
adulthoodwhen you interact with other grown-ups,
there are things you need to remember.
i am learning the fine art of Adult Small Talk-
banter for banter's sake and smiles and short, impersonal anecdotes
because you can't risk letting anyone in,
god forbid someone actually gets close.
you keep your friends in your stomach and swallow them at night to keep them close
and put your cheery face on for medical professionals even when your throat is too swollen
to drink down those friends.
those friends, you know they'll never let you down.
you see your human companions on lunch breaks and weekend days.
at night, young adults have sex and fall asleep together;
at night, older adults complain of headaches and sleep on opposite sides of the bed.
your human friends don't make you feel as good
as your other friends make you feel.
they ask about your life and how you're doing,
ask if you're still in therapy and if you're eating,
and god forbid you let them in.
they're your human friends but they don't get
i don't see myself when i look in the mirrormy mirror shows me
a woman with the face of a daughter,
with a body tainted by years
of scars and starvation,
and ruined by a set of hands
the woman can hardly remember.
it does not show,
myself to myself.
there are wide blue eyes
and bags of gold
hanging off the chest,
and i know this is me
but it is not my soul-
to a place where it
a burden of destruction,
a simmering funeral pyre,
is not that place.
sinking sadnessi will not burden
a soul so beautiful
that my hummingbird heart
with its stammers and stutters
silences its staccato beats.
i am struck
by the sad
i am struck
more and more
as i let my thoughts
sink me further.
i don't know how
to open my mouth
when my lips
stick together in my sleep.
i forget how to breathe
when i'm out at night
a few drinks under my belly
and men who are not you
rub their hands
up and down my body
in their minds.
is my fingers in my throat
because i sinned,
is the way my body has changed
but my mind hasn't,
is not knowing what
i'm doing to myself
is doing to you.
you may say i'm a dreamer, but i'm nota list of things i am not:
no shitty ocean metaphors,
no poems about lovers and bones.
no girl with high school insecurities,
no misinterpreted radiohead lyrics
on the sidebar of a fifteen-year-old's blog.
a tea drinker, a book reader, a dreamer.
no dew drops of a saddened world
splashing on tin roofs or windowpanes.
no drawn out similes for depression or loss.
an ableist slur for the diagnosis of a mental illness,
starting with c and ending with y.
a lesbian. people are not their haircuts
or who they fall in love with.
no razored wrists and thighs.
no sick doggish romance.
no supermodel teen queen.
no irresistible object of sex and desire.
no poetess, no goddess,
but no less
than strengths and fallacies.
To Whom it May ConcernWriting now by candle light
upon my bedside sill,
impresses thoughts blackened of blight:
Of past regards forgotten, till
reflections blindly bittersweet
of love and laughter passed;
Begotten then of innocence--
three sheets tied to a rotting mast--
impend upon me with such weight
they feel as though a leaden vest
contorting ribs into a knot--
an airlock shut within my chest.
For I am old and bitter now,
my time and words long spent.
So now I sadly take the bow
of a man left but relent.
And thus I transfer onto you
this single mock decree--
the curtain-call of my revue:
My death-bed rhapsody
friday night.on our first
you took me to a cemetery
just outside of town.
i guess you wanted to
what you would do to me.
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.
I have thought about
kissing your scraped knuckles
as much as I have thought about
slicing my skin wide open like the sky.
I have dreamed of brushing
your collarbones with my mouth as much
as I have dreamed of greeting death
with a kiss on the cheek.
I have already loved you every
minute of my dragged out life.
Please do not think that
you weren't enough.
(My wiring is faulty.
I was always just a building
destined to burn.)
this is harder than ''i'm sorry''I know I'm the last person you'd expect to hear from
but the way you used to say my name is impossible to forget:
like a secret. Like a lifeline. Like I was the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.
And I know we drifted apart. I pushed you out to sea without a thought of where the swells would take you, or what monsters the waves would wash up on your shorelines.
But I swear, I'm not the person I was. And I don't think you're the girl you were.
I think you liked yourself better when you were seen through my eyes, when every conversation was a love note I wrote you with my voice. You used to find yourself so much more exciting, but to me, you were goddamn electric.
Now I'm not asking you to come back into my arms or my heart or my sheets, but I'm begging you to come back into my life. My sentences were more eloquent and my words were much more confident when I knew you were in my audience. It's a sickness, this thing that pushes my pen to paper, that implores me to write, but
maybe you never belonged to meI can still feel the weight of your lips on the curve of my collarbone. Sometimes, it feels paralyzing, crushing, absolute. Sometimes, it feels like home. Like everything.
I once heard that when you can't fall asleep it means you're awake in someone else's dream. I wonder which one of us was dreaming that night, because everything was too quiet, too easy, too perfect. You used to fall asleep next to me, your body curled against mine. It's a warmth that's not easy to forget. A hidden smile tucked into pillows and sheets. It's easy to think these things will last forever when you're tangled up together. For me, the strings of my life will always be tangled up in yours. Forever tied to you. No matter hard they attempt to fray. To fall apart. To sever.
It's snowing for the first time this year. Soft and gentle, glittering in the sunlight, falling in large flakes, easy and quiet – nothing at all like the storm that rages inside of me, turning up the corners of my heart, throwing shrapnel
As Flowers BloomMy lover clings to windowsills
Where spirits get lost in the sky—
Where the stories of old
Are just sounds manifold
And the sun sings them all as he dies.
My lover sings songs to the desert;
Her melodies rise with the sun—
Her voice harmonizes
With all that comprises
The spirits that swelter and run.
My lover is one with the forest;
Her veins tunnel through the Great Tree—
Each conflagrant feast
And brumal release
Are ingrained in Autumnal decree.
My lover springs life in the valleys—
Brings color and light to the hills
So that none may feel gloom
By the flowers that bloom
As she dances among daffodils.
My lover treads water in silence—
Her skirt waves commanding the tide
So that even the moon
Is helplessly swooned
By the luminous pull of her eyes.
My lover dreams in astral planes
Where comets dance and play—
The depth of her mind
And the soul that it binds
Are the light that give dawn to the day.
The Poetry of LoveBlue eyes haunt my memory,
pressing their seal upon my heart and soul –
your softness has me aching for one more breathless, single kiss.
Beautiful crashes of bodies remind me of how I desperately
crave you – love you – now, for always.
I seek the comfort of your arms – I need you, as the poet needs his pen.
Your touch rouses all that is beautiful and divine.
I collect precious memories, one by one –
of the sunlight reflected in the gorgeousness of your eyes.
Your baby-blues call out as a luscious siren, reminding me
that I am alive – please, call me home.
Keep hold upon my love for you – my beautiful, fiery bolt of sunshine.
My heartbeat leaps to the tender beckoning of your sweet song.
Passion a-bounds; as my spirit longs for yours,
and our united hearts ignite the night – our flames of desire –
carry on, my dearest – carry on: protect my heart, my soul, know my love.
Memories of you engulf me – as I pray for the ecsta
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