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UntitledA lake will stand in my place tomorrow, swallowing this street and my brother's house. At this time, I am oblivious of everything except this torrential downpour that is washing over my skin, cleansing my anxieties. I will emerge with the sun tomorrow, a new woman despite the storm that came and went. I won't be here when the water pools to where my waist once was, but instead, I am splashing in puddles, laughing louder than I have in a few years.
Rainstorms have broken my life into three sections. The first rainstorm preceded my first kiss, my first relationship, when I was naive but marched through the world like I knew all it had to offer. How full of hope, how full of love I was.
The second rainstorm came at my most bitter, when I believed the world had nothing left to offer me, that it owed me for all I had been through, that I was merely a victim of my circumstances. The rain had never felt so good and my heart had never been so broken, so confused.
This rainstorm will be my new
We're Not As Impenetrable As We Thought, Huh, Dad?My father sits with his organs bleeding.
Still the man that he is,
he is attempting to keep tall
and not show how love has worn him down to bones.
I want to promise him lies
and speak of how everything will be fine,
how this will all be a joke one day,
just another failed marriage for the belt.
But his failures hit me as well
so we look on in silence.
I hope he knows that even if no one else could love him,
his daughter always will.
HaphephobiaI wish I could plastic wrap my skin
so that no one could ever touch me again.
Yet I yearn to be enfolded in strong arms
and kissed along the curves of my neck.
What does another person feel like again?
I'm too afraid to find out.
Home Is Where The Heart IsI've left pieces of my heart in each of the beds I have slept
so that even if I ever did find a place to rest my weary bones,
it would only be a house and nothing more.
Black Hole SunSwallow me in sin and brimstone
as I make my grand descent
into the madness beneath your skin.
She-HulkI cannot write;
the anger in my chest
has been stripped away,
leaving a dull ache
where it used to reside.
This girl I once loved,
she said people get addicted
I think mine was rage.
I still feel it quell underneath my skin,
awaiting to destroy and overtake.
So if I just let grudges go,
forgive those others say I should not,
then what do I have left to write?
I have been fueling this "talent"
with my self-doubt and the hatred
I held for anyone who had ever wronged me.
Tell me, what do I have left to write about?
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
now i see the stars.there was a time when i
couldn't catch my breath whenever i
thought about you , (crippled lungs and-
boy, you hit me like an asteroid,
there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,
oceans of my tears cried on
nights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.
thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,
i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,
for a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,
weighted to the ground and
buried in myself, but
where there is no light there are no shadows, and
sometimes, i wonder if i miss me.
yes, i do.
i may not see the moon, but
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
i am made of nights like theseativan boy, you cannot empty out this skull -
not with a pen nor with a bullet. you can
be my hallowed head(case) for spitting out
words like teeth; oh, but i will only love you
when you're weary. i will keep crows caged
between your lungs like veins, like palpitations.
i will rot you through bones & car radios,
but i will never get (you) out of your skin.
ScienceI am more than my
F L A W S;
a masterpiece of
S C A R S
a delicacy of
D R E A M S
a sculpture of
B O N E S
R E A C T I O N
a well of
Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)
I hope the title caught your eye,
because this is about you.
Many of us speak in superlatives
and ambiguous language.
In imagery-laden text masquerading
underneath double entendres
keeping us from a part of the truth.
But purple streaks and red bands,
harp strings and soft hands
don't begin to explain
the love I have for you.
So I lay these words down
simple in its vulnerability,
blemished and raw in its purity.
The term lissome fits you in many ways,
but not necessarily it its textbook form.
I speak on the part that is not readily seen
but what is easily most cogent.
Your consciousness' cognizance
is graceful in the way
you fold one syllable over
another, supple in its meaning
that can take many forms
going from idle lies
to how we idolize hollow eyes
and uncovered hip bones.
Elegance is an understatement,
but I refuse to speak in cliche superlatives.
I speak honestly
but not with exaggerated grandeur.
Because your immediate app
A broken heartI promised myself I'll never fall in love
Whenever I fall in love I feel renewed and happy
But like a drug
Once everything finishes
I'm crying, depressed and the wreckage of my heart
I always end up feeling worse
I want to find someone that is special
But I'm afraid to suffer again
I'm afraid of losing another person
Do not want to suffer
Do not make me suffer, do not lie to me
Do not hurt me, no more
I will not hold on to people who only sink me
I'll be free and live with have left
A cold and lonely spirit.
Just A Boy, Always A MonsterInstinctively, I search for you.
You, the one who tore through my flesh
only to pronounce me "not good enough".
Not good enough.
You were not the first to say such things,
but you were the original pioneer
to melt away my thighs and give way to a monster.
The memory of you has become just that
and it feeds off my loneliness
and it thrives off your deceit
and it has embedded itself in my brain.
And I will remember the way you forced your hand down my pants
as you pleaded that you loved me,
but you abused my body.
You were just a boy,
but you had the hands of a man
that knew exactly what they were doing.
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
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