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the onsethe never stood still and it annoyed me that
his resting position was always halfway between a stretch and an unrelenting springing.
i figured the outward restlessness was a manifestation of an inward fear of being still
but he loved yoga and meditation.
he was a contradiction of himself in many ways,
the happiest sad face you'll ever see,
the distraction you can't help but focus on:
he has a lot of thoughts,
he doesn't speak fast enough for them,
then it all catches up with him
Vascillate(july nights are for)
thinking back to when:
i love you
replaced my damaged skin with the sound of the ocean;
replaced my tired eyes with butterflies wings;
replaced my chattering teeth with poetry;
replaced my shaking hands with pieces of the moon.
it was just that simple
(july nights are for)
i miss you
i love you
it was just that simple
(july nights are for)
vacillating futures, hazy promises;
to craft bigger futures and vaster promises for my hungry, destructive mind.
because it's just not simple anymore
(i love you)
july nights are for
turning off my phone when you call
and being alone when you need me the most.
untenable1. it's January-
i'm hearing his voice for the first time on a wednesday.
i'm the new girl at school,
standing awkwardly on the periphery of girls i barely know who were talking to him about late assignments or something.
i'm standing in a shaky, nervous way, waiting to be introduced or acknowledged.
he looked at me once, but i was looking at him the whole time.
i couldn't stop looking at him. later, he would tell me that he liked that about me.
but by the time he was telling me that, i had become too self conscious to meet his eyes as much as i used to.
7. it's July-
things are going wrong, i'm feeling worse more frequently.
we're swapping definitions of love over the phone,
he says: love is the person you always want to be with, no matter what.
i say: i don't think i know what love is.
things are going wrong.
we're talking about the countdown.
2. it's February-
we joke about how good we look together
we jokingly hold hands and take
Sleeplessi'm drowning in a puddle of little extremities
that attack in diminutive dramatic doses.
i'm losing friends,
i'm losing sleep;
a sweeping sunset swiftly burns a pale sky,
i'm melting in a freezer and freezing in the fire
and every feeling cancels out every other feeling.
i'm losing battles,
i'm losing clarity;
the stars burn out and give way to morning.
CataclysmI tend to think emblematic thoughts:
hectically, I think up intricate poems as things are happening,
willfully splitting myself into both bystander and perpetrator.
I do this every time my fingers skim his angular collarbones,
noting their vulnerability under my hurricane fingertips,
my tornadoes of attachment, my storm clouds of indecision, my incessant rain.
I could write about that forever.
He said to me: I think you are incredibly intelligent.
i realize that it's getting harder to write poems about you,
immortalizing you in words that can't even properly describe how much i hate this,
or how much i love you. I realize that
i can't decide which is stronger.
every day more than four million people fly on commercial airlines worldwide,
in over one hundred thousand planes.
reducing you to a part of this statistic doesn't lessen the pull i feel in my chest,
but at least i tried.
and what if, this time, it's not as easy as turning off my phone?
what if i can't just throw you away with everything you gave me?
what if i can't just distance myself from it until it's so small i can swallow it up?
what if i've finally found the pain i have to work through?
if i'm lucky- statistically, i will fall in love seven times before marriage.
you will always be the first.
you will always be the messiest, most confusing, most beautiful, most shocking
it's been roughly one hundred and eighty two days since we met
AsphyxiativeI know I'm difficult
too often I stop myself from asking:
would you hate me if I messed up really bad?
would you hate me if I had a new friend, just like how we were friends,
who was there for me when you couldn't be,
and kissed me on my black sofa?
would you hate me if it got too hard?
would you hate me if I stopped calling back, just like how I used to
when the line went dead too early
and I still needed to hear your voice?
would you hate me if the noise never stopped?
would you hate me if I couldn't even focus on being still and content, just like how I used to be
when we met and started talking
and you fell in love with me?
would you hate me if I ended this poem too soon?
would you hate me for running out of things to say and giving up, just like how I always do,
when you ask me what's wrong?
Arithmophobiawe had thirty six days left when you asked me why I don't talk about it,
it was nearing two in the morning when i told you.
i told you all the things i hate talking about,
i was speaking into the vacuous, suffocating, ambiguous dark
not knowing if you were crying on the other side of the phone,
or even there at all.
i spoke despite my voice denying me the power to sound powerful.
my voice shook and spluttered and stumbled over words,
i mumbled my words into the enormous void.
and, for a split second, i was starting to think that maybe, possibly, hopefully –
but as soon as the phone went dead, and the silence encroached
there was just more to say.
thirty five, thirty four;
there's more to say today, there will be more to say tomorrow
and there's only so much you can listen.
Between Sky and SeaYou are:
creating emptiness that haunts the left side of my bed;
but in the corners of my room,
expanding to infiltrate the space in my head.
down my spine;
and in the crack where my collarbones separate,
where I try to hide the clock that ticks away our time.
the washed out sky after the rain, so calm and stripped of artifice;
the wispy wind after a storm, that cools the damage,
all these words and metaphors I can't say, but can list.
as close to a poem as a human can be,
treading lightly between sky and sea,
waiting to be written about by me.
And one day I will do you justice.
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
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
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
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
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.
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.
Why Do You Still Believe?I used to wonder how one could believe in a God who oppresses?
Who controls you, who uses you, whose unbreakable laws can lead to serious depression.
I wondered this because I know what it's like to be failed,
to be “abandoned” by God, and to be thrown in a personal hell.
But than I grew older and learned how to cope,
I learned that believing in God was like holding a tethered rope.
So I looked to the world and was surprised by what I had seen.
Together the believers were holding onto a broken string.
On the top of the rope God holds on tightly,
and towards the bottom, the believers cling to the Almighty.
Through oppression, through injustice bestowed upon them by God,
they refuse to release their grip, as their faith is stronger than their distrust of God.
Because God does not oppress, nor does He use or impose ridiculous laws,
it is humans who do this, never has it been God.
So they still believe in Him when they're murdered for their faith,
when they're bombed beca
Sleepless part IIyou were a lot of sleepless nights in february,
because we took an anticlimactic walk in the onset of rain.
we didn't know how to speak to each other,
so we played tennis with frustrated little sighs.
you were the sleepless nights in march,
because i was writing about you, and i never used to write.
we sat down on my swing set,
we talked with raised voices between too-long pauses.
you were sleepless nights in april
when the messy kisses stopped being so volatile, so mercurial.
even when we stopped sighing and fighting,
i never slept quite the same as i used to.
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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