the skin on my bones, the sun on my fingers.at 8:54 p.m., i realizethat i love you morethan the sun loves the moon,the seaand the sand and shells,and morethan the wind loves therain. i love you likei love the last dragof a cigarette,the humming of the airbefore a thunderstorm and i love you likei love my blankets afterwork, like i love my habitof turning offevery single lightbefore i go tobed.you are morethan how the sky looksand midnight in the dead of winter;that perpetual ink-spill ofpink;and you are more dear to methan the thousands of wordsi have written. if i couldi would put the worldinto my palmand then burn it, torch it all and pick awayat the flaming remains andi.o.u'suntil i can paint a lifein ashesso that it half way resembleswhat i feel for you.
/.there is no amount of smokethat can keep youout of my thoughts. to see youis to see stars, and i'm dizzy enoughwith the image of youright before dawn stuck in my head,but i want more.i have the instinctive needto run a finger down yourneck, to memorizehow you look when yousmile, just so that i canwrite about you,to make you realizehow spectacular you are.
brittle teeth.my dad always warned me thatthings in life were veryfragile, and that i had to be carefulnot to break them. (he never told me how to not be broken by all thecareless hands.)
red.these cigarettes will kill me, but only ifi don't do it first. (inhale, breathe, hold, exhale. then concentrate on the scenery. feel the smoke on your tongue and think about how you're killing yourself, when in reality, you're already dying.)we're all going todie, so what's oneday less? it seems like anhonest bargain to me,but then again, you should neverlisten to a word i say, because i ama class A fuck up (or so they say). see, i'm either too fator too skinny,much too heart wildfor any man too marry. ("who would want to marry a girl like you? you're too stubborn," my father says. i am fifteen with purple hair and fire on my cheeks and my heart coiling away from my sleeve. "fuck anyone who wants to take anything about you away," my mother tells me when i'm nearly 16, with sad eyes and a worn out expectation.)but i think i realize nowthat i don'tcare. for me i am good enough,good in general,an
hello hello.she asks meto be careful, to be safe;but i am sixteen and restless, caught upin the past lovefor a boy 4 years older than me and choking on my could-be-lovefor a girl that i metonce. let's face it: iam a fucking mess. see, but there's somethingthat nobody ever realizesabout that: it's okay. i'm almost seventeen now,and i have come to theconclusionthat we live to learn. we are not bornspitting out symphonies orcatching birds in ouryouthful palms;we are born crying,bloody and unable to comprehend why we're here; we remain that way for decades. we do not grow upwhen we're eighteen. we grow upwhen we see our parents fight andwhen we watch our best friendsslowly spiral into depression and drugdependance. and we grow up when we realizethat we do not love someonebecause they exist; we love themfor how they exist,and i realized that when i almost fell in love withher
pine cone heart. it is 9:36 on a Tuesday night. i don't know if it's still snowing, but i do know it's cold and my palms are covered in a thin layer of sweat. slowly, it eats away at my epidermis like a parasite. soon i will be nothing more than skeletal muscle and a decaying pericardium. i think this is beginning to happen already, this disintegration. it began five minutes and thirty seven seconds ago when i realized two things: you will never love me. i will love you all the same. our timelines were never meant to connect, not really. there was just that second-long contact, a chance, a lifetime in my eyes. i keep replaying that moment again and again. i don't remember what you were wearing, how your hair looked, the way your smile looked. no; all i can recall is how your skin felt on your forearm, the sound of a marker against flesh. i realize that that is all we will be: a fleeting smile. a promise to keep in
how to be a poet: the basics.kiss all the peopleyou know you shouldn't,solely for the reasonthat they look goodin stanzas. look at your scarslike mothers peer into cradles. then makemore; make yourself intoa symbol for infinity,or at least try,because it never works. patch yourself up. say, "darling, you're okay," while staring at yourself in the mirror with your hairdamp and your lipschapped (refer to stanza one). change. grow. it's what we like to read, isn't it?miss the people in your lifeuntil they leave,and then miss yourselfas well. screw everything up,and then write about itlike it had to happen.try to believe it, ignorethe voice in your head that hissesand groans in your sleep,behind your eyelids."baby, you're a fuck up,you know it know it know it".try to carve the hummingout of your bodyby exit way of your veins. be hospitalized. give in, give up,play along, stop writing. get better. but then you start writi
8:15i.silently, with hushingeyes, he watches the atmosphere-he treads it around hishair and his fingers and heart, breaths it in; ii.when he is done dancingwith devils and dead friends, he reaches into me andpulls out a flower- he puts it behind myear, and he loves while he burns.iii.i take his ashes andi put them on thepetals (he said not to forgetthe beauty indeath, and i'm tryingwith all the heart inside me).
.how to comfort someonewith an anxiety disorder: tell them to grow up.god knowsthat they only panic because they're just not old enoughto handle themselves. say that it's notthat bad.because, hey,since it's not bad for you,it can't be for them. that's just how it works,right?"calm down".this oneis my personal favorite.because the one thingthat i want to hearwhen i'm choking on my own sweatand heartis that i need to calm down.
m.a.m.ji.marchthe wind had eaten through myflyaway bones. i think i had started killingmy own heart to pass thetime.ii.aprilit was the warmth that i always seem to fall in lovewith. sun. and the grass undermy hands. i started tobreathe again.iii.maywith unopened books in myheart, i found myselflost in the homeof an almond eyed boywith a pocket-knifeheart. he pushed me intoa bed of roses. i now havetwice the scars.iiii.junei sit, now, withtypewriter keys between my teeth. while searching my ribcagefor a spare battery, i found, insteada fresh set of lungs (and i really am beginning toneed them).
4/10i have a habitof falling in lovebetween seconds-and in thosein betweens, i learnto love the galaxy andhell all at once- it's sucha big love, something soprofound that thereare simply nowords to describe it.then all at oncei am empty. it's the kindof loneliness that feelsyouthful, and it'spainful. it burns. the worst part is i know whatthose almost-secondshold, and iwalk into it every singletime.
.i.the high is at itsbest when i can't remember why i hated myself.ii.death is a nightmare only when i realize youare not in the dream.
ouijai tried to contact thespirits in myhouse, tried to pull them from myspine,but they didn't even sayhello– turns outyou were the only ghosti ever knew.
LiliyaBright-eyed,bird-bonedwhisper girl;dark-dressed,moon-backedmistress of light.
Those Who CareHold me close,Then kiss my hair,And just remind me,There are those who care.
the price to pay for breaking a heart.this is a fact: it hurts to bebroken. but what hurts evenmore isbeing one one whodoes thebreaking.to be the personwho stands over the otherand watchthem choke on theirtears and thenhand them their ownheart- rip someone apart and thennot be able toput them back togetheragain.and when you close youreyes, all you can seeare the ribbons coming undonefrom their wrists. you crumble from your owndisgrace.
Untitledi cut my mouthon the thought of you.blood fills myharsh tongued mouth and dr i p dri p d
i am not what i am.don't tell me that iam weak. you arrogant boy,i have dragged myselfout of hell,and i did so with the smell of your sheetsstill tangled around my throat.i loved you desperately, suddenly; and i realized it when you took me to the lakeand told methat your mom drank, too, and thatyeah, it hurts. i loved you for the painyou understood, andi hated you for the agony youdidn't. i think you loved me mostwhen i was naked, and you put your lips to myear, breath heavy andyour chest thundering,and told me that you loved me. so don't tell methat i gave up, because it was youwho told me that i'll never get anywherewith my head in theclouds, andlook at me now;the scars on my skin andaround my heart are not, and will never be,nothing. my lips are chapped and my skin is torn but i am whole, like the dollmy father once glued back togetherfor me.i will be cherished again and iwill come ou
Inordinate-she's petrifiedof being fixedbecause being brokenis all she's ever known-
I Never Was, I'll Never BeI Never Was A Good Whore.I Fall In Love With Poor Guys,but that's ok, I'm Used To MySelf.Once One Of These Guys Was Also In Love With Me.Not From The Beginning,but after the third meetinghe finally accepted our truth.And I was Happy and He was Happy!!!When He was coming To Our Fourth Meeting,he had an accident with his bike.I Never Was A Good Whore.I Never Was,I'll Never Be.
Story Time.You are an open bookIn a language that I cannotRead.
I Don't Want To Be SmartIf Loving You Is StupidI Don't Want To Be Smart.
I Fucked Your Mind, SorryI'm Sorry I Loved You,I'm Sorry I Love You,but I'm a sick bastardthat cannot stay away from you.Nothing less,Nothing more,I cannot let it go,I will not harm you.What I'm Going Through, It's Not Your Fault.What You're Going Through, It's Not My Fault.The moment I was bittenby the crazy dog you hired,I realized that my crazy lovehas fucked your mind.It passed a long timesince then,but you can't recover.I'm Sorry I Loved You,I'm Sorry I Love You.
Dark AngelDark AngelA dark angel searches for her love on earthShe has departed heaven to find her soul mateShe has given up her white garments for those of jet blackShe is in a state of mourning and lossShe died but her partner remained on earthShe could hear his bitter sobs while she was in heavenThe tears filled her eyesAnd she vowed to return and sooth her partner's soulGod refused her permission to leaveBut she departed nonethelessShe has been banned from Heaven for a thousand yearsBut she can cope with such banishmentSo long as she can find here true loveShe returns to the cemetery where she was buriedAnd her true love is there by the side of her grave"Hello, my love, I have returned!""How can this be? you died and departed from this world""I have returned to heal your heart and support you"Tears fill his eyes"How can this be? My grief has driven me mad""I cannot return to Heaven for a long time""But so long as I am with you I am at peace""We will grow old together"
It Wasn't MeI felt such a shamethat I found you lovelywhen you were crying.I know you can't forgive me,but please at least rememberthat It Wasn't Mewho made you cry.
You are lucky, she doesn't love youThe door was openand I listened what he said to him:"It has come to my attentionthat you love one of our girls.My dear, you can't love these girls!You should only come, pay, have funand this is it!You have gone too far!!!!You are lucky, she doesn't love you,so you can go."
.you brokea heart,convincedthat there wassomething goodinside
you can't have the world.i never meant to make youhate me; i only wantedyou not tolove me.