For every goodbye I ever gave,there is a void that has yet to be filled.
probably don't remember when
we stayed up all night counting
stars or how this world
We were our own gods.
The day your faith died
was the day your mother whispered
"He's living with her now" and you
long enough to forget I was standing
Fast forward to
we locked eyes in whitewashed
written in the creases of
your skin like narcotic
borderlines between living and
acting and you could only
pretend like I wasn't
whisper in the wind
that reminded you
of being human once upon a
For the love of
all the smoke in your lungs and the
ache in my heart,
I hope you know who you are now.
a poem on the inner workings of my chaotic mindit isn't like i'm
lazy or anything it's just that
the thought of getting lost
in a crowd of ten or more people
makes me want to puke.
this is not just some
stupid little hang-up that you can
joke about when i'm
digging my fingernails into my palm so
hard that blood is drawn as we walk through
school hallways so packed that it feels
like we're suffocating from too much
oxygen but i just grit my teeth and
laugh "yeah, i know, i just don't like
being around people sometimes."
but you know,
there's just something about the way
my mother says "go out and have a life
and stop looking like the world
betrays you every day"
that makes my stomach drop
or when my dad looks at me and just
sighs, like they've finally realized
i was never good enough to be
and to everyone who believes that
i just need to relax,
to just calm down and think:
fuck you. fuck you for trying to pretend
like you know how it feels when my
bones grind together like broken
gears as i walk by people who may
Catholic school can really fuck you up.
“you have ugly hair”
Breasts at the age of nine.
Bullying makes you someone you don’t want to become;
hide all that blackness in your heart
with overly cheerful hyperactive personalities
(that make others think you’re a little strange),
Friends can’t tell when you just want to
and be alone
because of how deep you’ve dug yourself in.
Afraid of yourself, you think and think, and THINK,
until you are terrified you’re going to give in
to those dark thoughts -
(and if you do, then you’re just numb afterwards.
Staring at hands blankly).
Faith in everything, the world, God,
people around you,
all you can see is horror.
You hide it, fake it, pretend to be okay.
Why would anyone care to listen?
Just one person of billions
with worse problems than you th
Keeper of DreamsShe turns to her dreams more often than she does reality.
Inside them - those wondrous and phosphorescent fancies - he is always there, waiting for her.
Silver eyes like misty moonlight; skin so smooth and perfect it could have been carved from marble and hair the color of the blackest midnight, softer than swan feathers against her cheeks. A smile that could have put the stars to shame and a voice more saccharine than nectar, washing over every inch of her being like tender waves of satin.
Just like the other nights, he is stretched out across a bed of rich purple sheets and petals whiter than snow. Everywhere else she looks there is nothing but a stark, vast emptiness; save for him, smiling at her as if she is the morning sun come to greet his lips.
"You have returned," he murmurs, pale hand extending forward towards her. "I have missed you, my sweet. Come...lay next to me; share in sleep's sweet embrace."
She obeys in an instant, descending into the gossamer touch of the matt
or maybe it actually is.this
a love poem:
this is not about
me and how i hate
the way realism tastes.
this is about you.
this is about how you
are one too many shades arrogant,
how nearly every night you
try to forget that time has
left you behind. this is
about your laugh and the way it
whispers "i can't remember
what i was like before i
became this." and,
if i'm being honest, this is about
how i will never see your too
cocky for your own damn good grin that
makes me go weak in the knees.
this is about you
and how you're not real and how i wish
to god that i wasn't either.
an apology to anyone who'll listen It begins with a wish
and ends with a sigh.
I am in love with boys who
don't exist and girls who I sometimes
pretend are myself. Spineless,
spiteful, and one hundred percent
I'm becoming undone.
When I was
younger I thought it
was a sin if
your parents didn't
love each other. Now I
know that it's
just the way this world works.
I need you right now;
to tell me that
gaining four pounds in
three days is typical
to tell me that
living in a dream every
second is perfectly okay
to tell me that
I'm normal, that I'm
still sane, that I'm not
going to close my
eyes one day and never
open them again.
Don't look at me.
I can't remember
the last time I
had no regrets.
It's not hatred, it's incredulity.when i was ten years old my
teacher asked the class,
"if you were god, what would
and i remember
biting my lip so hard
that it bled. carefully,
i wrote about
how i would teach
kids from an early age on how to
love yourself and no one
else and that there is no such thing as
an almighty power that will pity
you and answer your desperate prayers
at three a.m. because you're the only one
who has that kind of control.
when i handed it in she just looked
at me like i was the
her child's bed. the next day i
was sitting in her office wondering
why it was so wrong to
talk about what's in your heart at a catholic
school when that's what the priest tells
you to do at every sunday mass and
the teacher asked me
another question, "do you
hate god?" and i
wanted to scream "yes, yes!" because
how can a god let the world
slip through their fingers like this one has?
but instead i answered,
"no. i just don't think there is one."
and sat in the chair,
staring at the cross on t
Goodnight MoonThe battered sky blooms
as the dark teabag stain
under her weary eyes.
Like the couplet
strung around her necklace
with teeth marks -
jewels impressed into
the vast expansive sky
of her laden shoulderbones.
The bruise darkens
and the stars seem impossible.
Too far away
and smiling a long dead smile.
But somewhere a pomegranate lip,
swollen with the disdain
that he made her swallow -
somewhere, those lips
find the courage to say