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a thousand ways to give upevery poem starts about you.
you are what you like to be,
and you are not like me.
i write about your innocence,
i write about your trials,
i write about our common goals,
and your misdemeanor smiles.
but then it all gets twisted around
and it's not worth the point
because it's all about
he's a monster,
he's a creep
and a crawler
it all comes back to him
as much as i would like to go
back to the beginning.
patternyou kill me twelve times over
i'm a coward, not a lover.
there's nothing pretty about me
there's nothing pretty about letting go.
don't pity who i want to be just
because i can't seem to grow.
i can count my ribs but it takes both hands
and a lot of searching, because it seems
i'm never good enough for me
so how could you ever be?
a star is fancy heartbreakshe thought back to when she had assumed her life to be very terrible.
her mother tyrannical, her reflection her biggest comfort and largest source of panic.
mirrors were for smashing and
mouths were for hissing, and
nails were for scratching.
now mirrors were for him;
for watching him shatter them if he saw her
now mouths were for him;
for kissing him when he didn't even remember who she was,
or maybe was just too tired to care
now nails were for him;
for biting, and wondering if he
was going to come home at all,
or if he had really forgotten about her this time
in the time that had passed,
the day or two that he seemed
alive again seemed to slip from her memory
she was tossed into the sea
of his carelessness and indifference
without a life vest.
And at the moments when she
felt particularly alone,
large waves of his ghost-like apathy
would threaten to drown her.
molly loubroken, broken, broken.
all she ever saw were pieces torn apart
laid forgotten to the wayside.
if only she could speak
of all her tradgedies
the wrongs done against her
and the the alabaster ceilings.
he holds her hand
and her hair back,
(when she needs it)
he's afraid to lay in bed with her
until she says she needs him there
but she doesn't know what she
and she writes on his arms
and her lips burn with words
hushed on an acid tongue
he's entranced with all her
ideas and curves and talents and faults
and she's still lost, floating through space
just the begining of a dream
(and he wants to be her end)
she's colorless, but bright
and tasteless in her delight
she's a burning inferno of fire
and ice, and another broken vice.
she's tried to tell him, in that
mixed up way she has of tearing
up her words.
but he won't listen.
but his memory.
ceberushe was once a wicked thing
devoid of a tongue and wings
the fallen angel left to writh
on what had once been her
she left him mute
as if he had spoken
to begin with.
she was his stars, his night,
clashing like the teeth
gnashing from the jaws
better to split and stay together
than combust as one.
burglarcould i talk through windows
could i look through walls?
thieving away my hopes and lies
second hand verses, chords we don't know
we don't understand how to play
but you sing me to sleep anyway
full of dreams that chase my
and it's becoming obvious
that i can't give you up
so, it's getting late,
won't you stay?
there's a key to my heart
and i don't know where it lays
but i bet if you opened your eyes
long enough to look,
it would fit perfectly in your hand
but you don't need it anyway
because you're breaking in
coming in here to steal my
breath and smile
lie of a different sortIt scared her, at first, the way he came back to her with such ferocity. She wasn't used to it at all; usually he was soft with her. She had been half expecting him to turn her away. But he didn't, and she wondered if that should have scared her more. Kisses all down her shoulders, hands grasping at her hips. She leaned back, an odd content feeling coming over her. It was weird; she could never describe it. Just relaxation. Maybe not what you were supposed to feel. She should have been scared, the longer it went on the violence her put on her. But she never was.
She shook her head when he pulled away, like he noticed what he was doing. "I don't care," she said earnestly. And you could see it, she really didn't care. She almost begged him not to stop, Minerva didn't care. Be happy, she thought, even if it's like this. Before, she'd been in a situation like this, and she had retaliated against him like the crack of a whip. Now she just laid in his arms, her only support was Caleb
she's my best friendeveryday i change.
in every pair of eyes i'm different.
they see me as the tease
the bitch, the whore, the heartbreaker.
then they see me as strong
they relay, they think i'll never break
but she sees me the way i am
loud, but silent, strong, but broken.
and she sits with me in the dark when
i make late night phone calls that should
have happened months ago, but no one answers
and then it's quiet again
and i'm back to me
in the silence of the dead of night
things can seem so different
from talk of neon bands and clowny-creepers
(and a little too-cheerful of a ninja)
you can feel that grin coming on
and that's how i know that i belong
don't fight your faceshe's got angel's tangled in her hair
so that it looks like pure lace
and she's got their jaded wings
tattoed across her face
she's got their halos wrapped
around her bloody wrists
and everytime she twists the knife
she leans in for another kiss
her lips are sultry,
stained in red,
and the covers lay ragged
over and under the decrepit bed
things hang under the gallows
like the dead little souls that lost
their lives under the wood
and wander as the forgotten ghosts
she knows they're there
she watches they're hopes
as they die into pains
and forgotten notes
she wishes she could drop
the double bladded knife
and erase away the hurt
of each forgotten strife
but the wrong day
leads to the night
and every wrong word
leads into a fight
and she can't help but win
with the angels on her side
even if they're just trying
to hold on for the ride
How to be Populardon’t talk
go to parties
listen to friends
go with the flow
drink some more
don’t let them see the tears
as you cry yourself to sleep
for the most important thing
is to be popular
i'm not going to lie and say she was perfect.her skin was spotted with what she passed off as freckles,
but what were really scars from a thousand summer suns
as she ran about outside,
climbing trees and treading rivers,
pretending to be an american bomber
in the midst of WWII.
she kept crimson stains on pearl pink lips,
which always had the habit of getting on her teeth
because she put on make-up after dressing in her car
and ordering coffee in every way she hated it
as she drove to the record store three times a day,
ignoring her job downtown.
she owned four and a half hairbrushes exactly,
i took count on the first night i stepped into that whirl-wind room,
though her lopsided up-dos of messy blonde hair revealed just how much her fingers
never broke the dust.
she had these lovely fragile hands
that showed each and every vein and bone,
the type of hands made for tearing boys like me apart.
how could i have even expected to survive,
a paper poet
held against a reckless flame?
Panic attackIt hits me like a wave,
These thoughts of fear and regret.
They swarm all around me,
Trapping me inside my own head.
Pretty soon, I am suffocating,
Please someone save me!
My heart beat races,
As does the thoughts that pick up the pace.
Of sending me memories I've kept and buried so long inside.
They've come back to haunt me tonight.
And as soon as it came,
It was gone,
Leaving me here.
And what was left of me,
The sound of silenceThe sound of silence,
Is so deafening,
That it makes my ears ring,
With the cacophony of my own insanity.
Being afraid to speakThe unpleasantries of past events
Were driven by the voices of contempt
Leaving me breathless
To that effect, I was left senseless
And when I laid under the covers
As I tried to warm myself from the cold stares
I shiver, as my skin turned white
By the solace of silence
But, as I overcame their sadness
I learned to embrace the cold
Until I was able to give warmth to others
Ideationlocked in a room
with only one escape,
or so it seems.
your hands shake and you drop the key.
Suddenly you're unsure.
Do I want to pick it up?
Do I want to find it?
Do I want to leave?
you think to yourself
there's no other choice.
find the key or corrode, or rust
wear down the hinge
use sadness as the key.
You have the answer now.
Just open the door.
Just walk outside and don't look back.
Let yourself leave with no regrets.
And yet you can't.
You're afraid, you think,
but you are actually strong.
Don't run away.
Don't take that leap.
DNAyou are content
because every day
you have the opportunity to
hug both sets of your DNA.
however, i am not content.
half of me is missing
and the other half
is hardly ever here.
forgive meunrequited, unresponsive
your heart's like a wrist watch
binding my bone.
and i can't think of the
right things to say
when i know that
the way that i say it
will always sound wrong.
and you will always
watch me, and want
to hold me, want to
and i know you want
me to want you,
because i want to.
but i can't.
and that's why
i let you go.
and i can't think
of the words to
that i've done.
god, i love you.
you're too great
for words to be
but i'm not in love
and i really can't
do these things to
you, keeping you
around when one
eye's always down
at my shoes so i
can avoid talking
and i can't
do what i
wish i could
make myself do
i never thought i'd be able to write about it, think about it, talk about, breathe about it...
but here it is.
fuck my life.
it seems that every comment on my poetry has something about fucking my life...
(tehe... my life's a whooore)
... long story short, i sat myself down, and just had a little mental chat.
i felt like everyday i had to talk myself into accepting that relationship. and it wasn't right, because he deserved better than that, than someone who just wasn't right.
and i decided that that little piece of me had the right idea. and i regret hurting him, rarely do i ever regert hurting people, but that i regret.
it did help me see the larger picture that's me, but i still regret it.
i wouldn't take it back though, because of the understanding i've given myself in my world of self-doubt.
but yes, i regret the hurt i accidentally gave.
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