I miss you a lot, like crazy
I want to ask you, stay
Show you my scars
The hole in my heart
But I cannot (ask)
You’re a riddle, still
Figuring out yourself
I’m just a plain page, unworthy of your time
I need you, but
You’re not mine anymore
Belonging to other streetlights, on the river
Under dazzling eyes, red in the night
Across an open sea, far (away)
naked and cold a lonely night
deep darkness hiding the sin
concealing the poison
head spinning, heart beating, blank mind
this unexpected but awaited escape
one last thought
quickly thinking it through
looking for that ounce of regret
not finding it
and then grabbing the bottle by the neck
bending a fork
naked and cold
We write our stories on crinkled coffee shop napkins, with cheap jet black eyeliner. Rough at the edges, smudged lines; fairytales but with tragic endings and without sparkling bliss.
Rays of sun through glass windows compete with our clouded minds and rainy eyes. Sorrows braided into galaxies, puddles made into swimming pools.
We are just spilled paint in an art portfolio, the shards in a broken mirror.
She could not help it. The laughter had taken over her being and now she only existed as the uncontrollable exhales. That was all she was; which was far more than she had ever been. A shell or perhaps a mask. Covering up the lack of substance and personality.
It wasn’t her fault; at least not entirely. The world could’ve have been a bit more understanding of her chaotic creativity. But the way it always goes she was branded a lunatic.
At first she’d fight it. Tell people off. Stand up for her beliefs. Eventually she stopped. Her efforts were all for nothing. Realising she would never be seen as anything but, she instead became it. She did not own it; she was consumed. The very essence of her being had abandoned its independence and was now solely an image of what other people saw in her. Their prejudice; most of all their belief that she would never be anything but.
And so it goes. The different become freaks and individuality withers and dies.
After talking – and not talking
After lingering looks
After dancing – dancing too close
Before regreting – and not regreting
Before wondering – wondering what might be
During fairy lights
During happening – and not happening
During moments – moments when time stands still
peel off my skin
and rip my heart out
Hold me in your hands
poke it gently
Point at my busy arteries
Play on my heart strings
I’ll let you
because you are the only music
In my veins
In her dreams she ran away
Her orange paws hitting the snow
Leaving a trail of swirling snowflakes
Through which only her white tipped tail was visible
I’ve lost my words,
hopelessly swirling downwards
Without them I’m nothing
more than empty vowels.
Give me your letters,
stitch them together,
string them up by their holes.
No punctuation, no dots or semi colon
will keep me from your story.
Give me a question mark,
and I have an exclamation point
Just for your paragraph.
I feel like I need to preface this. It’s ehm… It is what it is. It’s very sappy and cheesy and sad and cliche but I wrote this when I was feeling all of that so it fits, I guess. It’s not a poem but it might be poetry. Just like life.
You are everything,
I could’ve had,
I could’ve wanted.
Dark green eyes
show a sparkling soul
and a world I want to revisit.
You hold me close,
stars dancing above our heads
And I know that in another world,
There are no black empty holes.
that in another galaxy,
My wish upon that falling star
might come true.
You say in a light year
or half a year
Our orbits might collide
and we will be
Moonlight and Stardust
My love has two left feet
She waddles about and I cannot help
laughing when she dances around the Christmas tree
My love has one lazy eye
Sometimes I occasionally hide
from her in plain sight when she wants me to help make pie
My love is the one
I forever shall deeply and truly love
even if a bit whimsy she still holds this love of mine