i want to break your heart with words but,
i know the only way i would be able to,
is to shove a fucking book through your chest.
FORTUNATELY I HAVE LOTS AND LOTS OF BOOKS
fallingFall air sneaks through the gap between my
jacket and my neck on my way to class, but I just
pull my coat tighter and continue walking because
there is nothing I can do about it right now.
i used to know how to knit but now the
metal needles feel cold and foreign between
my fingers, like when i try to hold your hand and
fall asleep at the same time, but i know it is more
comfortable to just lay there beside you and
pretend that it is enough.
sometimes i send myself postcards in the mail and
sometimes i try to hold my own hand when i sleep.
i wish you were here or, at the very least,
i wish i had a scarf.
addaxyou made me feel guilty for being happy,
for moving on and forgetting,
for being normal.
you made me feel guilty for writing poems
instead of writing papers, for counting stars
instead of calories.
now im going to have a fan-fucking-tastic day
and you aren't going to ruin a single bit of it.
breathing or bouncingif you told me i looked pretty holding my breath,
i just might pass out from asphyxiation
i wouldnt mind because lately i never seem to have enough
lung capacity to tell you everything i need anymore
or maybe i lose my breath before we even begin
around you i always forget to breathe
if i were a ball of emotion i would be blue and green
and could bounce all the way to the ceiling
i would consider trying to avoid you
but end up throwing myself as hard as i could
straight towards the upper left of your chest
and it'd be no surprise when you caught me right out of midair
you always catch me out of midair
it's not just the leaveslast autumn i spent an entire afternoon
on my back in the grass waiting for a falling
leaf to drift downwards into my open palm.
i was convinced that there was something
special about being the first to hold on to
something that had never touched the ground.
i pulled my eyes shut and tried to make a wish
but when i opened them it was spring again and
i had forgotten how to believe in something that
was heading towards the ground anyway.
what we do.we kiss underwater and
have sex on a Sunday.
we send letters, pictures,
and love with postage stamps.
(somedays i think i am going to break the mailman's heart)
we wear each others clothes to bed
and pretend the bodies that used to be
inside them are right next to us again.
we break weeks into days, and days into
how many hours it's been since we've
been on the same side of the state.
we're working as hard as we can
but sometimes it still doesn't help.
drunkstaring at the phone in my hand, i contemplate
about how many words i would have to misspell
in my text to make you believe i was drunk.
i settle on four.
when i try to type in your number i realize
there is still something cold and wet in my hand,
i put it down and it promptly gets knocked over.
to be honest, i feel almost jipped that i have to
pretend to be drunk as opposed to being able
to just let go.
i find another cup to drink again and it's warm
in my throat but there is a sweet aftertaste that
almost completely covers up the bitter undertones
that bite even the morning after.
i think it's fruit punch, or maybe lemonade
i just know that i dont want what i'm doing
to be covered up, because then it almost
makes it seem alright.
i pour it out and open my phone again to tell you something,
anything, even though i havent heard back from you in weeks.
that's the last thing i'll remember.
in the morning, between the tunnel vision and
the room spinning, i'll open my phone and see t
johnson citySometimes you look at me like I'm
the only thing keeping your feet glued to
the ground and whatever I'm rambling
on about at that moment is more precious
than air itself.
I was never someone who made guys glance
back for a second look, but god damnit,
something I did made this boy think
that he could find the answers to his
problems in the crook of my neck and
the curve of my waist,
and who am I to set him straight?
months of the year.october:
was when i met you.
we were in a coffee shop. it was stuffy and crowded, but it smelt like hope and the coffee was decent.
you sat down next to me, quietly, and neither of us said anything as you watched my coffee get cold.
'why?' you asked softly.
'i don't like getting burned.'
it's a shame i ended up getting burned anyway.
i had this incredibly eccentric neighbor.
she put her christmas lights up at the beginning of november. i never understood why.
most of the lights ended up dying by december.
and then i thought of the lights as the important people in my life, and i thought it was ironic how, in the end, they always ended up dying or leaving, too.
the first night it snowed that year, you brushed my hair out of my eyes and smiled. i asked, 'what are you smiling about?'
you said, 'i know what my new year's resolution will be.'
i asked, 'what?'
you said, 'i'm going to be more careful. my goal is to not break anything out of clumsiness.' and suddenly,
peace at three a.m.Everything was silent for the
cricket symphony at three a.m.
I sat on the cool cement of the driveway to listen
and a pill bug slowly approached to sit at my left.
I noticed a spider on my right,
still and sprawled,
and for the first time I realized that
he had no desire to scare me.
He stared and waited,
spread like an open hand ready to take mine.
Wary, I only watched him and refused
to relinquish my hand.
He seemed to know that these things take time.
The three of us sat and listened to the crickets, unmoving and appreciative of the company.
A street light flickered on and off down the curve of the road,
soft and gentle.
For the first time,
I realized there was peace.
requiem for a resurrectionwatch
where you lay your
keep that sharkjaw grin in check
I'm counting teeth
and I believe
in skindeep songs
building damaged stars
and heart-shaped scar
I said watch
where you lay
'cuz I remark to emptiness
and I explain
shaping words like holes
to make a home
inside your chest so
(make room for nothing)
where you lay
tomorrow.i used to hold you close in the hopes that you'd keep me warm.
it worked physically, but my heart always felt colder; heavier afterwards.
you never liked to hold me, anyway.
you and i are not the same.
you like it when the rain falls, and you like being startled when its peace is interrupted by thunder. you like trying to catch the rain in a bucket; you try to 'save' it from colliding with the ground.
i only like to watch it fall.
you are beautiful when you cry; when your body shakes uncontrollably with sobs you can't hold in. you are open when you cry, and i can see past the marble mask you put up and i feel like i know you.
but i am only broken when i cry.
if i could hand you my heart, i would; you would never trust me with yours.
you think you can shape broken things and the broken people - people like me. you think we are like clay and you can make us into what you want. you think there's a mold that we will one day confine to; give in to. you believe you can
hearts.I think its funny how everyone draws hearts but no one bothers to fill them in.
So theyre always empty?
A pause, and then, sadly: So theyre like yours.
I wish I could fill your heart in for you. I have a black pen, do you think itll help any?
When I say hearts, what do you think of?
They make things run.
But they die.
Some are rechargeable.
And most arent.
My heart gets lonely, some days. It feels like its the only star in the sky. It misses you, sometimes.
But no one was listening.
hide and don't seek.i remember how we'd go to the park.
the swings were rusty, remember? you were always the one pushing me in the autumn air, and i was always the one giddy with laughter. when we got tired, and our breaths came in shallow gasps, we'd go play games of hide and seek.
[your favorite hiding place was behind lies.]
sometimes i found you, crouched low to the ground smiling up at me. i was always scared that you wouldn't come out when i called 'i give up now.'
but you always gave yourself away to me, sometimes unwillingly.
[your deceptions were see-through, once i looked past the velvet curtains in your eyes]
i remember what missing you felt like.
it was like the music in my heart stopped playing. it was like i was pulling my hair out and biting my nails until they were bleeding and i was screaming, 'please come back, please come back.'
and when you did, i wished you hadn't.
this is how you managed to kill me, tearing pieces away from exactly the right places,
ripping, cutting, sla
dear megan.dear megan,
i think that we'd be amazing together. i'd write you little letters on post-it notes
and even though we're hundreds of miles apart, i hope you'd write back. when
i'd get them, i'd sit at the foot of my bed and read them by the glow of the
fireflies drifting through my window. i would think of you and i'd sigh while i read,
because you must be made up of harp-strings and six-o'-clock sunlight
(that golden hue would really highlight your cheekbones) to be able to think of
such beautiful sentences.
i hope you'd be able to read my messy handwriting and scratched-out words and
think that even though i'm not as good as you, at least i was making an effort.
megan, i'd be trying to make you happy.
and i know i'll never amount to much, at least, not compared to him. because
when you do find him (and i know you will, because you aren't the kind of girl
who stops looking) he'll be perfect for you. but before you find him, i know you'll have some rough times, and you'll compare your li
be my windi'm not just a lonely girl.
i'm a girl that is alone.
a storm without its wind.
just rain, quiet rain
[until you come around.]
untitledwhen she sleeps,
the inside of her mind is a spanish lullaby
just gentle chords strung into a
beautiful tapestry of sound. her skin
smells of oranges and cloves, and her hair is
cinnamon brown. she reminds you of
the feeling of waking up in the morning,
thirsty. she is the song you play for
every kind of weather
every kind of mood. you feel her
fingers on your cheek when you sleep,
you dream she's there with you. and even
when she's far away,
you hear her like the voice of a flute.
a haunting sound carried on
the wind, past hills and fields and
home to you.
eighttwelvetwozerozeronineit is the eighth of december and i am starting to cry.
it is the eighth of december and i am all alone and
once again i have to pretend not to
it is the eighth of.
and you aren't here and it's less of the emptiness and
more of where you are now.
because i know that this is not about some other girl,
it's just about how i'm not good enough for
or rather, i might be, but we both know that i
am too much trouble anyway. and i don't think that
you would want to spend your days
trying to decipher my poems for traces of you, but
i would think that now you know.
it is sometime in december and i'm already sick of the
cold and damp and the monotonous sound of
christmas music in the background.
it is the eighth of december.
i am tired of waiting because it is already the eighth
of december and yet you have not bothered to
tell me that this is not what you have dreamed of.
all i wanted was the eighth of december with
you by my side.
so please, if it is the eighth o
today you walked past me andi swore i'd never
fall again. and you give me
a smile and i keep.
This is loveCome away with me
fall into my arms
I was weak,
but you made me strong,
your love has given me wings
and I can fly.
Let us disappear into the clouds
I'll take you there,
and we'll travel to a distant land
where dreamers dream
and society has no hold.
We'll be free
like horses in the wild
with an unquenchable desire
I call love.
shorter daysDear Alexa,
I hope this letter finds you.
Mom and Dad are not doing so well. For Thanksgiving Mom set your place, and kept whispering, "I know she will come home." Dad eventually lost it and told her that you are a selfish bitch, and that you chose drugs over us. I hope that's not true. Is it true, Alexa?
I never saw Dad yell like that before, and I don't think Mom had either. She got up and put your plate back in the cabinet.
I hope I am not making you feel bad. That is not my intent. I really wrote to tell you I miss you. Everyone misses you, I can tell. Once in a while someone will call and ask if we have heard from you yet, and Mom always hands the phone over to Dad. He always has to be the one to say, "No. No, we haven't heard from her. Yeah, we'll let you know."
I was walking home from the grocery store yesterday (Mom doesn't shop anymore) and I heard someone say, "Yeah, that's her brother..." I am only telling you because I know that you would love the ide
the other girlEvery time she looks your way,
You stammer and you choke,
Because this is pure beauty,
A heart that never broke.
Her eyes are like empty swimming pools,
But you still want to dive inside,
And they've never held water over the years,
Because she's had no reason to cry.
You know when you see her smile,
That she hasn't felt the pain,
That she would never hurt you like I did,
And you don't want to hurt again.
Best of all she wants you,
And lets you in her heart,
So soft and pink and bloody,
And willing from the start.
I know my eyes are swollen,
From all the times I've cried.
I know my heart has hardened up,
And it really seems to have died.
My smile is always fake,
And my teeth cut through your skin,
I never tell you secrets,
And I never let you in.
So I'm asking you to leave me,
And take a step above.
I want to help you for once,
And let you fall in love.
She'll let you in her heart,
And I want you to learn,
Because I have never let you
Love me in return.
Painful Truth Or Kind Lies?Her fingers rested silently on the letters ASDF and JKL. A new message was clicked opened, ready to be written on. She stared blankly at the names in the upper right hand corner, in the recipients bar. Her three best friends were listed there. They had always been so close, but now, just so far away. They were probably back home, living their lives, and filling her empty spot. They'd send her eleven e-mails already, asking her how she was, and if she could please reply soon. But she couldn't . What was she supposed to say? Finally she had to. She had to say something. She didn't want them to be worried. She loved them too much, and couldn't stand to keep them waiting any longer. But what would she tell them? How she found a couple of people, who say hi to her, but can't even remember her own name? Who give her a nickname, just so that it's easier to remember? And the rest. She talked to everyone. Of course. She wanted to fit in. Wanted everything to be back like it used to be.
002. Love'do you think that maybe the stars watch over us?'
'why not? it would explain why some people are so lucky: they were born under stars.'
'no because what you think are stars are only balls of flaming gases just waiting to explode. they can't protect anyone and they don't grant wishes.'
'how would you know that?'
'because i wished for her to love me, and it never happened.'
'but i wished for you, and look. here you are.'
'but i am here because i know you will love me and she will not and you are my comfort when the nights are tough to get through alone. does that bother you, that i am only here because she does not want me?'
'not really. it doesn't matter why you're here, only that you are.'
'does it hurt, being in love with an idea?'
'an idea of a person, of an event...of a phrase you've been waiting to hear for too long.'
'more than you could probably imagine.'
'i doubt that.'
'why do you say that?'
'because i am in love
and she asked him:do you love me?
she hears no hesitation in his answer, the rushed eagerness of
someone's emotions bursting to come out
apparent in his voice.
she laughs quietly to herself, saying,
good, because i love you too.
but there is always some apprehension in his reply, really,
always a split-second of silence before he answers. she tends to erase it from her mind,
telling herself that it doesn't matter. but the silence always matters most.
do you love me?
yes, don't you believe me?
there is a slight edge to his voice, as if this is an obvious point,
but he almost never says it, and not to her face.
and she doesn't want to believe it, but that means something.
it means a lot of things, and she doesn't want any of them to be true.
do you love me?
her question sounded ridiculous even to herself.
he sighs silently. his very posture screams he's uncomfortable, arms linked
tight across his chest, a subconscious barrier. he grips his wrists and even from here,
she can see his skin turning