to archive them here so I don't lose them. If you want to see my writing, it'll be here. Probably a decent sampling, too. :/
1.
The air in here is thick and tight,
pressing too close and sucking the breath from you,
making your words short and soft,
dulling their edges,
taking what you mean and breaking it against oxygen particles like waves crashing against the beach until all there is is white noise,
until all there is is nothing I can understand and nothing you can explain,
and your eyes are so tired, baby,
your lips are so exhausted that they barely remember what shape smiles take,
and I don’t know how to wake you up any more.
I’m not sure if I ever did.
2.
She looked over at her dog, curled in a tight, safe ball, and laughed at herself for thinking, “I wish I could make myself that small.”
She already felt that way all the time.
3.
I want to dance with you in soft grass and warm sunlight when your mother isn’t home, smile into your shoulder and kiss the dip in between your collar bone and your neck and laugh into your clavicle and have it mean everything and nothing in a blind moment, talk to you underneath a shining ceiling and fondly watching stars until with both fall asleep, safe and loved and beautiful. I want you to know that I love you, dear one, now and always and well past forever, until there is nothing left and even after that.
4.
She’s marked with the art and the names of dead men, handprints and inhalations like stains on her heart and her smile’s a little bit like broken glass; pretty, but sharper than you realize. Be careful, she will leave you cut and wanting.
5.
Something twists and curls and writhes in my chest, and I think you should be afraid of it, this dark dangerous thing that has no name, this thing that calls out like siren song, ancient and nameless and primal.
Don’t run, pet.
It will only want to chase you.
6.
Slam poetry makes me hot.
Oh yeah, when you spill your heart out on stage I get all warm in the pit of my stomach, and the way you hit those words just. right. makes me squirm in my seat.
The way your tongue curls around a word before you fling it out into the world next to your mess of a heart makes me love you, even though I don’t know you, makes me think of rumpled sheets and late night murmurs; the way you bare yourself with sharp sentences and severe syllables makes me want to hold you close and kiss you, makes me wonder how we are all so damaged and yet manage to function without shattering completely; it makes me love you, because we are so unbelievable, you are so unbelievable, that dictionaries cannot even come close to defining all the meanings that roll out of your mouth and past your perfect lips into the echo chamber of my ears, rattling down to my chest and reverberating with my heart beat.
So yeah, if I flush and move around in my seat while you’re tearing your heart out with your tongue, I’m sorry. But slam poetry makes me hot.
7.
Every conversation stilted, broken, filled with aching pauses that do nothing but lay there, silent, mocking, because they’re where the truth is supposed to be. I miss you. Don’t leave me. I don’t talk to anyone any more. I’m alone. I love you. I kissed you in a dream I had.
Instead there is filler. Bullshit. I’m fine. How are you? How are things going? That’s good. Oh, she’s fine. Work’s okay. Same old, same old, y’know? Empty laughter. False fragile smiled that almost break on your lips. Eyes that gleam flat like glazed porcelain, empty and lying.
And no one notices.
8.
I am a thief.
My sticky fingers pick up words and sentences and definitions, swipe whole quotations and similes and hide them in my mouth, shove them down my throat and hope they reach the safe in my heart, but my tongue is bad at holding onto things, so they spill out sometimes and I am so afraid of getting caught, so terrified of being nabbed like a kindergartner with her hand in the cookie jar that I babble and more and more stolen fragments of language spill out, bits of ancient Latin, shining pieces of Italian, cum soaked French, and my cache lies exposed on occasion, but no one ever notices.
No one ever notices.
So I stash it away like one of Tolkien’s dragons, and only let it show by accident.
9.
I think, sometimes, when I see a shadow out of the corner of my eye, that it is you.
10.
court me with words felt even in silence, court me with light and wind and shadows, court me with things known only to me, speak the rhythm of my heart, the breath in my lungs;
i will write poems on your skin in the dim glow of early morning and when the sun’s full glory falls upon your skin they will sink in, disappearing into you, because they are meant only for you and if you do not read them, well, at least i know they are there, that my language will be with you always, that i am with you, a part of me, always.
11.
i have only ever belonged in places that never were; i have only ever been at home in utopia.
(nothing and nowhere, the wind howls in triumph as it blows away the last remnants of a place no one remembers)
12.
there is something sharp and hard lodged in my chest, underneath my ribs, it aches like a gaping wound that won’t close.
sometimes i wonder if its throbbing is really the slow dull beat of a broken heart against a wall of bone and flesh.
13.
I want to kiss your bloodied knuckles until your fist loosens, slip my hand into yours, and not let go until the wounds heal.
(I wish I could give you the stars, so you would not have to reach for them. You murmur angry things in your sleep, darling, and I will be the wall you level your blows at if need be. They told me time heals all wounds, and I have scars already.)
(I wish I could be everything you need. I wish I could kiss the words you don’t say from your lips.)
(I wish I was enough.)
14.
they tell me that because i am young i have no right to pain, and yet i am so broken hearted that i can hardly breathe through the broken glass drum beat in my chest. (there is a dark and jagged canyon above my left breast. i will lead you to it if you like but i do not know my way around any more.)
15.
You would be blinded by the brightest light I have ever seen, your eyes seared out by the far reaching flames fanned by manic upwinds wildly blowing, blowing like they come from the lungs of Zephyr himself; my sun is a luminous white that would devour you in an instant should you catch so much as a glimpse of her in my sky; she is not kind, or gentle. She is a great fire without pity, she consumes, digests, and leaves ashes in her wake, and every time she touches me I am reduced to gibbering charred nothing, and then a phoenix, ever rising. You would be blinded. Destroyed.
I am reborn.
16.
My heart is so easily broken
that I can scarcely breathe
and if you were to fill up a paper bag with love
and pop it too near,
like a rude boy in a middle school lunch room,
I fear it would shatter.
(If you only filled the bag and left it… I think I could manage.)
17.
She always shoots her mouth off, and the lady aims to kill.
like a loaded gun, her words are deadly and
her hammer’s cocked, and her trigger finger is awfully
twitchy.
Just give her an excuse.
18.
I am determined to write, to create things, to make words dance beneath my fingers and conjure images up like a grand sorceress in the night. I will tattoo my thoughts on paper until they tattoo themselves on your paper thin eyelids, and all your ever see is me.
I am a writer
And
I
can
hurt
you
too.
19.
I am dried up, like a riverbed left too long without rain,
the fish wiggling in my arid remains, gasping for air
the way I gasp for purpose.
Potential evaporates like water;
But no one is ever more than a downpour away from success and I feel a big storm coming.
20.
Warm and soft and distant
Peace seems a foreign concept
but sometimes, I break the language barrier and cross the borders
just enough
to smile.
21.
Something, something deep in me, is broken, broken into small, sharp pieces and it is cutting me apart day after day, and it will not stop until my heart is hamburger meat and my head is filled with too much blood.
22.
all i want is a hand to hold in the darkness
all i want is someone to look up at the moon with me and smile.
23.
The day I run out of words
Is the day I run out of breath.
(i am gasping. i do not know what to say.)
24.
Hungry. Hungry the way a canyon is, empty and cavernous and waiting. Aching to be full, to even dream of being filled. My heart echoes in the cavern of my chest; My bones rattle beneath my ink and paper skin. Hungry like an empty-bellied wolf, wild and desperate; Howling at a moon that won’t listen, Scratching at dirt that holds no scent. You cannot fill me. I am a bucket with a gaping hole in its bottom, And you were only ever a drop anyway.
25.
You are more likely to find me in a bookstore than on the cover of a magazine.
I will kiss you harder to make up for the disappointment.
26.
Her snake hair lays like heavy curls
Her eyes are flaming emeralds
Her smile is a siren;
You cannot touch her
You can hardly stand to look.
27.
I am the broken glass surrogate for everything you never wanted, nurturing cast away thoughts, past loves, fragile ideas until they are there in the dark; I am every mirror you have ever cracked.
Run from your reflection, boy.
Hide from the shadows.
And hope that seven years isn’t long enough
For your time to run out.
28.
why can’t i breathe? did you lie to me when you told me i was safe, that we were safe? you never call any more. they never told me it could hurt like this. (maybe they didn’t want me to know.)
29.
Medusa’s smile shines brighter than any you have ever seen; all you have to do is dare to look.
30.
it’s funny how many songs remind me of you. (you drift through my head like a melody so often, it only makes sense.)
31.
blood stained fingers streak crimson sin down your angel’s cheek, a scarlet letter on your lily white skin; I have been tainted.
I love you, dearest. I ruined you.
32.
this room is empty.
there is an empty wine bottle knocked on its side
there is hollow breathing rattling out of a desolate chest
there is the dead echo of sorrowful acoustics ringing in the barren air.
this room is empty.
no one is here
but a shell.
33.
A heart breaks with every breath;
Are you a toddler with a hammer?
Or a packing expert?
34.
I bite into an overripe peach and it bursts on my tongue but all I taste is you.
35.
Every time I look in the mirror and don’t hate what I see, is an act of rebellion and revolution.
Every time I tell myself I am worth it, that I am smart and beautiful and worth other people’s time, is an act of rebellion and revolution.
I am tired of being told I am less, of being taught to think I am weak and broken, that I am not as good as other people, not as good as a man, not as good as a straight girl, not as good as a thin girl, not as good as someone without any mental illnesses or other chronic ails.
Fuck that.
I am trying to love myself. And that is the most radical thing I have ever done.
hopeful
manic
fucked up, not the good way