Naked and stripped bare to my organs.

There is nothing I can say, safely.there are changes and motions and stillness

that have left me naked and stripped to my bare organs;

the heart being the evident one.

what can I do now with this?

dress myself up? 

keep all hope down?

there is no home yet. no place, no heartbeat, no whisper.

I have buried this many times,

it resurfaces as if it was a gore tale.

It comes out, almost shining its light

to face my own little darkness.

I hate that I love. 

yet I live because of it.

I re-member, and arrange and continue,

awake, barely.

trying to weigh my feet down I find myself,

after all these years.

No more an angel I wish to be;

but I still wonder, I still look at the sky.

You know? I still write, how ironic.

I still am who I was, 

but less. much less. 

and with it I have not become more.

I use the word I still. 

(is it even considered a word?)

I battle my thoughts with your logic.

I silence my own naive narrative,

because,

well,

who knows why I am even allowing it.

I question my intention every step of every way,

even though I have no way.

Lost as it were, moving slowly,

in rhythm with the desire of not wanting more distance.

I died. I did die.

Just like love I still try to resurface.

Every so often I smile. bot not for long.

not an adult smile.

because there is no real reason to.

not with a broken heart. 

a heart that should be empty by now. 

but it is full,

of you.

And I carry that weight, that life that never happened.

That night, that day, that phrase, that word, that whisper,

that imagined touch,

I re-live it to live.

I have yet to get sick of it. 

at least as much as it got sick of me.

 

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How ?

How do you forget something that’s so integrated into yourself? 

How do you rip the memories from your flesh without bleeding? 

How do I tear out the emotions without killing that small piece of myself?

 I’m burning for an answer, but I always end up with more questions.

No refunds 

take. take. take.

i’ll allow you to burrow holes into me,

if you need a place to feel safe and warm

but remember to give something back.

i don’t want to be left with nothing again.

because i don’t want to be nothing

again.

You’re much stronger than you think 

I’ll be the first to tell you

scissors don’t need to be brought to a wrist

to cut deep

because cutting off your heart from you head,

or yourself from your dreams,

is also enough

to make you bleed

and there’s ink spilled all over these pages,

and at times it seems tears 

are cheaper than water from a spout:

these lines need diluted,

these blots are a dark, dark sea
and maybe I’m not too good at swimming,

even if it’s just through a pool of ink

but I’ve learned if you just keep paddling,
you’re much stronger than you think.

Un

Unplanned.

Unprepared.

Unnoticed.

Unwanted.

Unloved.

Unable.

Unaccepted.

Unused.

Unacknowledged.

Unappealing.

Unbeknown…

Un un un.

It seems to make me.

I’m always un.

But it’s these un’s that make me stronger too.

I will become unstoppable,

as the years go on.

And come out unbloodied,

in the fight of life.

I, along with everyone else,

just have to go though some unfortunate things,

before we can unbarricade these walls,

and become open to the world.

We just have to remember,

be unbashful,

unbox our feelings and opinions,

and uncap the inspiration and intelligence,

that I KNOW we all have inside us.
Live on,
and do it proudly.

Spilled Ink

Use me

Like a pen uses ink 

Beautiful. Original. Interminable.

Write until your heart is spilled completely on the page for me to 

EXAMINE

Until there is no ink left 

To write with…

Write to me about love and tragedy and painfully gorgeous moments 

Hand in hand.

Flesh on flesh.

Mouth on mouth.

Love & sin.

Free

There’s been a film
Collecting on my bones

The way poetry seems to,

The way love condenses

And spills over;
Unnecessary. 
I’ve been learning to live alone,

Enveloping myself in the 

Emptiness like a moth-eaten quilt

At midnight.
It is safe here,

With the memories

Tucked away, but

I am done with this

Shrapnel,

I am not broken anymore

And I have no intention

Of pleasing you. 
You can break my bones before 

I’ll surrender,

‘Cause I know this ache

This tar of my bloodstream;

Molten flecks of my memories, 

The pieces of you 

I couldn’t stand to keep 

I know this sorrow and I reject it

And this is the monster you’ve been left with:

A girl who will not succumb

To sadness,

Who is no one’s but her own

And belongs to nothing

But her dreams.
And for the first time,

I feel invincible.