Take a sip, little love.
Don’t think about it.
This high’ll burn brighter
than any drug.
I’m worth it,
It’s only love.
we looked up from our place on the ground as we slept on hard-wood floors
and claimed we could pin-point certain constellations
and we were dragging black crayons between the lines
because (for the first time) we wanted to prove something to ourselves.
We weren’t out of minds just yet.
we shifted the bed to the other side of the room
and moved the dresser in front of the window;
to block out memories of the outside and all the hurt we’d felt before.
we’d sweep up dust-angels and watch them follow our lungs down.
We weren’t ready to leave just yet.
incense would burn holes in our eyesight and fog our common sense
and we’d watch the smoke twist around our fingers all night long.
we were twirling and swirling and curling our toes
beneath the summer sun and glow of artificial light until we couldn’t feel a thing.
i don’t think we could support ourselves.
There’s cracks in the bedroom ceiling.
and you left behind a letter addressed to what you saw in me,
stained with howling winds and the wolves that hid in the shadows.
you said you missed the outside but you were lying and now you’re gone.
i threw stones at the door and cried all night;
now this is just another empty apartment.
i moved the bed again
but i still can’t stop waking up on the wrong side.
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
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 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,
unbox our feelings and opinions,
and uncap the inspiration and intelligence,
that I KNOW we all have inside us.
and do it proudly.
It’s more than just
That tortures us
It’s the trust
We both make
And we regret it
With every breath we take
Like a pen uses ink
Beautiful. Original. Interminable.
Write until your heart is spilled completely on the page for me to
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.
There’s been a film
Collecting on my bones
The way poetry seems to,
The way love condenses
And spills over;
I’ve been learning to live alone,
Enveloping myself in the
Emptiness like a moth-eaten quilt
It is safe here,
With the memories
Tucked away, but
I am done with this
I am not broken anymore
And I have no intention
Of pleasing you.
You can break my bones before
‘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
Who is no one’s but her own
And belongs to nothing
But her dreams.
And for the first time,
I feel invincible.