Creative Writing/ Poetry

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  • #171
  • #256

    What happens when relationships stink:

    I picked up your T shirt from the laundry and not even the best detergent could remove the soda stain from when you laughed so hard at my joke that it escaped through your nose. I smile at it, remembering that moment, just a moment when you could take me under your wing with such determination to make me feel like Earth.

    You’d look up at me from the couch, intuition in your hands when I told you about the pollution under my skin. We would watch my favorite movie so you could hear me giggle, beacuse you said that made you feel tingly inside, just like how I feel when you told me you enjoy subtlety.

    Everything finally fell in orbit, so much that God probably took his hands and placed the planet on its axis just so we could be together. But most gods know better how to punish more than they reward, and I look back and think that your presence became more of a punishment than a gift.

    I used to play songs for you and tell you to listen to my favorite artists. You said that you enjoyed the fact that I kept every letter I’ve ever received. Life was finally simple for you because of what you told me: that my words could define any emotion you’ve ever had.

    And now it makes sense that I never got any envelopes with your return address because you didn’t want me to remember you. You started talking about your favorite songs and telling your friends to listen to your favorite artists. When I was with you, I couldn’t seem to write about my emotions because my brain spoke to my palms and said, “Don’t write about people who won’t belong to you in the future.” And now that I can only have you in writer’s block, I can’t write what I feel about you, and it’s all trapped in my mind.

    I can’t hear your laugh without my skin shivering because it doesn’t keep me warm anymore. I’m greeted by cold shoulders and I wish I had your heather sweater you lent to me when my goosebumps weren’t so scared to jump. Everything feels as if all the potential I had for me and you turned into glue and gave our photographs a bear hug. I can’t move; I’m stuck in the love we used to have, but no longer treads forward. I’m so attatched to what we had because moving on means forgetting and I want to remember what this pain feels like for next time. As the memories start to stand in time, dry ice forms around me, squeezing my head into nothing but your psychological memoir. And suddenly my whole body tingles with the need to worship your disappearance.

    I think about you until my brain feet twist from all of your disruptive blocks in the road. I write poems about you because the best poems come out when they’re sad and sappy love eulogies. I covered your windshield wipers in peanut butter (yeah that was me) so you could stay stuck in my tears falling from the sky. I keep placing the needle on the same spot on the record because it won’t break enough to replay our song over and over and over again. I just want you back even though you love my name in a different body.

    I know you love her now, just don’t spill your heart onto her. Because she’ll collect stains on your shirt that you left at her house, that she, or I, can’t get out of the wash.

  • #265

    By the light of the fridge
    The kids write poetry.
    Any noise shatters thought
    Sending quiet feet,
    Pens, and paper
    Up the back stairs, running,
    So parents don’t see.

    Tonight, the illusion
    is not shattered.

    At night oppressed kids
    Run out in shadows
    To throw poetry into the streets.
    Any sign of headlights
    Forces kids equipped
    With others’ poetry
    Silently back into houses,
    Not homes.

    Tonight, they have yet
    to be seen.

    Morning holds a different fate:
    Kids are questioned why streetlights
    Shine out of their eyes,
    They are grounded for staying up too late.
    But for now, the secret is kept.
    Going to work, parents pass trash
    On the sides of the streets.

  • #296

    Anonymous

    Short story I wrote: “Muddy Feet”

    There’s a place right off of Creek Road, down a dirt path hidden behind a dying oak tree, and across a field made of golden grass that rose all the way up to the straps of Molly’s overalls. This location remained a secret between two childhood friends, and served as a meeting point for years during their youth. See, this spot was special. From this spot, leaning against a broken, rickety fence, the pair could see the whole town, spread out below like the patterned quilt in Jesse’s tree house. From there, they could pretend that they were flying like birds in the sky, too high to feel the ground or the tall grass on their muddy feet.
    This was the setting of their childhood. They would spend hours playing with Jesse’s airplanes and saving Molly’s dolls from the terror of the evil grass monsters. Jesse’s superheroes would climb the broken, rickety skyscraper and save the princess held captive at the top. When it rained, the ground became their kitchen, and they served world-renowned mud pies to all their furry customers. Jesse was the best chef in town, and Molly knew how to handle the squirrels when they got too impatient. In short, that spot was whatever they wanted it to be. It was home.
    One day, Molly brought a box to their spot, holding it close to her chest. When she set it down in the grass, she and Jesse dug a hole near the fence and buried it there.
    “What’s in it?” Jesse asked, when they patted down the dirt on top of it.
    “It’s a secret.” She whispered through cherry-stained lips.
    “When can we open it?”
    “In twenty years.”
    “Are we still going to be here in twenty years?”
    “Jesse, we’ll be here forever.”
    “Promise me we’ll open it together?”
    “I triple promise.” She held onto his hand and they watched the birds together, kicking their muddy feet out in front of them.
    The friends were up there one day many years later, after the oak tree had been cut down, and the path was overgrown, and the grass only tickled their knees. Molly had outgrown her overalls, and Jesse had outgrown his action figures. It was the day before high school graduation, and on a whim, she had invited him out there one last time. She ran up to the fence and looked out at the quilted town below her. Her blonde hair was dyed brown, and her wild curls were tamed and straightened. Jesse watched her from the side, watched her eyes flicker across the magical landscape with disinterest. She bent down and began to dig.
    “We can’t open it yet.” Jesse told her. She looked up at him through mascara-thick lashes.
    “Why not?” She asked, like she didn’t remember.
    “It hasn’t been twenty years.”
    “I’m not going to be here for another two years, let alone ten. I’m opening it.”
    “Maybe I should just go.”
    “Don’t you want to know what’s inside?”
    “It’s a secret.” He answered, but she only rolled her eyes.
    “Bully for you, then.” She dug up the box and left the hole in the ground uncovered, empty. She put the treasure in her bag and looked out at the town of twinkling lives below them. Jesse wished he could make her stay, but she was a bird, and high heels didn’t belong on muddy feet.

  • #312

    The concept of this is amazing. Finally a place where writers can share without fear! I love this!!

  • #314

    this is a song I wrote over the summer after John told me that sometimes you have to sit yourself down and make yourself finish a song, even if you have no inspiration. I like how it came out.
    I’ve been looking left and right
trying to figure it out

    guarding my heart
    
and building up walls

    I’ve been asking my friends
    
cause I’ve been losing myself 

    I just wanna know
    
if you thought it was worth it all

    then it hit me on a Wednesday night 

    my hands were shakin’

    glass all over the floor

    I reached for another bottle of vodka

    and slowly I wrote:

    there’s no way you’re ever coming back

    no way you’re gonna fix me up

    no way you’re gonna love me back

    don’t think you can start lying again

    my heart can’t take more mistakes

    I’m all cried out
    
you’ve taken all that I have

    don’t try and pretend 
I know you didn’t care

    it’s been a few months since you left
    
I always say I’m okay

    but when it’s 4am 
and the memories start to replay
    
I can’t help but wish
you were lying next to me

    your name follows me

    everywhere I turn

    and your haunting smile 
keeps me up at night 

    the thoughts never seem to stop

    I just wanna know 

    if this was your plan from the start

    then it hit me on a Wednesday night 

    my hands were shakin’

    glass all over the floor
    
I reached for another bottle of vodka

    and slowly I wrote:

    there’s no way you’re ever coming back

    no way you’re gonna fix me up

    no way you’re gonna love me back

    don’t think you can start lying again

    my heart can’t take more mistakes
    
I’m all cried out
you’ve taken all that I have

    don’t try and pretend 
I know you didn’t care

    I didn’t want it to play out this way

    just didn’t know you were playing pretend
    
i know the past will eventually run out

    and reminiscing will only bring me down 

    but I never knew that when I looked into your eyes
    all I saw were lies

    then it hit me on a Wednesday night 

    my hands were shakin’

    glass all over the floor
    
I reached for another bottle of vodka

    and slowly I wrote:

    there’s no way you’re ever coming back
    
no way you’re gonna fix me up
    no way you’re gonna love me back

    don’t think you can start lying again

    my heart can’t take more mistakes
    
I’m all cried out

    you’ve taken all that I have

    don’t try and pretend 
I know you didn’t care

    woke up that next morning

    with one thought in my head 

    I reached for my guitar 
and slowly I sang:

    there’s no way you’re ever coming back

    no way you’re gonna fix me up

    no way you’re gonna love me back (x2)

  • #377

    this is the first poem i’ve ever written, almost a year ago. it was about my first summer set show (how cheesy) and i like to think that if it wasn’t for this band i wouldn’t be the writer that i am today, so, here ya go.

    10.20.13

    the hope that had been gone for so long, finally was in sight,
    you no longer had to worry about that awful mental fight.
    the scars and anxieties finally floated away, like a butterfly,
    you had no more reasons to be upset or to cry.

    the lights go down, and the depression is put to sleep,
    and the bass drum beats in your heart, and begins to creep.
    screams in the crowd help the feeling of sadness go away,
    and everything in the world suddenly became okay.

    because finally, the heroes you have admired for so long,
    were no longer gone.

  • #433

    I wrote this a month ago and it’s my proudest piece.
    The Routine

    She comes home tired after a long day.
    Takes off her shoes, wiggling her toes in the new found freedom.
    She shakes out her hair from the tight ponytail it was in.

    Peels off her second layer of skin and throws them to the side.
    Trades in her tight blouse for a loose cotton T-shirt.
    Each piece of jewelry set in a small pile on her nightstand.

    Moving to her mirror, she picks up her makeup remover.
    The red smile of hers is wiped away leaving behind pale brown lips.
    Her bright eyes once lined with black paint now look sunken and tired.

    Next she removes the tough look on her face revealing a timid one that seeks everyone’s approval.
    She washes away the wall used to hide her weak self.
    The laughter that fools everyone into thinking she is perfectly fine.

    Running water through her face there are no traces of the independence she uses as foundation.
    Covering every crease and pore.
    She always makes sure it’s smooth and flawless so no one spots how needy she is.

    How much she relies on the others. How important and vital they are to her being.
    She crawls into bed after turning the lights off.
    Rolls over and fades into the darkness, just dreading the fact that she needs to wake up in the morning and reapply it all over again

    • This reply was modified 2 years, 6 months ago by  Jaz.
  • #456

    My best friend tried to kill himself so I wrote a poem to read for his funeral if he ever succeeded in what he was trying to do. He still cuts but only when it gets really bad. He read it and cried. He said that it was one of the few things to put his feelings into words. This is honestly the saddest thing I have ever written about.

    “If Only Everyone Knew”

    Sitting alone,
    Others glare,
    Searching to find someone to care.
    They all think they deserve a throne,
    But we’re all just flesh and bone.
    They don’t know how skin can tear.
    How can they be so unfair?
    Why are their hearts made of stone?

    Break out from what they say,
    Control your life,
    Battle through and through,
    Live your own way,
    Drop the knife.
    If only everyone knew…

  • #470

    This is not my own but I believe it deserves attention. It made me cry in a way few short stories have struggled to achieve.
    All credit goes to @floydaneurysm at Wattpad.com

    He woke in the morning and wanted pancakes.
    Then he remembered the dust in the kitchen cupboard, and reminded himself to change the newspaper lining. He’d been putting it off since Sunday when she’d brought it up. It was now Friday.
    She woke in the morning and said to him, “Please don’t go to work today.”
    She sat up; the blankets moved and he felt the chill nibble at his toes.
    He said, mostly to himself, “I get unpaid leave.”

    The clock said it was nine-thirteen in the morning. It was raining outside and Frank was scratching at the bedroom door. She said, “Let Frank in, will you.”
    He let Frank in. Then he left him with her in the bedroom and went to the kitchen. He took out a glass from the dusty cabinet and filled it with water. He picked up the newspaper from where it was wedged under the front door and reminded himself to cancel their subscription.

    Back in the bedroom, he said, “Let’s go to the aquarium.”
    She looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, fiddling with the ring on her swollen finger. He stared at her and wondered what the point of changing the newspaper lining in the kitchen cabinets was after all.
    “I can’t -”
    “You’re not going to just sit at home.” He sat down in front of her. “Please?”
    Frank raised his head from her lap.
    “Alright.”

    They got dressed. He watched her put on the maternity jeans they’d bought from Mothercare as a joke when they went to buy her niece a present for her third birthday. But when they collected their packets, giggling through their noses, he saw in her eyes that she thought she might need it someday.

    She wore the jeans for the comfortable elastic.

    He checked his wallet when he thought she wasn’t looking. She read the newspaper like she did every morning while he ate four Nutri-Choice biscuits with a glass of milk, and told him that there had been a jewel heist at the store just a few miles away. He nodded and said, “Funny that people are planning heists while me and you just wake up and go to the aquarium.”
    “And take unpaid leave,” she murmured, turning a page.
    He looked back at his milk and felt the ring on his finger clink as he picked up the glass to finish the rest.
    “I think aquariums are more fun than heists anyway,” he said, searching for a smile. She closed the newspaper and touched his face.
    “You have milk in your beard.”

    They took the bus to town. He said he didn’t feel up to driving; he could feel himself shaking inside his hands and he didn’t trust himself. It was one of those mornings. He felt like she understood but she didn’t say it.
    She pressed her nose to the top of his arm on the bus, her forehead against his shoulder. He looked outside the window through the strands of pink hair floating up from her forehead as if they were trying to break away from the skin. He played connect the dots with the freckles on the inside of her wrist to pass the time.
    “I wanna see that praying mantis again,” she mumbled.
    “Praying mantis?”
    “I mean, the – the thing? The flappy thing.”
    “The stingray.”
    “Yeah, that.”
    “How did you confuse that with a praying mantis?”
    She blew out a breath.
    “I don’t know – ray and ray. Praying. Preying. I don’t know.”
    He stared at the Budweiser ad on the other end of the bus and smoothed down her hair.
    “Okay, we’ll see the praying mantis first.”
    “We can see the clownfish after that, yeah?”
    He liked the clownfish. She found them a little ridiculous, and contrary to his expectations, Finding Nemo had only cemented her opinions on them.
    “I can skip the clownfish.”
    “No, it’s all right.”

    He kept looking at the Budweiser ad and she fell asleep against his arm. When they got off their stop he wiped a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth and a tinge of colour crept into her cheeks. She pressed her hands to her face as the bus drove off.
    “God, it’s cold.”
    “I should’ve got the umbrella,” he said, looking up at the flat grey sky.
    She linked her arm with his; it felt uncomfortable with all the layers of jacket and sweater between the crooks of their elbows. He scuffed his shoe against the sharp edge of a tile and dislodged a hardened bit of dirt from the grooves of the sole.
    “I’m hungry,” she said suddenly.
    “I told you you should’ve had breakfast,” he said as he steered her towards the café outside the aquarium entrance.
    “I wasn’t hungry then.”
    She ordered a cup of Chinese green tea and a doughnut. He knew she would rather have an espresso but she was trying to balance the guilt of the doughnut with the metabolism-boosting goodness of the tea.
    She fished out his wallet from his back pocket and paid the cashier.
    “I’m gonna hide this doughnut in my purse,” she hissed after eating half of it, as if it was the most diabolical thing she’d ever done.
    “You do that,” he mumbled, looking at the entry tariffs for the aquarium. He was on unpaid leave.
    She stuffed the half doughnut into her bag and finished her tea. He paid the tariff and they went inside, straight to the stingrays before anything else.

    “They’re really rather beautiful,” she sighed, her head tilted upwards as they stood in the glass-ceilinged corridor. Above their heads, the stingrays wobbled, their small mouths moving silently and meaninglessly. He held onto the ends of the tassels on her bag and said, looking at the shape of her face, “Yeah, they are.”
    She closed her eyes.
    “Do you ever think they’re trying to say something?”
    “Who?”
    “The pray – the stingrays, I mean.”

    He looked at her. The elastic of her jeans clung to her waist, the rest of the fabric hanging off her bones resignedly, like it had given up on the function of being a pair of skinny jeans. Her scarf looped three times around her neck, and her hair looked green in the shifting light. The shadows on her face moved. The shadows in both of them lurked, and were still in that moment.
    He said, “Maybe.”

    She was looking for a different answer: something longer and philosophical; but he wasn’t philosophical and couldn’t try to sound more impressive.

    She opened her eyes, almost scaring him. Then she took his hand.
    “Clownfish?”
    He kissed her on her cold lips and almost smiled.
    “Please.”
    They passed the moon jelly and the American lobster. She walked slowly so they took their time.

    “I’ll tell you a joke,” he said. They stood looking at a sullen Rockhopper penguin who glared at them.
    “I don’t trust your jokes,” she said.
    “But this is a good one.”
    She leaned against his chest.
    “Let’s hear it.”
    He played with the ends of her scarf. The penguin waddled a few feet to the left.
    “So there’s this guy at the gas station.”
    “Hilarious.”
    “I’m not done.”
    “I know. Go on.”
    “So this guy has two penguins in the back seat. The gas pumper got really curious and he asked the guy why he had penguins in his car. The guy said that he found them wandering around so he picked them up. The gas pumper said ‘You should take them to the zoo’. And the guy said ‘Hey, that’s a good idea’ so he drove off to the zoo after that.”
    “Mm-hm.”
    “And the next day the guy comes back and the gas pumper sees that he still has the penguins. And he says hey I thought you were gonna take them to the zoo. And the guy says yeah, I did – we’re going to the beach today.”

    The penguin walked further away.

    She turned around in his arms.
    “I don’t feel so good.”
    “It wasn’t that bad.”
    “No, I mean, I don’t feel so good. My head hurts.”
    He put a hand to her forehead. She was sweating and cold.
    “Come on.”

    A few minutes later they sat on the cold floor of the bathroom under renovation, after skipping over the cautionary red tape outside the door. She pulled out her doughnut from her bag and nibbled at it. He remembered again that he had to change the newspaper in the cabinets back home.
    “We should go home,” he said.
    She swallowed.
    “Maybe.”
    She finished eating and put her head on her knees. He took out his phone and typed in a memo: ‘To do: change newspaper in cabinet. Cancel subscription. Buy toothbrush.’

    She wasn’t moving.

    “We should go back home,” he said again.
    He helped her up. With one arm he supported her and he pressed the heel of his other hand to his eyes.
    On the bus back home she slept again. He held her purse in his lap.

    “Sleep,” he said, as she lay back. He took off her shoes and covered her feet with the blanket. Frank curled up under her chin.
    “Not sleepy,” she whispered. “Can you sit here?”
    He pulled up a stool to the side of the bed. She moistened her lips.
    “I’m sorry we couldn’t spend more time there.”
    “It’s all right.”
    “I’m sorry about me.”
    “Don’t be.”
    “You can go to the aquarium all you want. You know, after.”
    “I wouldn’t go without you.”
    She smiled.
    “You’re so sweet.”
    “I’m not, really.”
    “And so…so proper.”
    Her eyes were almost closed. He wondered if he’d given her the right dosage.
    “Hardly,” he said.
    She smiled again.

    Outside, it was raining harder. A pigeon took shelter under their sunshade.
    “Hey, don’t forget to clean the kitchen cabinets.”
    “I’m going to do it now,” he lied.
    “You know I have dust allergies.”
    “I know.”
    “So I can’t take out – you know, cereal and all.”
    “I know.”

    Her eyes were closed but she wasn’t asleep. She lacked the energy to keep them open.

    He kissed her knuckles. After a while, her hand went limp and he left the room. But in her haze of unconsciousness, she heard him outside, making phone calls and opening and closing shutters. She heard words like aquarium and soon.
    He sat in their study and looked at the unfinished thesis lying on her table. He looked at his textbooks and wondered if he should have studied. It seemed like an eternity passed in that study, but soon, darkness was falling. He decided to make chicken soup for dinner.
    After leaving the pan to cool, he went into the bedroom.

    At midnight, he sat on their kitchen floor amidst a sea of dusty newspapers. He thought maybe he should’ve changed them earlier. Then she wouldn’t have had to spend the week sneezing every time she wanted something.

    His eyes hurt from the rubbing. He was trying to breathe.

    He thought about calling his mother.

    He felt the ring on his finger clink as he picked up his phone. He dialed but then he realised he couldn’t speak.

    He turned away, towards the kitchen sink. He grabbed his soup dish and thrust it under the tap. He scrubbed and scrubbed. After he dried it he placed it next to the identical bowl on the counter that was full of cold chicken soup.

    He rubbed his eyes again. He tried calling out to Frank but he didn’t come.

    Frank was asleep in the bedroom next to a body cocooned in blankets, shielding himselffrom the cold. But it was cold even under the sheets: cold, like the untouched bowl of chicken soup in the kitchen. It was an absence of warmth. After a point, Frank went to the kitchen and found a bowl of food and his master curled up in a ball on the floor. He decided that it was much warmer there, and after eating, fell asleep.

  • #478

    When a boy first tells you he loves you
    He won’t even be there to say it in person
    Instead, you will read it off the screen of your phone
    Three days after you started talking
    Because he is a teenage boy, and you don’t know any better
    We grew up waiting for this moment
    We were taught that self worth stemmed from being loved by a man
    They were wrong
    Love does not mean being three hours late to pick her up
    Love does not mean dating a new girl
    a week after you broke up with the old one
    Love is not an a word meant to be thrown around
    But he was a teenage boy, and that’s exactly what he did
    After you leave the boy who first told you he loves you
    You will realize that self worth comes from knowing you can make it on your own
    You realize all the movies, all the books you read were wrong
    a man does not define you
    you define yourself
    So make your own choices
    Have fun on your own
    No strings attached
    But the next time a boy tells you he loves you
    make sure that you can say the words
    I love you too

  • #512

    Revisted some old work today, and realized I’ve come so far.

    _____

    Dear Chelsea,
    I know it hurts, I know your mouth feels sick, and most importantly I know that you understand we have to do this in order to reach our goals. So just one more time, close your eyes, take a breath, and pour out everything you took in today.

    Dear Body,
    Those girls in the dressing room next to me complained about fitting into a size zero jeans. I looked down at the jeans clamped in my left hand and felt bile rising in my throat. I dropped the jeans and removed myself from the dressing room, the number three slashing across my eyes.

    Dear Chelsea,
    Do you really need breakfast? Honestly, what good does it do for us? Pretty girls do not eat. Pretty girls do not give in. You are far from pretty. And far away from our goal. You are sick. You are losing this battle for us.

    Dear Body,
    I shake when I walk. I tremble in warm rooms. I cannot stand putting food anywhere near my mouth. It is all because of you. It’s all your fault. I can hardly hold my pen steady as I write. You tell me I am not good enough, maybe you are right. Maybe I am not good enough, because I feel like I am failing. I feel as if I am on a one way ticket towards nothing.

    Dear Chelsea,
    You are.

  • #525

    So this isn’t done and its my first time actually trying to write something so i guess leave some feedback and help.(:

    “Mom! Dad! Hurry up I’m ready to leave” I shouted as I sat on our couch waiting impatiently to load up our bags and leave.
    “We’re coming. We’re coming!” They shouted back hauling their bags down the stairs. “Don’t you know how to wait?”
    Any other time I would be fine with waiting but I was too anxious to finally get out of Indiana for a little while. We were going on vacation down to Texas. Mainly so my parents could go to a concert but also because my mom’s friend lived down there so we got to stay for a week. I hate it here in Indiana, there is nothing to do and I’m not like most the people here. I don’t listen to the same music as everyone else and I don’t dress like everyone else.
    “Come on. I’m ready to leave.”
    “Alright let’s load up the car.”
    “I already put my bags away.”
    “Then help us.”
    “Alright”
    I helped my parents load their bags up because I was more than ready to leave. After their bags were loaded up we got in the car and we were on our way. I plugged my headphones in so I could hear my music over my parent’s country. I saw my mom turn around and start moving her lips so I took out my left earbud.
    “What are you going to do when we get to Texas?” She asked.
    “What time are we going to get there?”
    “Probably around midnight.”
    “Well sleep first of all.”
    “I meant after that.”
    “Oh probably look for a record store or something.”
    “Well that’s interesting.”
    I put my earbud back in and resumed my music as I started to doze off. I’d never been good at staying awake in cars so I stopped trying to. I woke up a few hours later to find us somewhere in Arkansas.
    “How much longer do we have?”
    “A few more hours.”
    Since I’d just woke up I wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep so I decided to play a game. I started playing this adventure game where you got to make your own character. It had really good customization and a lot of choices for armor. I got really immersed in the game so I hadn’t even noticed how much time had gone by until I felt the car come to a stop. I looked up from my game to find that we were in the parking lot of our hotel.
    We were all a little too tired to say anything so we naturally got out and grabbed our bags. It was a very nice hotel. One we wouldn’t have been able to afford without the help of my mom’s friend. We walked through the front door into the lobby. I’d never been in a place this nice before so I was sort of mesmerized by it all. As my mom and dad checked in and got us our keys I’d walked around looking at everything. My parents came back with the key so we found our way to the elevator. We were on the 5th floor so it didn’t take long for the elevator to get us there. Our room was located right outside the elevator doors. We unlocked the room and quickly go into bed.
    I had woken up around 8:00 and I was the first one up. I quickly unpacked my clothes and went into the bathroom to take a shower. The shower had a weird nozzle on it so I couldn’t figure out how to adjust the temperature so I just took a cold shower. I’d got out and left a note for my parents.
    Gone to look around town, I have my phone if you need me but I’m not sure when I will be back. Love you, see you later
    Derek
    I left the hotel and started walking around. I knew what I was looking for but I was basically going anywhere I thought might be interesting. The first place I went to was a place to get something to eat since I didn’t have breakfast yet. I’d gotten a bagel and a cup of coffee so I could continue to explore. After about an hour of walking around I found a record store that looked really cool so I decided to go inside. I’d found my way to the section of music I always looked for and browsed through the selection.
    I’d found a couple CDs that I hadn’t had yet so I’d picked them up. As I was looking I saw this girl who instantly had taken my attention away from the music. She was beautiful. Beautiful brown hair that went to her shoulders, a slight tan, and she was wearing a Modern Baseball hoodie. She looked like a girl that would have come from my dreams. I kept looking up to look at her as I walked the isles. After a couple times of me looking I caught her looking at me as well so I decided to go talk to her.
    “Hey.” I said.
    “Hi there.” She replied as she tucked her hair behind her ears.
    “I like your hoodie.”
    “Thanks, I’m going to see them tonight.”
    “Wait, they’re in town?”
    “Yeah it’s been advertised all over.” She said. “Haven’t you seen it?”
    “Well I’m not exactly from around here so no” I replied as I laugh a little
    She Giggles and said “Well I have an extra ticket if you want to go.
    “Sure!”
    “Meet me here and 6 I’ll give you a ride.”

  • #197

    Here are some different poems I wrote:

    i used to sit and watch you paint and most of the time it made my eyes burn with tears because you held the paintbrush more lovingly than you ever held me and i sat there with my face wet suddenly facing the realization that i would never light up your eyes like the night sky because i will always be partly myself and i know you’re a painter and its your job to create and i may be art but i will never be your creation

    you fill my stomach with beautiful winged creatures and somedays i wish that those butterflies would consume me because i can not stand this life of mediocrity and i can not lack so much greatness in my being and still be worthy of your love and somedays i feel these creatures eating at me from the inside because even they realize i don’t deserve to get butterflies over you

    it doesn’t even make sense how little i appear on your brain anymore// you used to tell me i was an entire galaxy and now that that galaxy is being taken out with the trash like the rest of your feelings for me// how is it possible for a galaxy to be replaced so easily// i heard her name is abigail

    the bags under my eyes are now a stigma of my self-sufficiency and my lungs have collapsed under the pressure of my own conscience and all i wish to be is exactly what i am not// your secrets and fears are no longer locked away in the closets of my skull and the spaces where my bones once resided are now as empty as the packages of cigarettes strewn across my bedroom floor- i am hollow

    she finally understood what people meant when they told her she was beautiful and that she was like a four leaf clover in a field of three leaved ones// she was not beautiful in the jaw dropping hiked up skirt pin straight hair sort of way her beauty was effortless- a piece of nature that everyone seemed to admire and thought nothing of changing// she was beautiful in the most non-threatening way so no one felt a need to discuss it with her and she thought nothing of the word beautiful itself until she was laying out one night looking at the stars and finally realized she was more beautiful than any star in the sky because they all seemed the same and she was so effortlessly herself

    “what the mirror doesn’t show”
    the mirror will never be able to show human beings the flaws that lie within them and every time you look in the mirror you will never realize that your brain is about to explode from too many conversations with strangers about the weather and from every fake boyfriend you have ever had where the only words spoken have been between breaths for air after too much kissing// the mirror will never show that the face of humanity is changing too drastically and everyones minds are shrinking with every passing day and everyone is rotting their minds pretending they care about the kardashians’ lives and staring at a screen for fourteen hours a day will do you nothing but harm, but no one seems to realize because everything is about what you see in the goddamn mirror

    you could probably stick a knife in my back and i would still tell you i love you and you are a shining star even if they were my last words and i hate that because i cant get control of myself and i have given myself to you whole heartedly and you’re reckless and careless and play catch with your friends using my heart and you use my bones as silverware and baseball bats and i cant get myself back i’m so lost in you

  • #557

    Glass Masks

    You try to hide. You try so hard to conceal your true emotions from the world by putting on this mask. A mask consisting of multiple different pieces of your false feelings. The mask is simply pieces that you have found of things you wanted to be just mashed together any old kind of way. Perfection. Confidence. Happiness. Love. You think this mask is protecting you because, on your side, everything seems to be distorted. you see nothing clearly, simply incomprehensible shapes and colors that you can barely make into a figure. You refuse to see anything beyond what is the obvious.
    You can’t see out clearly, so you expect that nobody can clearly see in. But girl, you are quite wrong. Have you forgotten? The mask you wear is glass, so transparent. Everyone can see through it, though some can only see the distorted image, because, like you, they have chosen to only see what is obvious. or some see the distorted image but make it into what they want you to be, never knowing who you really are.
    But there are some…some that have decided to put in some effort to decipher the figure behind the glass. some that might realize you’re not as perfect as you pretend to me, not as happy as you try to be, or not as confident as you wish you were.
    But then… then there are some who might put in the effort to take off the mask, no, not carefully. They will take off your fucking mask with all the force in the world, because they want to see the true you with such passion. They’ll take off that damn mask and throw it right to the ground with all the force they can possibly muster. They’ll grab it, and rip it off your face, sending it crashing into millions of broken little pieces right onto the floor. In those pieces you will see your lies. PerfectioHappiness. Confidence. Love. Someone will finally see the real you, the you that you has been hiding for much too long, the you that even you didn’t know existed because you’ve been wearing the damn mask for so damn long it had become a part of you.
    When you find that person that cares enough to rip off your mask, the one so different from all the others that came before that could have deciphered but didn’t, the ones that wanted to decipher but couldn’t, the ones that almost deciphered but couldn’t quite get it…
    when you find that person, and trust me, you will.
    You will feel free.

  • #558

    a poem i wrote about some boy last year

    My Mind Is An Ocean…

    bottled by thoughts. And how ridiculous
    is it that your presence lingers there? The night
    we first met—your arms pulling me into your chest.
    I remember how you smiled.

    You reside in the corners of my mind
    where I try to hide you. The sweet sound
    of Third Eye Blind rings in my ears and I think
    of how happy you looked as you strummed
    that six string.

    Or when you sat next to me—so close
    I could see the flecks of green in your
    eyes—and asked what I thought
    of your favorite songs. The lyrics
    play back in my brain on a loop: My heart
    caves in when I look at you.

    Maybe I talked too much, maybe
    I laughed at all the wrong pauses.
    Were all those conversations, laced
    with liquor, nothing more than drunken slurs,
    meaningless and easily forgotten?

    I tell myself: I’ll be fine.
    Because that’s the only option.

  • #576

    I’m getting nervous even considering sharing any of my words here because everyone is so talented, yikes! you all gave me goosebumps!
    but here’s this lil thing I never finished, and maybe I’ll share another tomorrow. written about some person who’s name I used to say bitterly, who rarely even crosses my mind now.

    “I hope sometimes you think of me,
    in a phrase,
    or my favorite Disney character
    and it plagues your mind

    cause that’s what losing you felt like.

    like a bug you can’t shake off,
    or a bad grade on a test you studied so hard for.
    or even, losing the last memento of someone long gone.

    empty.”

  • #593

    Ever since I was in the first grade, I started writing down songs I made up. I still remember it being Christmas and I started writing down some lame, repetitive song about nothing. I continued writing and writing until today (college) and I still love it. I want to write songs forever and I find it as something I can use to cope and get through anything. So here’s something I wrote a couple years ago:

    Write me a letter if you’re feeling better and I’ll get back to you
    Do you ever think about those days?
    Do you keep the memories?
    ‘Cause I do…
    I’ll tell you if there is anything you should know
    and I didn’t want you to go…
    Situations made up in your head?
    I should know…I’ve been down that road

    Chorus:
    I feel like I took last year for granted
    and I couldn’t live with myself not knowing what could have been
    and I don’t think the grass could be greener
    but who am I to say? I’m just a dreamer

    Write me a letter if you’re getting better
    This is me forgiving you
    Sorry ’bout everything I never said
    Don’t you remember the times we talked for hours on end?
    Everything was so easy back then

    I won’t hold back if there’s anything you should know…
    Hey, you told me so
    Times are rough aren’t they, dear?
    I should know…I’ve been up and down that same road
    Don’t go

    chorus

    Unspoken words
    Possible problems
    Should I feel hurt?
    No, I shouldn’t
    It’s unfair to say it’s all your fault
    But who’s to blame?
    Just let the rain fall…

    chorus

    • This reply was modified 2 years, 6 months ago by  everlasting.
  • #597

    This is about someone very special, sometimes it’s easier to write it all down:

    My lips will never unlearn his name
    as if he had tattooed himself inside
    my teeth. I dream about him, often
    say his name in my sleep.

    He is the summer rain and his smile
    is so quick maybe that is why it still
    feels like lightning as it runs up my
    veins.

    I know the measure of the boy who
    wraps his arms around me because
    oh god oh fuck oh sweet lord he is
    a skyscraper, standing tall and proud
    despite the elements battering his
    skin and the demolition at his feet.
    The strength he possesses,
    throughout the torment he faces, he
    can only pass to others and it fills
    every corner of my being and makes
    me a barricade only he can provide.

    And I will do anything to make him
    the happiest man in this world.

  • #598

    I haven’t quite finished this yet but this is what I have so far:

    Kids have always said the craziest things. It makes one wonder what actually goes through their heads.
    I heard once from little girl who sang to me this little phrase, “circle, circle, dot, dot, now you got your cootie shot” while giving me a shot with her finger like it was a syringe.

    It’s not every day or at least that I know of that little boys and girls are saying sometimes the cutest and most adorable things. There are the rare few that are actually Satan’s spawn and say the most out there phrases and sentences I for one, would not expect to come from a child.

    I suppose it’s all on how a child is raised. If you baby them, they are going to expect everything handed to them later on in life. If you ignore them, they are going to feel abandoned and like a worthless piece of human. Of course there are other ways to raise a child and how you would expect them to act later on in life but the ones who raise their children to be humble and stay grounded in all of life’s endeavors. Those are the ones that go far in life.
    There are the few children who become over powering and pretty much jerks no matter how they were raised.

    Life is about perspective.
    May not be the best but I tried.

  • #608

    This is the end of long rant I wrote one time when I was pissed off for continuing to fail my tests and essays when I put a lot into them. It started off as a block poem but now it’s a normal one. So yeah.

    We are all weak.
    We are all emotions.
    We all struggle, we all fall, we all die.
    We all smile, we all dance, we all laugh.
    And yet these things are an embarrassment.
    We will all be dead one day.
    There will come a time where every living person on this earth will not be on it.
    Every.
    Single.
    One.
    The tears you shed over your labeling of failure will not matter when no one is around to remember it.
    Cry your eyes out.
    Scream until your throat is raw.
    Smile until your jaw unhinges.
    Laugh until you can never stop.
    Because we are humans
    not failures
    we have no right to call one another failures when we’re all trying our hardest.
    We’re trying to support our families.
    We’re trying to get into college.
    We’re trying to live.
    And people make it harder,
    oh so hard
    but you’re still alive.
    You are alive.
    And are you going to hide your life under the curtain of failure and embarrassment?
    Because they cannot make you.
    You do not have to be a 40 out of 100
    but you can be a 100.
    You can be whatever you want and you can make sure the people who say you cannot fuck themselves.
    You’re alive.
    And what could possibly be less of a failure than life?

  • #650

    The prettiest words in this life are that words that always will mean something to you.
    Words that teach you something.
    Words that remember you to keep dreaming.
    Words that remember you to keep living.
    Words that always will be full of magic.
    Words that make you breathe, believe, dream, fight.
    Words that sometimes you will hate to say.
    The prettiest words in this life are that words that always will mean something to you.

    – Sorry guys I wrote this like 5 years ago in Spanish so I just tried to translate as good as i can haha-

    • This reply was modified 2 years, 6 months ago by  Vicky.
  • #685

    Here’s one poem I wrote last year for English class. I’m not sure how I like it. Lemme know what you think :)

    Every single day, I want to leave this place.
    I want to get in my car and just drive.
    And the one thing that could make the drive better is you.
    You, singing along to the mixtapes I made,
    You, smiling so hard I’m scared you’ll pull a muscle.
    I want you next to me in my 11 year old car,
    Telling me stories that you’ve made up in your head,
    Talking about the newest movie you seen,
    Just hearing your voice is all I need.
    We could go anywhere,
    To the moon and back,
    Just us.
    And everything would be okay.
    Your hand over mine, resting on top of the gear shift,
    Glimpsing your smile in the darkness,
    Smiling as you fall asleep.
    You,
    That’s all I would need
    to make the car trip away from this place better.

  • #694

    Flaws.

    You are not made of flaws.
    You are made of firecrackers,
    of scraped knees,
    of that time you fell off your bike but got back on anyway.
    Galaxies billions of years ago did not self-destruct
    and become a trillion tiny pieces that make up you and me
    just so you could only see your flaws.
    No, you are much more than that.
    You are made of mint chocolate ice cream,
    of English Breakfast tea,
    and of that time everyone was being hateful towards you
    and you laughed in their faces.
    You are made of bone
    and muscle
    and nerves
    and so, so much heart
    but you are not made of flaws.
    And I hope that one day
    when you look in the mirror,
    that you see what everyone else sees.
    That your flaws (or what you think are flaws)
    make up 0.02% of you.
    That you are a storm made of love and rage.
    You are a hurricane, not just of rain.
    That day might not be today,
    that day might not even be next year.
    But I hope,
    on all the galaxies and stars
    that loved you so much they brought themselves down
    so that one day you may pick yourself back up,
    that one day you will see,
    that you are not made of flaws.

    .SPH

  • #730

    Here’s something I write about Poetry –
    She shows her poetry to our teacher, a timid smile on her face.
    I am proud of her, because I know how hard it is to trust someone with something you wrote.
    The teacher’s eyes scan the paper, her frown growing with each line. When she’s done, she hands it back and says, “You should be writing something much happier.”
    My friend’s shoulders droop, the smile grows fake and she shakes her shoulders apologetically. The paper in her hand is folded into a smaller square by her her shaking fingers.
    The words that were said remain stuck in my head after the class. Even after the day is over, they keep hitting the walls on my mind again and again, forcing me to pay attention to them.
    I grasp the book in which I write my own attempts at poetry. I start to flip the pages, slowly at first but then faster and faster.
    The words in front of me are so dark that they could drown someone in a pool of ink, they’re so sharp that they could leave a hundred cuts on the reader and they’re so loud that they their echoes last much longer than any other thing I could say.
    I decide not to write poetry until I’m empty enough to write exactly how people want me to write.
    “You should be writing something much happier.” I mutter to myself, wrapping my treacherous arms around me so that they won’t find some way to release the poison that are my words into the world.

  • #847

    flowers bloom in my heart every time that you speak
    and i wonder if you give a damn about me
    because i spend my nights wishing that you were here
    god, i’m so lonely without you, my dear

    oh god, i’m so lonely without you, my dear

    there is seldom a night where i get any sleep
    but when i close my eyes, it’s your face that i see
    you smile and you laugh and you kiss me hello
    and when our lips touch i feel like i’m home

    oh god, i’m so lonely without you, my dear

    someday i’ll find you and we’ll settle down,
    get a place of our own a few miles from town,
    and we’ll plant daffodils outside in the yard,
    oh, i’ll give you the world if you’ll give me your heart

    oh god, i’m so lonely without you, my dear

    stars swirl in my eyes when i think about you
    my heart grows wings and it flies to the moon
    i can only imagine the life that we’ll have
    only because it’s not reality yet

  • #858

    “The First Pack” A Poem
    I’ve had the same, now beaten,
    pack of cigarettes
    in my bag for the past month,
    I don’t know why I wanted them so bad,
    maybe I liked the idea
    of inhaling something vile,
    that maybe it would kill
    the vulgar thing inside me,
    that maybe if I could inhale something
    as disgusting as what lived within me,
    maybe it would surround that matter
    and leave with the rest of my breath,
    or perhaps I liked the idea
    of blackening my lungs,
    cause maybe then
    my heart wouldn’t look so dark,
    rather just a part
    of an entire bleak system
    I had my friend buy them for me
    a month before my eighteenth birthday,
    I don’t know why I couldn’t wait,
    I guess I liked the idea
    of starting something before it was permitted,
    I don’t know why
    rebellion is so appealing,
    it seemed to me
    that sad people always smoked,
    maybe that’s what makes them happy
    even if just for a little while,
    perhaps if I could stimulate my senses
    something might actually make sense,
    although my explanation for any of this
    never did,
    I don’t know why I have such a hard time
    finishing the pack,
    it’s not that I don’t want to smoke,
    but for some reason
    that last cigarette is taunting,
    you’re supposed to make a wish
    but would mine
    be too much?

  • #868

    I know why you were okay
    Why you didn’t cry
    I understand why you were perfectly calm
    And didn’t choke on goodbye

    It hit you that night
    When she was snuggled in your bed
    As she kissed your lips
    Images of me flashed through your head

    She stormed out of your room
    Cause you got a little confused
    You screamed my name instead of hers
    And that’s when you knew

    For three years we ran parallel
    Yet eventually we strayed
    We tried to come back together
    But our demons couldn’t be slayed

    It didn’t bother you
    You understood all along
    I broke to pieces
    But I was all wrong

    At the end of this life
    When we fly far away
    We’ll land in other galaxies
    But we won’t stay

    You’ll catch the tail of a comet
    I’ll glide on a shooting star
    We’ll race to the end of the universe
    No matter how far

    We’ll hop across the planets
    And kiss under the light of day
    We’ll slide around Saturn’s rings
    But I’ll loose you at the edge of the Milky Way

    Time will pass
    Life will go on
    The Earth will continue to spin
    Even after we’re long gone

    But after we travel the depths of heaven
    And crawl back through the atmosphere
    After we cover every inch of this Earth
    We’ll end up right here

    Centuries from now
    Your eyes will lock on me
    On a busy street corner
    You’ll whisper, “Finally”

    I know why you left that night
    I know why you didn’t cry
    You realized we were soul-mates
    And that it wasn’t goodbye

  • #869

    Seasonal Change

    with every heartbeat –
    hearing the crimson red metronome,
    so living, soothing,
    breathing, pulse
    through your chest –
    I see an October day pass under my eyelids
    a September week
    a November hour.

    with every rhythm,
    every rise and fall,
    every change in tempo
    I hear an

    “I miss you”
    I hear a
    “When are you coming home?”

  • #871

    Firstly, I just wanted to mention that Julianna, your piece was so good that I had to read it over a couple of times! Also Kaiya, Seasonal Change is a really well written piece :)
    Secondly, I wrote this poem a long time ago, called The Head, The Heart, and a Special Guest.

    Timidly the words are spoken
    But I’m a scientist through and through
    I know that the central nervous system
    Is the one that control all of our actions
    Our thoughts
    Our dreams
    And I should really listen to it more often
    But my heart is screaming
    It’s pounding on the cage that surrounds it
    No
    No
    No, it says
    It’s thrashing about and I physically hurt
    It’s giving me a warning
    A slice of what’s to come
    But still my head wants otherwise
    Yes
    Yes
    Yes, it chants
    It fills me up with daydreams of what we could have been
    It controls every other part of me
    But you see, the heart likes to think that it controls itself
    So I’m at a crossroad of sorts
    The head and the heart
    The heart and the head
    I can’t possibly make a decision with this war going on inside of me
    And it seems that we’ve forgotten about the mouth
    All of a sudden it’s the mouth that gets to decide
    The only thing it can muster is:

  • #901

    I’ve tried to write songs for a very long time and of course, at the time I always thought they were turning out great. But I’d never finish them because when I went to, I realized just how terrible they were. This is the first song, I’ve ever finished and it means so much to me. I’ve been through a lot of shit in the last year and this song kind of describes how I’ve felt. It’s very personal and before now, I’ve only shared it with one person. This is a song called:

    On My Own

    I’ve always been daddy’s little girl
    I saw him as my whole world
    He taught me to laugh, he taught me to love
    He taught me to see everything that I’ve become
    I’ve always followed every step he’s made
    But I’ve learned now, I’m on my own these days
    Now he is lost, and I am all alone
    I’ve got to find a new place to call my home

    Oh daddy,
    When will you learn
    You left me no choice
    Now it’s your turn
    I’m waiting for you to join me someday
    And all you can do is hope I’ll be okay
    Out here on my own

    Mama always knew when something was wrong
    She’d try to make me laugh along
    When she’d tell one of her silly little jokes
    She was always there when I needed her the most
    Mama never let anyone get her
    Took her own battles and came out my hero
    I have to fight this battle on my own
    Wondering now what direction I am going

    Oh Mama,
    Where are you now
    When I need you most
    Down on the ground
    Daddy’s leaving me and you’ve been gone
    I need someone to keep me moving on
    Down here on my own

    I will never understand why you let me run
    You’re supposed to love your kids more than anyone
    I don’t regret going away
    But I can say I miss you everyday

    Daddy,
    I need you now
    I am all alone
    In this crazy world
    Mama’s not coming back so I’ve been lost
    Please follow me now while we try to make it through
    Out here on our own

  • #921

    You’re so talented!! :) I used to write a few years ago, I hope you like it :)

    You came when I needed you.
    I didn’t knew you but I needed you.
    You came when I couldn’t see the sun in the dark.
    You were the light.
    You were the light.
    I didn’t knew how to feel
    How I was supposed to feel?
    I didn’t knew how to love.
    Is that even love?
    Head, heart.
    Heart, head.
    Winter is gone and I still don’t know.

    • This reply was modified 2 years, 6 months ago by  Vicky.
  • #952

    I’ve recently been thinking about how scary it is that my parents are probably going to die before me and it’s horrible but horrible things call for poetry so we have this:

    “I Asked My Mommy To Braid My Hair”

    I got a stuffed kitten for Christmas that year
    and then later I asked my mommy to braid my hair
    for Christmas dinner
    and she said
    sure honey, of course

    I got a pair of headphones for my birthday
    and then later I asked my mommy to braid my hair
    so it wouldn’t get in the way of the ear pieces
    and she said
    sure honey, of course

    I got a pg-13 movie for easter that year
    and then later I asked my mom to braid my hair
    so I couldn’t chicken out and hide behind it
    and she said
    sure honey, of course

    I got a gift card for my favorite clothing store for Christmas that year
    and then later I asked my mom to braid my hair
    so it would go with my outfit
    and she said
    sure honey, of course

    I got my license for my birthday that year
    and then later I asked my mom to braid my hair
    so I could see the road
    and she said
    sure honey, of course

    I got my college degree for summer that year
    and then later I asked my mommy to braid my hair
    so I could throw my cap up without messing it up
    and she said
    sure honey, of course

    I got an engagement ring for the month of April that year
    and then later I asked my mom to braid my hair
    so I could see him as I walked down the aisle
    and she said
    sure honey, of course

    I got a stuffed kitten for my baby girl that year
    and then later I asked my mom to braid my hair
    so she wouldn’t pull on it
    and she said
    sure honey, of course

    I got a sympathy card for my birthday that year
    and then later I asked my mommy to braid my hair
    so it wouldn’t stick to my wet husband-less face
    and she said
    sure honey, of course

    I got a cake with the numbers nine and zero on it that year
    and then later I asked my mommy to braid my hair
    so it wouldn’t get stuck in the cake

    but my mommy wasn’t there.

  • #986

    Simplicity

    Everyone nowadays
    tries their best to create something new
    and beautiful,

    they try creating something
    bigger and better then the last

    but I ask you,
    if these such things do exist for us to enjoy
    then why do we focus on the small things?

    if we’re hardwired to be attracted
    to big and better items
    why are we drawn
    to the simply beauties in life?

    The answer is simple,
    by always creating bigger
    more exciting things for us to
    envelope ourselves in
    the small commodities disappear.

    They become distant
    and rare so that when we do
    find a small beauty in life
    we want to keep it for
    forever.

  • #1012

    I just found this written on my laptop from a while ago, so I thought I’d share it.

    ‘Petrichor is the scent of rain on dry earth, or the scent of dust after rain’

    You were my petrichor.
    You were the dampness of the cool rain after a long, hot summer, making the flowers in my heart blossom, the flowers I didn’t even know were there,
    before you.
    Clusters of colours and hope bloomed on my skin and I began breathing for the first time I could remember.
    I ceased to exist,
    before you.
    The sun had burnt away every inch of beauty I once saw in myself, and reduced me to nothing but a black and empty shell,
    before you.
    You were my autumn, the heat was over and the rain was falling, caressing my dry and broken skin and slowly filling the gaps, piecing me back together.
    With you,
    I stopped breaking.
    With you,
    Everything seemed so beautiful, you made a bouquet from once broken bones.
    You,
    You were the medicine that cured illness, making me glow and grow again.
    You.
    You were my petrichor.

    But every autumn has to end
    The blinding light of summer has to rise once again, drying out every inch of you from my skin, leaving me to burn like all the years before,
    before you.
    And once again I am left to fight the heat, just let it burn me because without you,
    thats all I know how to do.
    The colours in my veins slowly fade away to that once familiar shade of grey, my bones aching,
    aching for you.
    Only you.
    And without you, I’m not a bouquet anymore, bursting with colour and character and everything you gave me,
    I’m withered.
    You made me beautiful then left me to rot, left me to die with the seasons.
    You.
    Everything seems to hurt even more than it did before you,
    I’m no longer empty, theres just a you shaped hole missing from me and I can’t ignore it.
    I can’t ignore you.
    And although my thirst was quenched by you for that short season,
    At least before the rain, I didn’t know how it felt to be thirsty.

  • #1322

    drugs

    there was something beautiful about it
    how I wasn’t addicted to the drugs
    but how they felt
    the love
    that’s why
    you felt like drugs
    you were my drug
    you were my love
    but then you left
    so how long will it take
    to relapse?

  • #1433

    Anonymous

    But for now this is all we have. Telling me
    that next time we’d do it the proper way
    and go to a motel, not in the back of your car
    again. Your hand on my thigh as you drive
    out of the school parking lot. Afterwards.
    Laughing as we listen to the 1975 knowing
    that I’ll just barely make it into school on time.
    My hand on your face.
    And I promised you that I would never change.

  • #1498

    When life leaves where does it go
    Does it fade into the background
    Or does it simply stay
    Floating for eternity
    Or does it grow
    Grow into something new
    Something just as beautiful as the last
    When our life leaves does it go through an open door
    To someone new
    Does our life continue just without the memories
    Those feelings of happiness or sadness or even déjà vu we can’t explain
    Is that just our souls remembering past events that our minds just can’t remember
    Our lives in different bodies
    If so who was I before this
    Who were you
    Did we know each other then
    Maybe that’s why when I met you it felt like I’d known you for years
    Is this how our lives are meant to be
    Going from one to the next not remembering anything from the past
    Maybe that’s what it’s trying to teach us
    It’s not about the past or the future
    It’s about what’s here and now
    So though I may not remember you tomorrow
    And though I may have forgotten our past
    I’ll remember the person you are now
    And hopefully one day fate will bring us together again

  • #1502

    I can’t tell you the exact
    second
    minute
    hour
    day
    week
    or even month

    But it happened:
    I got better.

    It wasn’t like a light switch, but more like
    A sunrise

    It was dark for a long time
    But the sun worked its way up
    It illuminated the darkness
    The sun shone on the clouds
    And slowly, they melted
    It painted the sky blue
    And finally, the sun was up
    Like it was 12:30 on a summer day

    And I’m not planning on letting it go down
    Anytime soon

  • #1542

    Dammit, I want to run my fingers through the starlight on your head and kiss the moonlight off your lips and run my hand down comets racing through your arms and look into your eyes filled with planets and I want your fingers to bleed their sunlight onto me as they run down my body and I want you to let the snowflakes fall into my hair as you wrap yourself around me and I want to feel your eyelashes brushing the colors of the sunset across my cheek as your rainfall smelling breath heats up my neck and I want your brain filled with clouds to sew itself onto mine and create a rainfall together and I want the pine needles of your heart to prick mine and create a tree together and I want your soul to bleed an ocean and crash your waves into mine and god I want your fantastic self to love me as much as I love you.

  • #1543

    just kidding that was the wrong version:

    Dammit, I want to run my fingers through the starlight on your head and kiss the moonlight off your lips. I want to run my hand down the comets racing through your arms and look into your eyes filled with planets. I want your fingers to bleed their sunlight onto me as they run down my body and I want you to let the snowflakes fall into my hair as you wrap yourself around me. I want to feel your eyelashes brushing the colors of the sunset across my cheek as your breath rains a meteor shower of heat up my neck. And I want your brain filled with clouds to sew itself onto mine and create a rainfall together. I want the asteroids of your heart to slam into mine and create a star together and I want your soul to bleed an ocean and crash your waves into mine and god I want your fantastic self to love me as much as I love you.

  • #1573

    DON’T CRY

    As I look I see
    Those eyes seems
    So cloudy with tears
    Too teary that it might fall soon–
    Any time today
    Any minute now

    Then it happened
    Tears started to fall from your eyes
    Everyone notice, panicked
    Slowly, calmly, mildly at first
    ‘Til it pours heavy from time to time

    What’s wrong this time?
    Are you hurt?
    Mad?
    How are you feeling?
    I wish I could ask you this
    But all I can do is
    Open my umbrella
    And wait ’til you stop.
    You’re crying, sky
    It’s raining

  • #1581
  • #1585

    I feel like the ocean is crashing down on me.
    I am cast down into the deep and can’t breathe.
    While I gasp for air, all these thoughts bounce around in this empty shell I call an head.
    At a moment one escapes and flashes before my eyes as the last breath of air escapes from my lungs.

    I awaken from the sudden nightmare of death and emptiness.
    I realize that it was a reflection of the life I’m living.
    Every day I gasp for air but I can’t seem to breathe.
    The emptiness inside is too much for me.
    I need a seed to be planted and grow.
    For weeds to not choke out the life when life seems to flow.
    I hear all these thoughts inside my head but none of them are mine.
    It’s a sickness taking over my body and there is no cure.
    I just want to be me.
    Not what everyone else wants me to be.
    They hold me down and make me drown.
    Is there someone who will save me?
    Someone who pull me out of the depths?
    I need to breathe but I can’t.
    When will the air return to my lungs?
    When will I live again?

  • #1625

    the restrictions that bind me
    are what push me to break through
    and the chains and ropes that hold me down
    will help me reach the clouds
    there are so many rules in society,
    so much pressure to be “perfect”
    to be beautiful
    like the pretty people
    to agree with what ever is said
    because if i disagree i’m wrong
    i’m different. i’m me.
    and that won’t change
    not for you, not for anyone
    but different is bad they say
    be like them, don’t you want to be like them?
    standards so high
    they are impossible to reach
    and yet i must try and when i fail
    i am a disgrace an outcast.
    I’m different, I’m me
    and that won’t change
    not for you, not for anyone.

  • #1630

    I really enjoyed writing :) made this one also

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  • #1675

    In the darkness shadow lurks,
    It cures all light,
    It breaks all hurt.
    The shadow is not just that,
    It is alive.
    The darkness swallows it whole.

    We are all lost shadows sometimes.
    Trying to find our light.
    The light nears us
    But we push it away.
    It doesn’t look like light anymore.

    I am a lost shadow.
    Breathing heavily in the dark.
    Feeling my heart break
    When a child smiles
    Or when someone has fun.
    The darkness has turned me wicked.

    There’s nothing I can say.
    No way I can ever accumulate a plan
    To get away.
    Music helps me escape.
    Breaks me from my pattern.
    Tears me from the sad,
    The broken
    The tattered.

  • #1679

    I have no idea what I’m doing here. But:

    alive.

    People will tell me to grow up.
    to get better.
    to be who I’m supposed to be.

    People will tell me that Fridays are better spent at a party than in a sweaty venue listening to some ‘crappy’ band.
    that getting up early for work validates missing my favorite band at a show three hours away.
    that spending my money on a concert isn’t a good investment for my future.

    They will say that they don’t understand –
    – how can it mean this much?

    They don’t know.
    They don’t know the feeling of the crowd rushing forward as a band walks onstage.
    They don’t know the numbness of their knees and feet from hitting the barricade and standing for hours on end.
    They don’t know the overwhelming adrenaline that comes with crowd surfing from the back of a room all the way to the stage.
    They don’t know the joy of meeting their idols and saying rehearsed words just to mess up and speak from the heart.
    They don’t know how to lose themselves so deeply in something so cherished.
    They don’t know the way that everything else slips away as the music starts.

    As everyone’s hearts begins to beat in time with the kick drum.
    As everyone’s voices become one.
    As everyone loses all fear, doubt and anxiety, in that infinite moment.
    As everyone starts to feel exactly what they waited so long to feel.

    Alive.

  • #1744

    I’ve never been a believer in miracles…but let me tell you—when you don’t believe in something and it falls in front of you, you think it’s coincidence or luck. You don’t accept that what’s meant to be will be and that everything happens for a reason—whether you understand the reason or not. When you take a moment to reflect and inflect, you begin to realize that though some of the most beautiful things have passed, you can still set down your pride and express gratitude to your Heavenly Father that has not only forgiven your selfishness, faithlessness and … But has also reprieved you of all that you have missed or lost along the way.



    So five years ago, I contemplated taking my own life. It was a dark place that I don’t particularly enjoy discussing openly, but an important part of my journey to finding the salvation I sought begins there. One night, I was standing on a bridge (that was on my college campus) that overlooked the ravines. It was probably a 70 foot drop. I’m terrified of heights, but when you’re that desperate and in that much pain, all fears are disregarded. I was leaning on the rail, contemplating the fall. I was so mad at God. I had prayed that this pain I felt would go away, that maybe I could feel some sense of worth, that I wasn’t just another girl wandering aimlessly through this life. I prayed over and over again, and was answered with silence. A random girl—whom I’d never met nor seen before—approached me and asked me if I was okay. I said yes simply to dismiss her. She asked me if I was sure. I said yes, but this time, confusion set in. I often ask myself why…



    And five years later—after restoring my faith in our Heavenly Father, seeking guidance and support from my amazing friends and family—I have finally found my answer. I also came to the realization that asking why was not the question I needed to ask. God answered my prayer that night on the bridge. He said, I’m here. You haven’t felt my presence because you lost your faith in me. I answered with silence to allow your thoughts to rest and to seek my guidance. I hear you. I know you’re mad, but do you believe in me now? Do you trust me?

    And so it’s not why did that girl stop me on the bridge. It’s not why did God forgive me, save me. No. It is that our Heavenly Father loves me, forgave me and believed in ME. That bridge was a test of faith. Metaphorically, being afraid of heights, the challenge was to go from doubt on one side and to cross the bridge to faith in our Heavenly Father. And though that night I failed Him, and though it took me another two years before crossing that same bridge ever again…I did. And I did it with our Heavenly Father.

    

So with all that being said..

    I have experienced my fair share of hardships since then, but never lost my faith in our Heavenly Father again. Now, I want to share the greatest miracle of all…



    Three months ago, I met an amazing man named William. Before I continue, I don’t want you to misconstrue this as some sappy love story, because it’s so much more than that. Also, William will probably tell you that he’s just an “ordinary man doing what he feels any man should do in a relationship.” Maybe he is and I’m just not accustomed to such actions. Or he’s just too humble and sweet to agree with me.



    Before William, I’d been let down. I’d been cheated on, lied to, left to feel nothing but unbeautiful, unworthy of love, of respect. The only thing I’ve ever truly wanted in life was to be sincerely, unconditionally and eternally loved. At that point, I not only felt like I’d never attain that love, but also that I’d never be capable of loving another. However, being young and naïve, I never gave up on the belief that “good love will find me.” That’s the hope that I held onto.



    When I first started talking to William, I was terrified. Right from the start, I knew he was different—and that’s so utterly cliché to say but it’s the absolute truth. I began feeling things I’d never felt before. Essentially, I ended up “disappearing” on him—not out of fear or intention to hurt him by any means, but rather, to clear my mind and to convince myself that “meeting” him was the right thing to do, that he deserved a chance. I needed to make sure that I wasn’t in the mindset of quelling my loneliness. William was genuine. It radiates off of him—when you meet him, you just know.



    Finally, we went on our first date. The rest is history. While I realize that three months isn’t that long, I’ve realized that with William, there’s no definitive destination but rather we’re on a journey together. Three months has nothing on an eternity, but those three months have felt like an eternity—in a good way, of course.

    I think people need to understand that 

I’m a very introverted person. I’m also a writer. I’ve found myself to be fairly open with William…but there are some moments or topics that take a lot out of me to express emotion to him. I battle social anxiety, and even feel it with William sometimes when we have a serious discussion about something.

    

One night, William and I were discussing our relationship. I had written something about my fear of never receiving that sincere, unconditional and eternal love, but that being with him had lifted that fear of my inability to love another. At the end of our conversation, I witnessed a beautiful miracle.

    

He told me, “I just want you to know that I really do love you.” 

Maybe it’s not the type of miracle you think of when you hear the word, but it was to me.

    

Good love has found me.
    
I have loved.
    
I am loved.

    I witnessed the miracle of the work of God.
    I witnessed the miracle of love—to be loved and to love another truly and deeply.
    I witnessed the miracle of survival and hope.
    I witnessed the miracle of true friendship.
    I witnessed the miracle of recovery.

    Each day I witness a new miracle, whether it have a minuscule impact on my day or life, or forever change me in ways I’d never imagined…a miracle nonetheless. I’ve never felt so humbled through all the blessings I’ve received in the past two years or so. From the blessing of family and friends to traveling the states to beginning a new chapter of my life. I feel as if I’ve been reborn.

    And five years ago, I never believed in miracles.

    You can find more of my writing here:
    https://decodingthematrix.wordpress.com
    https://enmorse09.wordpress.com
    http://hellopoetry.com/lizz-morse/

  • #1792

    She was filled with hatred,
    for the world who showed her pain.
    So when the world felt sorry
    for pushing her away,
    it opened all it’s oceans wide
    and flooded her with love.
    And then the bird who came to her,
    was miraculously a dove.
    It told her she was strong enough
    to open up her heart,
    and so she opened it just wide enough,
    to slowly become a piece of art.
    She met a boy who treated her the right way all the time.
    They sat and talked and laughed a lot and even shared some wine.
    But the day did come when he decided that he had enough,
    and even though it hurt the girl she acted rather tough.
    And when he left her standing there,
    she slowly started to wear.
    Her eyes became more sunken,
    her smile a thing straight line,
    and if you asked what became of her,
    I’ll answer a victim of time.

  • #1817

    The windows were bent and painted with rain and there your were, stood right behind the glass, face just inches away,your breath just about touching the glass, causing it to mist over.
But yet you look so beautiful, majestic somehow. Even when your make up runs down your face like a thick inky stream, even when your face is scrunched up from crying. Because I think you look like a wilting flower; alone, damaged, broken but to some people you still have an element of beauty, something so deeply hidden that you have to be special to see it, and trust me, even through all the rain and the clouds, I can see it
    -Rain,L.

  • #1896

    And the entire time I thought.
    I thought about life,
    And love,
    But the only thing on my mind was you.
    I thought about the way your eyes light up when you smile,
    A real smile, the ones that I’m sure can end wars.
    I thought about the way your laugh fills every room with joy,
    Like when the sun comes out from hiding behind the clouds.
    I thought about the way you only wear sweaters that are slightly too big,
    So you can slap people with the extra-long sleeves.
    I thought about the way you sing every song at the top of your lungs,
    Even though you are very much out of tune.
    I thought about you,
    And if this is what it feels like to fall in love.
    I thought.
    And I fell.

  • #1913

    The dreams endlessly shifted into relentless nightmares

    While I lay awake, sleepless in this empty room
    losing you to the darkness that reaches it’s hand from beneath this now lonely bed

    I fight and I flail and I hold on for your dear life but the grasp is inescapable, I’ve lost you, you’ve lost the light

    Begotten into a generation of reckless dreams and loveless hearts I found truth in your breath and safety in your arms

    But when this life’s so full of apathy, no one is likely to oppose when the world can’t take it anymore and everything implodes

    No one will look to see, so distracted by the lust of life they forget to love to live; what will they all be but dead to me if I don’t care to forgive

    To the world you love for its shallow promises, for its careless handling of my soul; take me now or take me then, I’ve got nowhere to go

    Promise me you’re happy now, down where you’re too blind to see, that you’ll have gone to hell and back by the time you get back to me

    If all that’s left are memories I’ll hold them all as trivial, that my dear is fact as much as the soul within you is cynical

    But I will not be your life raft, I’m the captain of this ship; through waves and tides and storms alike I’ve carried on I’ve not lost my fight; but you my love, you’re cold as ice, the berg that punctured my whole side and if I sink you’ll see my ghost, three words in his mouth, for you, a toast: Don’t Save Me.

  • #1925

    A+ A- :

    Speak softly.
    Everything can be believed when it is told as a secret.

    An actress that no one knows is an actress.
    Is the true sense of the art form.
    The actress may lose herself in the process.
    But since no one knows who she is.
    She did her job.

    Speak softer.
    Everything will be believed when it is told as a secret.

    The actor that didn’t believe her acting.
    This makes the actress even more successful.
    Because she can get away with knowing both less and more than him.

    The actor speaks loudly.
    He’ll never make it to Broadway.
    But he will be fine.
    Because he knew who the actress was.

  • #1926

    Popularity Sucks :

    The blank expressions on every face are mesmerizing.
    Their inner selves are as dead as their sense of compassion.
    In a graveyard of blinding lights.
    Most of them have never known how it feels to fall.

    They only know what can be seen.
    And they have no proof of a read heart.
    Since it has now turned green.
    Asingle touch of evil can crush a dream.
    And leave them all alone.

    Your bruises are the stories that no one comprehends.
    They’ve only heard of this in movies.
    And don’t know where to begin.

    How can they understand what has not happened to them?

    Step into their mind and see what they have caused.

    People say sorry is a decent place to begin.
    But people need to be able to grieve in order to feel regret.

    Have a heart, and make it simple.
    If such a thing exists.

  • #1927

    Errer :

    Don’t blame the kids.
    Their minds are their own.
    Don’t blame the kids.
    They cn’t be alone.

    The wonder in their eyes turns me inside out.
    The sparkle blinds me.
    They don’t know anything bad that has happened.
    They wouldn’t understand if we told them.

    The kids believe in Christmas.
    The kids believe in once upon a time.
    This is all lost as we grow.

    The more we learn.
    The less magic we believe in.

  • #1928

    The One in Which He’s Alive

    His hair, his clothes—literally his everything is soaked to the core, as he turns around under the pouring rain and climbs the steps towards your parents’ patio, where he is at least a little more protected from the wetness of the storm. Before you even get one word out, he begins to talk. And he talks. And talks. About how much he doesn’t miss you. How great he is. How much he loves life right now. “I ain’t missing you,” he shouts over the downpour and thunder. “I’ve spent the last months actually living! I feel like I have an actual life again,” he says, throwing his hands out, like he couldn’t keep the excitement in him. He looks at you and grins. The corners of his mouth raise quicker than the lightning that’s bound to come again any second now, and it splits his face in two so violently, you fear it’s going to rip.

    “Okay…” you tell him quietly with a raised eyebrow, because you don’t know what else to say to a guy professing his non-existent feelings to you, when just a couple of months prior, you’d been in this exact situation, though then it was him, spending every second trying to convince you how much he loves you.

    “Seriously,” Luke says. “I’m so perfect. I don’t miss you at all. Everything’s fine.”

    “Luke—”

    “I don’t want you and I don’t need you anymore.”

    Crossing your arms over your chest, you shift your weight onto your other foot and lean against the doorframe. “Luke, why are you here? And why are you telling me this at two in the morning?”

    He grins again. “Because I thought about you. Because I’m always thinking about you.” His grin falls for a nanosecond. “But I’m over you. I promise I am. I mean, I’m so alive, baby. You should feel what I feel.” He lifts his hands again, but this time he grips the doorframe with them—which you’re leaning against. His face comes near you, and for a second you think he’s about to kiss you, causing you to back away. You aren’t sure, if the small flinch you see is real or not, but he doesn’t give you a chance to analyse, as he begins to talk again. “Literally every feeling I feel is suddenly enhanced by a hundred. They’re so intense, it still knocks the breath out of me, even after months.”

    You don’t answer but rather take in his wet appearance. Sure, there is a cocky grin sitting on his face and there isn’t any alcohol-stench coming from his breath, but still, you feel like he isn’t himself right now. “What’s going on, Luke?” you ask, trying to gently coerce an answer out of him.

    “Nothing’s wrong,” he says immediately, the grin coming back to life.

    “You can’t just come here and tell me how fine you are and how much you don’t need me and expect me to believe you are fine. No normal person does this.” Sighing, you uncross your arms, doing something you wouldn’t have thought you’d do, ever again. “Look, if you want, you can come in. I can get you a towel or something and we can talk properly.”

    Tonight is just full of surprises, because suddenly, he begins to shake his head no and whines like an actual four-year-old—with an actual voice that’s higher than normal. “No, I don’t want to come in,” he says—or rather moans. “I just wanted to say those things I’ve said and now I’m leaving.”

    Rushing to grab hold of his arm before he steps off your patio, you shake your head at him again, though he cannot see that as he has his back turned towards you. “Hold on for a sec, Luke,” you say. “Please.”

    Facing you again, he looks at you with an expectant expression. A moment of silence later, he raises an impatient eyebrow.

    “It’s just—Just because we aren’t together anymore, doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.” And that is the truth. Luke has been such a large part of your life, it is physically impossible to stop caring about him from one sudden moment to another.

    This time his eyebrow doesn’t raise in impatience, but rather hurt, it seems. “Yeah…um—thanks, I guess. But I really have to get going.”

    You tug at his arm again, getting impatient yourself. “Oh, for God’s sake, just come inside for a minute. You’ll get sick wandering around, dripping as you are.”

    It takes you another full minute of pulling at his arm to get him moving, though at last, he steps foot inside the house where it all ended.

    ///

    Do you feel it? My love for you? I don’t, really. Because loving you has become a part of me and my soul—like I was put here on the sole purpose of loving you. I was so used to this feeling that having it ripped away from me felt like ice cold and hot water thrown in my face at the same time. It felt like someone was trying to rip me to shreds from the inside—particularly from my heart.

    ///

    “Here is a towel, and here a change of clothes.” You hand him the pieces of fabrics. “They’re my dad’s, but you two are similar sizes of giant, so I think it’ll fit.” Like you hoped, this raises a genuine smile to his lips, as he takes the clothes and the towel from you, nodding in appreciation.

    “I’ll return them to you…someday,” he says, smiling sheepishly. Luke has a reputation of keeping borrowed things, but it doesn’t really matter anyways.

    “Don’t worry about it, honestly. Now go change, I don’t want you staining our furniture,” you tell him, before turning around and walking towards the kitchen.

    “Where are you going?”

    “I’m gonna fix us some hot chocolate, of course. I sure hope you didn’t have seafood before this.” You grin at him.

    ///

    “You’re gonna make us hot chocolate? Now?” You ask, laughing.

    “Why not?” Luke asks, pulling the mugs out of the cupboard.

    Jumping onto the counter, you cross your legs and roll your eyes at him as he places the mugs next to your thighs. “Uh, because we just had sea food! You’re gonna throw up.”

    “Me? If I have to go through this, then so do you!” he exclaims, laughing, nudging your knee with his hips.

    “Excuse me?” You push him away, giggling. “I’m not an idiot! I know the outcome of this equation—I will not drink the hot chocolate!”

    Luke ignores you, prepping the two drinks. Then he places one mug beside your thigh. His eyes hold a glint as he smirks. “Oh you will.”

    “Not in a million years, Hemmings,” you say, laughing and jumping off the counter. “Why would I?”

    Leaving his own mug beside yours, he comes at you slowly—the playful and somewhat also devilish glint still in his eyes. “Because if you do…I’m gonna promise you amazing sex tonight. Sex so amazing, you will never be the same. I’m telling you, babe.”

    A snort bursts from your throat as you bend over and cannot contain the laughter in you. “You’re gonna bribe me with sex?” you ask, giving his chest a slap. But you don’t pull your hand away. Instead, you let it wander towards the crook of his neck up to the sides of his face and then you pull him down to you, so you can whisper something in his ear. “Babe. If I wanted, I could just tie you up and give myself the most ah-may-zing sex. I’m an independent ass bitch.”

    All of the sudden, his arms are wound tightly around your waists, and your feet aren’t on the ground anymore. Your legs wrap around his hips automatically, as do your arms around his neck. Kisses are being trailed down your throat, as Luke walks you two out of the kitchen. “What about our hot chocolate, huh?” you ask, grinning.

    “What hot chocolate?” He smiles at you sweetly, and then captures your mouth with his.

    ///

    Awkward air engulfs you two, as you’re sitting side by side on the small couch, each one blowing at the hot chocolate, trying to quicken its cooling process—or maybe you were just avoiding the person sitting beside you, but who knows?

    “Are you alright?” you begin, as you cannot take this god-damn silence any longer. “Tell me what’s going on.”

    He lowers the mug slightly, smiling at you. “Like I said, I’m perfectly fine. Everything’s good.” He raises the hot chocolate to his lips and takes a rushed sip. “Fuck,” Luke curses, “that’s hot.”

    Cocking your head to the side, you watch him lower the mug and stand up. “I’m just gonna…get myself a glass of water,” he says, pointing to your kitchen and wandering off without waiting for your reply.

    Something is definitely wrong with him, you decide. The way he’s acting confuses you. Who the hell visits his ex-girlfriend just to tell her how fine he is? He’s somehow giddy and restless and exhausted at the same time, like he’s on edge. Like he cannot contain whatever’s going on inside him. The shadows underneath his eyes and the scruff on his jaw tells you he hasn’t slept well in a long time, but then again, he never slept long nor well. Luke’s always been a restless person—always working on something in his head or with his guitar. Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night and have to write or else he’d forget the lyrics that sprung onto him in his dream. You loved being woken by a sleepy Luke and his guitar, though. You loved lying in the dark, listening to his raspy voice singing quiet words you knew were meant for you.

    Somehow, you know that nowadays he doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night to write love songs about you anymore.

    ///

    You once said, to be hurt means to be alive. For we cannot feel the hurt, if we aren’t alive and living and putting ourselves out there to be hurt. Well, I’ve spent the last months living. I was hurt. Or rather I am hurt. Everything hurts. Therefore I am, in fact, probably the most alive motherfucker on this planet right now, because it HURTS. What, you might ask? Not having you, is the answer. I love you. With every ounce of my being, with every beat of my heart and every breath I take, I entirely, fully and unconditionally love you.

    ///

    “Please stay the night? It’s four in the morning and the storm doesn’t look like it’s about to pass anytime soon. You can take the guest room,” you say, wringing your hands in front of you. “It’s really no problem, and I’d feel a whole lot better, knowing you aren’t walking home right now.”

    There’s another storm, and it’s in his eyes. He’s looking at the wall to your right, debating. You aren’t sure why it is such a hard decision for him to make, but you pray for him to stay. You will never forgive yourself, if he walks away now.

    The seconds tick away, and finally, he nods once. “Okay,” he says, throwing you a shy smile. It surprises you, how after everything you two have already been through, he still has his shy moments. But this is just how Luke is, and you love this silent part about him.

    Reaching your hand out, you wait for him to give you his mug, though, instead, he stands up as well. “I got it,” he says. “It’s the least I can do.”

    ///

    Even to death, one might say.

    ///

    She hands you the letter with her eyes lowered so you won’t see the tears in her eyes, but you do anyways. You’ve never seen her cry before. She’s someone you cannot even imagine how she’d look crying, because she is one of the happiest people you know, but now you do. You see the redness of the tender skin around and on her eyelids, the tremble of her lips and the crease between her eyebrows as she tries to hold the dam back. She looks smaller somehow. Like she doesn’t have enough energy to straighten her back. Like she is already focusing everything in her to keep herself from falling apart.

    You don’t blame her. Rather you blame yourself.

    Your hand comes up to wipe away a tear you haven’t noticed before. Between taking in her broken appearance and staring at the letter in her hand, you haven’t paid attention to your own body and emotions. Now that you reach for the letter, you notice the penetrating pain in your chest which keeps your lungs from working properly.

    “Breathe, sweetheart,” Liz whispers softly. She presses the letter into your stomach, but instead of removing her hand after you clutch it with both of yours, she encloses it around your trembling ones and squeezes. One hand comes up to brush the hair from your face. It’s wet and sticky around your skin. “It wasn’t your fault,” she says firmly, her eyes a hard and genuine blue. Her palm stays against your cheek. You can feel her thumb soothingly wipe the continuous stream of tears away, as her own flows down her face.

    And then she leans in and hugs you. Her arms come around your shoulders tightly, and she squeezes seemingly every emotion into you. And somehow she slowly squeezes yours out of you. And she rubs your back with one hand, shushing. She holds you, as both of you try to fix your hearts with this one hug.

    ///

    Dear love,

    You once said, to be hurt means to be alive. For we cannot feel the hurt, if we aren’t alive and living and putting ourselves out there to be hurt. Well, I’ve spent the last months living. I was hurt. Or rather I am hurt. Everything hurts. Therefore I am, in fact, probably the most alive motherfucker on this planet right now, because it HURTS. What, you might ask? Not having you, is the answer. I love you. With every ounce of my being, with every beat of my heart and every breath I take, I entirely, fully and unconditionally love you. Even to death, one might say.

    Do you feel it? My love for you? I don’t, really. Because loving you has become a part of me and my soul—like I was put here on the sole purpose of loving you. I was so used to this feeling that having it ripped away from me felt like ice cold and hot water thrown in my face at the same time. It felt like someone was trying to rip me to shreds from the inside—particularly from my heart.

    I was hurting before my heart was crushed—before you begin to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. This whole thing (us breaking up) started because of what I was going through. None of this is your fault. I never want you to feel that. I never wanted you to feel any of the hurt I felt, in fact, and I might burn in hell, if you are. I’m sorry, my love. I’m a selfish son of a bitch, and I couldn’t leave without seeing you for one last time. I cannot apologise enough.

    Please forgive me.

    Yours truly,
    an angel (as of recently)

    PS: That was me, trying to lighten the mood.

    PPS: I love you.

    PPPS: So so much.

    ///

    “Call me, if you need anything, okay?” you tell him, helping him adjust the sweater of your father you’ve given him around his broad shoulders.

    “Will do, love.” Your heart clenches at the nickname, but you solely smile. It feels good to hear it.

    He looks at you with a look that causes your insides to churn and your legs to wobble. Then he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the space between your temple and forehead—something he does when he wants to kiss both at the same time, he once said. Turning on his heels, he quickly jumps down the steps of your front porch, leaving you to watch him walk away under the clear blue sky after a storm. It reminds you of the colour of his eyes.

    ///

    this is taken from my tumblr. by far one of my favourite pieces i’ve ever written, and it was actually inspired by missin’ you, for some weird reason, since that song isn’t sad at all, lol

    • This reply was modified 3 months, 1 week ago by  Zi.
    • This reply was modified 3 months, 1 week ago by  Zi.
    • This reply was modified 3 months, 1 week ago by  Zi.
    • This reply was modified 3 months, 1 week ago by  Zi.
    • This reply was modified 3 months, 1 week ago by  Zi.

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