You give me the same feelings I get
when I look at the stars and know that
they burned out hundreds of millions of years ago.
you are my favourite writer on tumblr. i always come back to your blog to read your work, just, wow you really inspire me.
hey, this is from forever ago and I totally did not respond in a timely fashion at all and I’m sorry because this is a lovely message and you are a lovely person for sending me this. if you are still following me I hope you see this and know your kind words are greatly appreciated!
anyway, now that I’ve remembered that my inbox exists if anyone does inbox me I’ll try not to take ages to reply.
much love xx
The good guy dies in this poem
I am waiting for other people’s relationships to fall apart
I’m in that stage where I like watching trains wreck
I am not good right now I am not okay
I am not nice
I smile at my friends in love and think that
you haven’t loved until you’ve ripped every organ out of your chest
what is this easy love, what is this pretty love?
why does my love feel like a hand grenade went off in my stomach?
I am a detective failing at finding a clue
while people are dying of suspense
waiting for you to fall out of love with me.
we are just another casualty
and love is collateral damage.
i’m sorry i’m crazy i still think i’m going to grow old with you i still think i’m going to marry you
i’m sorry i broke up with you i’m sorry i’m sorry i still love you
i am too sad to cry and too hungry to eat i am i am i am still in love with you
i can’t do anything i stare at everything and everything stares back
and i do nothing for most of the day and i don’t know where the time goes
sometimes it is just too hard to move sometimes it is just too hard to lose someone like you to do something like this
sometimes i pretend to be asleep for hours and really i just can’t move
i’m sorry i love you i love you i’m in love with you
i tell everyone now they look at me like they’re in pain but
i love you i want to marry you i want to grow old with you
i want everyone to know that this is pain that this is death while living
that i am always going to be in love with you
I watched my family go shopping in a dead man’s closet last night. Watched my grandfather’s cardigans run through my grandmother’s hands like water and form lumpy knit pools on the bed. I thought of his ratty old polo shirt, cold barrel of a gun pressed square into his chest, and how that bullet tore through his clothes just before his heart and then ours.
They always tell you that life, like love, is fragile. And you think you know and you think you understand. And then one morning you walk through the park with your boyfriend and notice the smallest of flowers and you hear children laughing and you think the day couldn’t be any more perfect. Then you go home, you hear your father shouting upstairs. You hear the sheer panic in his voice. You hear the phone clatter to the floor. In moments you’re in the car on strange roads to a strange hospital and an empty parking lot and he’s saying “we lost him” as if he had been misplaced or stolen in a crowd and really, he’s dead. And your mother is saying “fuck” and “how dare he” and your father is broken. And you know that life really is nothing like what it seems.
is there a pretty way to say
‘i know i’ve broken your heart in the most shameless way possible
but i never stopped being in love with you
please give me the chance to not break your heart again?’
It’s snowing when I leave my house and
It’s a long walk to the bus stop but
I do not double-check my bag for my tickets
It doesn’t matter if they are there or not
Home is where the heart is and
I am no longer with you
There is nothing beautiful about heartbreak.
There is nothing beautiful about making
the biggest mistake of your life. There are
just puffy cheeks, red eyes, too many nights
of watching the sun set and then rise again
without leaving your bed. Leaving you was
the biggest mistake I’ve made, and I’ve made
a lot. I forgot this was real life; love is not a game.
I was a foolish child playing with feelings
and loves that I didn’t understand.
I don’t want the upper hand anymore
These are my cards laid out on the table:
A queen of hearts, seven of spades,
jack of diamonds with a torn off corner
I have nothing unless you want them
If you must know, this is how it’s always been.
I am terrified of forever but I have realized
the only thing more terrifying than forever
is forever without you.
I feel everything in the pit of my stomach now
sadness, anger, they come like fighting dogs
nipping and tearing at tender organ meat
I’m being eaten from the inside out, I say as
I run my hands over jagged hipbones, visible
ribs. soon there will be nothing left for them
to feed on. I say this like a prayer. but the
sadness remains. like a noose in my closet,
waiting for me to fall, like the feel of a cool
shotgun barrel pressed to my chest. when
I am too sad to cry my stomach spins like
a pinwheel in a hurricane until I can’t hold
anything in. my body is weak and this terrible
unhappiness hangs like a steel trap over my head.
i can live one day at a time
on monday i am too sad to wash my hair
i sit in the shower and count the tiles until
i am blankly staring at nothing at all. i do not
notice the water is hot until my skin is red
and blistering and my lungs are filled with
steam. when i wash my breasts they are
just two lumps of flesh. i feel dry between
my legs, even in the shower. i do not notice
that i have been crying until i step out and
see my puffy eyes and swollen cheeks.
i am only a body in the least sexual way
i am but a husk, torn away from a sweet
cob. without you, i am nothing at all.
I’ll be okay, can’t you see that?
I buy the sunday newspaper every week,
read the engagements section the way
most people read the obituaries: holding
my breath, hoping that you’re not
mentioned yet. When I brush my teeth
in the morning I stare into the broken
mirror; relax my jaw, brush my hair.
I’ve found that if you repeat the word
love enough, it loses it’s meaning. Now,
on nights when I can’t sleep I whisper
your name until it’s just another sound
I still grind my teeth during the night,
wake up to a painful and tender mouth.
When my mother calls she doesn’t ask
what I’ve been doing but I tell her anyway.
“At least you’ve been keeping busy,”
she says. “At least, not much has changed
since he left you,” she means. I have
the same habits for the same days
but inside of me nothing is the same.
I still dream about the highway
I feel dangerously wild today
I broke up with you two months and twenty-five days ago
and if I wasn’t terrified of what you’d say
I’d call you right now, say let’s drop everything
let’s go to a place
and a time
where we can be together and where we can be okay
I’m ready to lose everything
to get you back and I don’t want time to second guess
I’m feeling reckless enough today
I can see myself pushing the gas pedal to the floor
reaching route 81 before noon and you before three pm
I close my eyes
take 21 deep breaths
promise myself that I will be okay
your friends pull me aside, and tell me that you have a girlfriend but
you keep kissing me and I pretend I don’t know anything because
I don’t know anything anymore and I’m afraid of what will happen if I ask.
it’s better to know from the start what you can and can’t have.
when I finally confront you, you choose her. lately,
the hardest part of my day is not crying in public places.
I’m not a bad person and maybe you’re not either but
I don’t think you’ll ever tell her a goddamn thing.
I drink three nights a week and on the first day I pull myself together
I cry for in my car for three hours before I can make it to my bed.
when I wake up I take two ibuprofen even though I don’t have
a headache, think that tomorrow will be a better day.
I miss kissing you without intention
I don’t want my mouth to always be
an open door to another part of me
I want your mouth to be my destination
I want to be able to hold you tightly
body pressed firmly, or softly, against you
I don’t care if it’s erotic I want intimate
I want to touch you all over until I find your soul
I am not a bad person at nineteen but I am not a nice one either.
When gentle boys with their soft hands try and hold me
I can’t get far enough away. When men tell me I’m beautiful,
ask about my family, and call me three times: I do not reply.
They do not call again and I tell myself that I don’t mind.
I drink too much for someone who isn’t legal but
I don’t drink to forget, I drink to remember. I am not
good at feelings I am not good at forgiving myself.
I forgave you long ago but I am still accountable.
I am still the one who deserves to be blamed.
I think I will be like my mother at forty-seven. I think that
she is still sorry that she didn’t love you like you wanted her to.
I saw her clip your obituary out of the sunday newspaper
and press it into the back pages of her bible. I think
she still reads it on lonely nights when she can’t fall asleep.
I am old enough to know that love is selfless but I am too young
and too afraid to let myself feel that way. I am not brave enough
to properly care for someone other than myself. I am not ready.
I am young so I will be cruel to you because I’d rather not be hurt,
again. I will put myself first so it hurts less when you put me second.
I will gladly break your heart so you don’t have a chance to leave me.
I will love you long after you stop loving me and I will love you
in all the wrong ways. I am trying to learn to love people in a
satisfactory way. I am trying, you know that I am trying.
I am not a bad person at nineteen but I am not a nice one either.