i don’t mean to be sad in summer / three months of lemon ice / beach blanket bingo / and late mornings / but happiness for me / is a limited addition candle / not sold in summer / so i find depression lurking / in the shadows of my room / once the light is gone / and in the times / i eat out of habit / not hunger / and now / i go to bed / not wanting to fall asleep / and wake up / wishing i could sleep / i just feel scared / because if i can’t be happy in summer / what is there to say / i can ever be happy again?
Tag: poem
we are so good at hurting each other that we could almost make a toxic poem of the pain between us. each line a tribute to the times we tried to love unselfishly but failed. i think the only thing that is holding us together now is the glue we put on each other’s cracks because the pain was a mistake. the brokenness wasn’t meant to be there. we didn’t mean to screw up love this badly. we are just two people who love each other but can’t seem to do it right.
(OSFED)
to the boy who said he liked girls better when they could eat:
it is an addiction / the feeling of empty / where full should be / there is nothing more toxic / than wanting to tear your body apart / calorie by calorie / too tired of life to care / that you’re starting to smudge along the edges / a mirage just starting to disappear / because the only thing you can think of / is how good loose jeans feel / and soon you just go numb / to the feeling / of despair / because the feeling of empty / the feeling of reality slipping away / it’s addicting / and when you try to recover / guilt leaves a bad after taste / because you have spent so long / forcing yourself to be unfilled / that you have forgotten how to swallow / and the food feels unfamiliar / like a person you used to know well / who hasn’t wiped their feet / on the welcome mat yet / because they are not sure / if they are allowed to stay / but yes / say that you like your girls better when the can eat / because / i liked myself better / when i could too.
the other day i overheard a conversation where the boy remarked how he liked it better when girls actually ate. when they didn’t order salads or just nibble on their food. i was extremely angered by this. girls (and boys) can have eating disorders. there can be so many reasons why a person might not eat, so saying this is extremely insensitive and could be triggering to someone. one great misconception about eating disorders, is that a person can chose if they eat or not. while this might sound factually true, the reality is that the mentality of not eating is in place. so you are fighting against a mental barrier that says you shouldn’t eat. so your brain transmits this message to your body and after a while without food, your body will stop sending signals that it needs it. like hunger pains and stomach growling. the struggle of actually coming back from an eating disorder to try and live a normal life, is not talked about enough. it is so hard and so underrated. a person has to practically rewire their entire brain to stop seeing food as the enemy. even after they do this, there are days where they relapse and days where they feel so guilt for eating. for feeding themselves. there are times where they have to catch themselves before looking on the back of a nutrition label and adding up the calorie intake. i liked myself better when i could eat too but it is so scary to gain weight. to see the pounds add up when all you taught yourself was to watch them go down.
gone
i found three three empty cans of shaving cream / underneath the bathroom sink / and i know that you didn’t leave them on purpose / you simply forgot to throw them away / yet still i fight against the feeling / that maybe you are coming back / because just like the pair of socks i found / after doing a thursday laundry load / and the crumbled five dollar bill / stuck in a pen jar / you forgot me / i was left to go through the wash / feeling myself fade after hours of tumbling over myself / experiencing the gradual shrinking because i find it difficult / to love myself / when you couldn’t / and like the cash / i curl up in ordinary places / hiding in plain sight / and i am so disppointed when every face at the door / isn’t yours / because you packed my heart with your ball caps / tucked in the sleeve of your suitcase / and i didn’t have the courage to ask for it back / because i was hoping maybe you would realize / that wherever you go my love follows / until it leads you right back to me / but you are gone / your copy of the sport’s magazine / isn’t on the coffee table anymore / your colgne doesn’t invade my room / and i don’t hear your deep voice singing along to jason brown in the car / because you left / without me
recipe for a broken heart
ingrediants: a boy who doesn’t believe in love and a girl who loves everyone
instructions:
break the boy. make him cruel and hard and shattered. turn him into a man because no boy can be broken that bad. then take the girl and let her love him. let her sacrifice her own happiness for him, because she loves him more than herself.
make the boy want to hurt her, because her life is perfect and his is falling apart. make the boy hurt her, make her curl up into a ball and cradle her heart in two shaking hands.
make the girl forgive him. make her smile through a broken heart and still love him. loving is all she knows how to do. hurting is all he dares to do, because he is all anger and spite. so afraid to love and be loved.
now make the girl turn bitter. make her smile go away and make her sad. the boy is making her sad.
once she is sad, take this sad girl and let her try to love this boy one more time.
but let this boy love someone else. let this boy, find someone just as broken to love. because this broken boy can only offer a little bit of himself, and his new girl can only offer the same.
baking:
let the girl finish high school and leave. leave the town, leave the boy. let her leave all that have hurt her. let her leave still sad.
my miracle girl.
sometimes you love someone so much, that every day when their heart is still beating you call it a miracle.
i keep a glow stick underneath my pillow. on the darkest nights i break it just to remind myself that broken things are still beautiful.
only tourists look up / in a big big city / because they wonder how / people can live their entire lives / feeling so small / but i guess that’s why / no one ever looks up.
i held my heartbreak in my hands and for the first time, i was not afraid of it
high school on the train tracks
my mother was raised in a dead town \ not dying \ with nothing now but liquor stores \ and empty parking lots littered with cigeratte butts \ and main street is part of a cracking skeletal system \ of roads without railings \ of children with no oppurtunities \ of parents accumsed to hearing a trai9n whistle \ as the only steady thing in their life \ because in dead towns \ jobs don’t hold steady \ people don’t stay \ but there is no escape \ no escape \ unless you get an education \ pay for college by offering your very soul out for a loan / as collateral / and there is escape for you \ no escape \ no escape \ empty stores on saturday \ not buisness on tuesday \ why get in a job when \ it is a one stop town for poverty \ and a mark barely on the map for tourists \ why stop in a dead town \ where forty years ago it was alive \ but times change \ and fire burns down houses \ and farmers loose crops \ and it seems like the world is falling apart \ because this down is dead \ dead\ and the only dying here \ is what athletes feel when they break a bone \ knowing that their only way out was their body \ knowing that their high school football yards were a ticket \ now turning to dust right before their eyes / and there are so many for sale signs / so many broken neon lights / so many crumbling apartments / so many churches with crosses torn down / this down is past dying / this town has been dead for a while now / and there is no escape / no escape / except for the lucky few / who push their bodies past the breaking point / who study until their eyes can’t see / because then those few / find a way / find a way / to escape a dead town / that has tried to imprison the youth / because this place needs more drunkerns / to buy the beer from the only store that gets buisness / so maybe one person can have profit / one person can fix the leaking hole in their roof / from the tree that fell down over two years ago / and when you ask me how my mother escaped / i will tell you that was a farmer’s daughter / who made the town / seem a little bit more alive / from basketball games of cheering / to the homecoming queen parade / and when she left i think the town just died a little bit more / and then when six of her friends died \ in an accident that never should have happened \ an accident that was been wiped from minds \ because of the stained concrete \ because of the train that never stopped \ because of the crushed car \ and the crazy party \ because that train plowed right over \ six teens who went to high school \ on the train tracks \ and when they died \ the town died too \ and it’s been dead ever since.
february water
with brutality \ she grasped my wrist \ her smile a collection of polished white river stones \ gleaming in a deadly snarl \ and i could see \ the white water of her eyes \ as her erratic gestures grew \ and i gasped for breath \ on impact \ as her glacier melt touch \ collided with my skin \ forming a raft of violet on my cheekbone \ : kill the competition
conversation between past and present
i like your name \ she said \ and i smiled \ i like yours too \ i replied \ she laughed \ its the same name \ she explained \ we share it \ and i couldn’t say \ that i haven’t \ gone by that name in so long \ it is as foreign \ as the smile \ upon her face
a phone call
when you called \ i was scared to pick up \ because i’m always afriad for you \ afriad that one day i won’t hear your voice \ on the other end \ but instead the mournful crying \ of a white metal beast \ that has come upon you broken \ like only i’ve seen you before \ and rushed you away amid the crowded streets \ in a vain attempt to save you \ because you always told me \ only good men can be saved
Perfectly Imperfect Me 