Advertisements

Author Archives: Missie Stephie

The Light Flickers

Don’t forget to tell me good-bye when the time’s right. Don’t forget to hold the door open and watch me leave. Don’t forget to keep that smile on your face and, please, don’t forget to dream about me every night after.

When the next one whispers how much they love you when they think you’re sleeping, don’t forget to hold your breath and pray they don’t know you’re awake. Don’t forget to distance yourself and stop answering the phone. Don’t forget what those words sounded like when they came from my lips.

Down the road when you hold the-one in your arms and look at their sleeping face, don’t forget to picture mine. Don’t forget the feeling in your arms as they ache to hold me instead.

When things stop working and they leave you, don’t forget about the way you left me. Don’t forget the sway of my hips, or my tensed jaw.

Don’t forget me.

Don’t forget.

Advertisements

Amidst the Wreckage

redstring1-600x315

We drag our feet through the dirt
dust in the air,
in our lungs

We call this the wreckage
of our pasts,
of our hearts

I see you through the daze
in the dark,
through the hurt

Our hands meet in the middle
and we can finally rest,
breathe out the exhaustion

You can have my red thread
if I can have yours,
and all I ask of you

is be the one to stay
please,
just stay


Forgotten Socks

Your socks were rolled up and left under the bed. It’s been months but it still gave me pause, and I held them in my hands as though I had never seen them before. Except I had.

I might’ve been called mad if someone had seen me staring at a balled up pair of socks but it was all I could do. Suddenly waves of you, and us, washed over me and something got caught in my throat. I struggle to call that a name I no longer use for you.

I didn’t know if I should bury them like I did us. Or maybe set them on fire. Or maybe even keep them.

I put them back and pretended like I hadn’t found them after so long.

Now I’m stuck trying to forget you again.


what it’s not

Her fingers trace the lines on his skin, each graze a silent prayer for it to sink into his skin so deeply she becomes a part of the ink.

She hopes when he looks at his own skin all he sees is her. When his eyes find those marks, she hopes all he can feel are her fingers over them.

No one ever told her it’s okay to be alone.

Her breath clings to her throat and she doesn’t realize she’s stopped breathing. That exhale comes and makes her heart race and she swears it’s him.

No one ever told her she doesn’t need anyone.

Her own arms find their way around her and she can feel him missing from her. Words press against her lips although she knows she doesn’t know what they mean.

Because how can this be love when it makes you fear the empty space he’s not in?

Yet still they beg for their release.

No one ever taught her what love is.


Little Secrets

city-cars-traffic-lights

His legs hang over the side of the railing and his eyes stare straight ahead. Between his fingers is burning death and he takes every drag slow and meticulously, willing it’s magic to work faster.

Bright lights shine from down below and he contemplates his options. Guiltless chance or a surefire suicide. Maybe it could look like an accident.

Smoke gushes from between parted lips and he’s grown to like the taste.

He wonders how many flowers have grown in his graveyard chest but thinks maybe he’s barren. It feels like he’s barren. It feels like all he is, is death waiting to happen. Eyelids shut tightly and he wonders why it has yet to happen.

One foot slips behind the other and a shoe dangles precariously above the rushing traffic. He thinks of this as picking petals off of roses; to, or to not.

Instead of letting chance make it’s mind up, he takes both shoes off and lays them beside him. Knowing they’re safely next to him gives him a false comfort and an unsettling ache.

His mind wanders into the crevices of his thoughts that he blocks off in the daylight, the caution tape torn off. There are dark bags beneath his eyes and he can barely remember the last time he slept. The ache never wanes and the tired never gets comforted by sleep.

Burned to the end, he flicks his cigarette to the ground and slowly, so slowly, he lets himself rise to the challenge of not actually jumping when he can. Instead he turns and grabs his shoes, stepping down from the metal railing and letting himself enter into a more sturdy ground.

 

Not tonight, he thinks.

 

Never tonight.


Fake it ’til you make it.

We break and
We fold and
We change
Everything we ever were
For the chance to
Be believed in, to
Be found, to
Be loved
And it hurts
But we smile and
We laugh and
We say,
“I’m okay,”
Because the truth hurts and
Fake it ‘til you make it,
But all I want to know is:
Will I ever make it?


The Bridge

I’ve built a bridge between
two worlds that fit
two sides of me

It creaks with weight and
looks like neither side (of course)
and it does only
what it’s meant to

On one side you see a burning building
and it’s so beautiful you can’t help
but look at it from a distance
yet still want to touch it

You think it’s burning the
rough edges and what will be left
is a pure diamond that will congratulate you
for staying and not touching

But it only burns,
new kindling added from the same
broken down houses

The other side has soft edges,
and a pink tint, like looking through
rose-colored glasses
or an old photograph

Something about it makes you feel
right at home, and even the dark
is only for sleep
and not for nightmares

I sit on the bridge to guide
those who find me
but I’m stuck in the middle;
a blockade from one side
and the next