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Tag Archives: poem

when you have a cold, your nose runs

Who is there
when the lights go out
and the cold knocks on your window
to hold you?

Who lets you know
you’re safe when your own lungs
are afraid to open
for fear of letting in a draft?

Who is there when they are so busy
and your life is so stagnant
and you don’t know how to say:
“Something’s wrong”?

Who can pry open your mouth
when you have tied it with
black lace so pretty, so hurtful
and it looks like you’re smiling?

Who can reach down with their hands
to help you from the grave you’re digging
when all you manage to do
is flinch at the thought?

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Amidst the Wreckage

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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


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


Just another tragic love story.

The sinkhole of my mouth,
the tragic words I whisper
when his eyes close for the night.

I never tell him I feel like lost tupperware
hidden somewhere on the top shelf,
in the very back.

When the connection feels lost and
somewhere along the lines
he could no longer feel me,

it’s heartbreaking to say my fingertips
still remember the skin of his back
when he lied down facing away from me.

He said I stopped looking at him
the same, but his image is still burned
into the back of my head,

and I will think of him every night
he no longer sleeps beside me,
and I will feel the lack of his presence

every time the bed doesn’t dip
from his weight. He said he no longer
knew if I loved him.

I will carry the weight of my failure,
of the love I never learned to express,
and the burden of my closed lips.


Just a little ice to numb the pain.

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I don’t drink much. I can remember the last time I was drunk,
and that was months ago. One, maybe two. Then I’m done.

Being drunk only amplifies whatever mood my heart is in.
But one or two, and that softens it. The gray sadness
becomes a little more dull, a little more bearable.

Tonight I’m drinking water and it occurs to me;

I want a drink.


Little Freaks

A thread is tied to my tongue
The end of it in your hand
I let you twist it,
And pull it,
Push your whole fist through it

You keep me quiet
In the palm of your hand
And after all eyes have closed,
That’s when you’ll kiss me

But I like the way it stings
I like the bitter taste of it
The shadows look good on me,
The way they keep me your secret

I’m hooked on everything you give me
I’ll gladly fall in line;
All you have to do is love me,
And always forgive me

I’m made for the abuse
Your skin on mine and all of the bruises
But you love me just like I need
And I would die for you