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Tag Archives: poetry

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

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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.


Haunted

I wonder if he can feel me shiver in the middle
of the night when I’m lost in dreams you made into nightmares.
I wonder if he notices the way I trace
the ink on my skin and picture a hand of the past.

If I could I would make so many promises,
but I don’t trust myself to keep them.
My tongue has turned into ivy and they
wrap around words too soft for me to bear.

My skin has added a few layers from the cold
you left me with and I forget how soft
I used to be. That’s the thing, though.
You’ve taken who I used to be,
and twisted it.

His hands trace every scar I’m laced with,
kisses each dent and jagged edge as though
he could somehow fix my broken bits.
The worst part is, though,
I let him.


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


Pretty Distortion

We pull at our tightly strewn stitches
Trying to desperately break free
The strings got mixed up, though
I had yours and you mine,
Only tighter were we squeezed
Into our pretty packaged facades
Unable to breathe, unable to scream for help
The cloth of lies too tightly like a second skin
And those smiles took over, hiding anything
That could have possibly been underneath


Wanting for Summer

My skin feels like a lonely place
without your fingers on it
and ghosts run rampant
through my veins
as though I am a haunted house

I don’t know how I got to be
so cold without you
as though you were all the fire
in my blood, in my bones,
in my soul

I remember being whole before
your lips ever touched me,
and you seemed to have taken parts
of me every time your skin grazed mine

The shell of me has frosted over
with time missing you,
and I miss being whole,
and I miss being me without
you