Told me you loved me

Was it a lie?

Asked to be hers but

I thought you were mine

Did you ever even care?

Or did you just want to compare? 

You'll never let me be enough

I will never be enough

I got my hands dirty

and kept them for you

And I'd fall to my knees

Take a headstone too

Bleak lies, tongue ties

Bad games, bad times

Cold hearts, deep cuts

How do I not mess this up?

Tell me the truth

So I do not sink in, too

Tell me that I should be with you

I can't stop hanging onto all of it

i won't stop hanging onto all of it

Ill always hang onto all of it

Just trust me, please

I can take it. 

poetry dump of varying quality (sorry, admins & anybody scrolling)

remembering.

there is something beautiful about the way clothing disintegrates so slowly slowly slowly: remember, i bought a pair of jeans when i was thirteen at some fast fashion store in a shopping center. brand new & bright blue, crisp & the topstitching was effortlessly perfect. later that day i would pick the yellow details apart & reflect on this, juxtapose it with you & me & life.  i wore them to everywhere. the hem has begun to decompose already, too long for me & stepped on with dirty boots & bare feet. the fruit of a lovely labor & living. a branch jabbed me hard enough to draw blood last summer & it hurt like [heck], but i remember looking at the frayed threads of these jeans over the scab on my thigh & felt proud, somehow. broken fibers were a testament to my strength; scars will fade with time but this never will. i have wondered what the next piece of life to mark the fading denim with memory will be & where—a growing hole in the knee from sitting on concrete too many times in a row; belt loops torn off their waistband from the strain of being pulled too high too often; another branch to the leg. i will marvel in the beauty of life, marking the fabric with memories of an adolescence. one day i will hold them in my hands to fold for a last time & i will say to you: remember. remember this, & this, & this. when the scabs on my hands have long disappeared i will remember the way the hay cut my hands from the way my boot heels ground down the integrity of this cloth. depressing, maybe, but it is almost comforting the way these pants will remember my thirteen year old self when i am too old to. they will have lived a lifetime (my lifetime) by then & there is something so beautiful about the way the threads fray. 

~~ 

things that look different in the sunlight

if you fell down from the heavens & told me you loved me with wings on your back would i have said it back? / & would you still be my angel if the sun was shining /

.

looking people in the eyes has never been a strength of mine. / it was dark when i realized i was hopelessly in love with you / it was dark when i finally admitted it

but still i studied where i knew your fingertips were as if they were writing the story of my life out in front of me / you were my angel my savior my everything / but only in my imagination

.

what would i have seen if i’d looked into your eyes / or would i have seen at all? / it was cold outside that night & too dark to see our breath against the stars. / this is a symbol of something though of what i am still unsure

.

if i had done things differently would everything be differently / if i said you were beautiful while staring you in the face / if we had pretended less & loved in a different light would your hand still be clasped in mine

i think i have always known in the bottom of my soul that if i really loved you / you would not be an angel at all.  

~~

remember me beautiful

sometimes in the quiet of the night you would whisper my name like it was the most beautiful word in the world. and it was, when you were the one who said it; the way your voice curled around the vowels, the way you used to lace your love into every consonant, the softness to your voice even when you shouted it 

thank you for making it and me beautiful. or did you just take what was already there and show it to me the way you saw it? thank you for thinking me beautiful, then, and i will always return the favor. when we are six feet under and grown over with ivy and stone i will still remember us beautiful beautiful beautiful

beauty in a name is what you make of it and nobody has ever said mine the way you used to.

~

the way your name tastes

i like the way your name tastes

sweet like lychee the sound of your laugh

the smell of your hair was flowers 

tiny fragile blooms of blue pink forget-me-nots

so unlike you really you could never be fragile

but forget me 

not. i will not forget you

not when i am a thousand years old

your name will be on my cracked lips

the vague ideas of a person attached to the syllables

the sounds of your consonants will be 

soft on my tongue in remembrance

remember it

i named you love of my life and so your name was 

a self fulfilling prophecy almost

love of my life you could have been

i would have liked the way your name tasted had it been lychee or lemon.

nothing’s in a name but what we put to it

so yours could never be anything but lovely 

january is walking into town after soccer practice,

goosebumps crawling up your legs,

your breath creating clouds in the air,

the

stars

filling

the

sky.

january is the quiet chatter of the local diner,

the perfect grilled cheese,

ice cream creating snowy mountains in your float,

bright yellow menus,

the

rain

pelting

the

roof.

january is math notebooks and french fries,

the quiet scratch of your pencil,

poetry recitations in the corner booth,

the

clouds

covering

the

moon.

january is tables piled with chairs,

the clatter of pots and pans,

the quiet humming of a waitress,

red high tops,

a

soft

smile

crossing

your

face.

Crush my soul to dust

Scatter my ashes to the rolling waves

Reunite me with the Sea I love

After enduring such a life of pain.

Distant candle of the night

You burn in the dark

You shine bright for me, but

Light years come and go

How long can it last?

Distance deceives us

And vision only serves our past

Perhaps we hide flaming rage

Or empty pride, vain façades

Are we icy in our inmost beings

Despite the heavy heat?

Do you mean to burn everything?

Everything just so I’ll never see

The part of you that’s dying

Light, energy, sparks, light, energy

No distress between us

Just a diamond in the sky

A diamond fading

Haloed by dismal debris

Light, energy, sparks, light, energy

So faint and fleeting

But flickers nonetheless

The burning, it works

I scarcely notice the heat

Outside nothing seems awry

But smoke fills my lungs at night

I try to sleep

Nothing comes but tears

Stinging eyes and losing oxygen

Is it my steady light you see

That drives your desperate inferno?

When all is cold within you

Must you be consumed for my sake?

How time and space twist my vision

You’re bright as ever, and yet

I do not know, I do not know

If the light arrives from years ago

If underneath is cold and dim

I’d give all the world for your existence

How my soul would die within me

If your light ever left my eyes

I love you

Candle

~The
candle holds an orange light.

A
waxy stick that’s oh so bright.

That
happy flame paints the room.

Dissipating
the heavy gloom.~

~A
quite crackle that’s not to loud.

The
soft and soothing comfort sound.

Melting
candle slips down the side.

Drip,
drip, drip and then a slide.~

~Small
and warm heats like a hearth.

A
quite beating, a soft small heart.~

Darkness

Creeping,
crawling, hugging walls.

Slipping,
sliding, standing tall.

Darkness
fly's between the trees.

Unlike
the blinding light that makes me sneeze.

A
cold shiver goes down my spine.

Owls
coo their chilling chime.

Monster
lurk through out the dark.

In
the ocean, a silent shark.

Black
cats and witches hats.

Gnarled
trees and flapping bats.

Your
heart thumping in your chest,

Beating
rapidly from the unknown darkness.

R

e u
b

y

Pumpkin

A
Pumpkin patch is a pretty sight

Orange
orbs luster in the light

Sliced
and carved on the step

Made
a mistake, but don’t you fret

Buy
another glorious gourd

But
only one that you can afford

Place
the light gently inside

And
watch your pumpkin come alive

------------------

Post didn't go through...?  I'll try again.

Sterling, we're not posting this poem because the subject may be disturbing or insulting to others.

Admin

I promised that I would post more on this thread this year, so have this anxiety induced word vomit from midnight last night :))

~~

there's a monster standing at the top of the stairs

i can't see it from my position

on my back in bed

but I hear it's voice, and it says:

look at me, child. see me. manifest me. 

and my mind cannot think of anything else

all I can see is every fear in my quicksand pit of a mind

condensed into a dark figure

vaguely humanoid (but not quite)

awash in the blue glow of my LED lights

standing at the top of the stairs.

and I can't look because that makes it real

whether I see it or not

because something that doesn't exist

can't have any power over me, right?

but of course I look anyway

and of course all I see is

cerulean washed emptiness.

its voice is still in my head:

oh child, why do you keep letting me win? you know that i'm not real.

but you know what they say about old dogs

and how they do the same tricks

over and over and over