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things I never told you.some poems feel like water.things I never told you. by littleblueraccoon
this one is more like sand,
and I'm suffocating in the maw
of a desert that was better left
rusting its clairvoyance.
it started one night when I remembered
that I've kept everything you've ever given me:
roses, faces, promises.
I never really understood
how to let things go,
and when the thought of
turning the things you'd touched
away from my doorstep
choked the poetry from my throat,
I realized why.
I keep reminding myself that
I should probably be nicer to you,
but I think you already know
that I'm only capable of being nice
when I'm cornered and out of ideas.
and despite what you claim,
you've never been like me.
you have a magic with the world
that I could never hope to understand, and
I think someday you'll charm the devil
into sending you back to the skies.
besides, when it came to you,
I was never an exception.
I named myself a blade of grass
and bit my tongue,
but like they say,
sometimes trouble can find you
when you least expect it.
.i.. by lupus-astra
to be perfectly honest,
i've got a rabbit's heart.
the kind that freezes
the moment it senses danger.
kind of like a january midnight where
all is still and the only thing you can taste
is the rawness of your uncovered
and it aches
until your fists refuse
before finally it stops beating
and you're slowly dying
inside of yourself.
once upon a time
i fancied myself a she-wolf.
ivory fangs that bit down on
silver eyes that could see
through hell itself,
and a blackness nestled peacefully
inside my chest,
sleeping all day and waking only
when the full moon rose.
but i have learned what i truly am;
just a deer
with terror blooming crimson like a gunshot
wound as she runs
further into the snowstorm.
perhaps the thing i most often yearn for,
the life i would rather live,
is one in which i have wings.
maybe a hawk or a raven or
even a sparrow. as long as i can
soar above the primordial, wretched winter
tomorrow and the next day 'cause it never endsthere's a woman in the laundromat staring down at her phone;tomorrow and the next day 'cause it never ends by Khaimin
she got off work three hours ago and she doesn't wanna go home
'cause all that's waiting for her there
are screaming sons and a pregnant daughter;
she takes her time as her laundry air-dries slowly,
takes her time to breathe in the quiet-loud atmosphere of shaking machines;
she takes her time.
there's a man in the corner booth talking nonstop on a headset;
he laughs and it's strained 'cause he knows he's on borrowed time,
his wife's got another man in the sheets
and he pretends he doesn't notice that she smells like whiskey and cologne
when she walks through the door at 2 a.m.;
he closes his eyes and takes time to convince himself it'll be okay,
closes his eyes and pretends that he's asleep when he feels the bed dip beside him in the morning;
he closes his eyes.
there's a kid on the street holding a cigarette;
his hand shakes as he lights it 'cause he hasn't had his fix yet,
he knows it's cracking up his lungs but he can't ge
We were winter.i.We were winter. by ECHORIVER6450
we fell in love in the winter,
and it only makes sense that it's dying now.
we were the snow and the heat of spring is killing us,
bringing blossoms of new romance.
it's just...i fell for her in the course of a night,
and i figured that 'hey, she's across the nation.
she can't hurt me'.
well i was fucking wrong,
and you know what?
she did it unintentionally.
now i can't blame her, okay?
i mean i come with a shit ton of baggage,
and i am an ocean of problems.
oh, and i didn't let her know that i cared so much.
so basically curiosity killed the cat,
because i was dying to know.
come on cass, what are we?
were we ever anything?
did i do something wrong?
and i was expecting it to hurt...
just not like this.
i just...wonder if she knows that;
she was my fucking sky,
the reason the sun rose and fell,
the reason to breathe.
she was the summer in the eternal winters of my mind,
she was...she was....she IS.
she is my fucking sky,
the reason the sun rises and falls,
my candle i
four.i can still smell your rose perfume,four. by ECHORIVER6450
and hear the hum of your voice,
when i close my eyes and
attempt to drown the world in dreams.
i can still feel the curl of your lips against mine,
the gentle touch of your fingers on my cheek.
i can still hear your voice as you tell me you love me.
and dear god, woman, i love you too.
we're like fireworks,
and symphonies lighting up the sky.
we make the world a little brighter,
and take everyone's breath away.
my poet fingers twined with your typist fingers,
my ink veins and your ink finger tips.
you left black finger smudges on my shirt.
a permanent stain of an almost love.
i can still hear the echoes of our failed romance,
when he tells me he loves me,
and i can still feel the echo of your unsteady heartbeat against my back,
when he hugs me close.
i can still feel our end when i'm trying to restart a beginning for him.
and i can't help but miss t
three.three. by ECHORIVER6450
i'm getting really tired
of wiping tears off your mascara stained cheeks.
i'm getting really tired because i never get a genuine thank you.
i get a quick kiss on the cheek,
as you plunge the knife into my back,
as if i were a wind up doll and the knife were my key.
i am not a wind up doll,
looking pretty in the shop windows of your heart.
and i never quiet understood why i meant so little...
why i meant so much.
i am your friend,
i am not your concealer.
i will not conceal the parts of you that you dislike.
i will not hide you from the world.
my heart may be big but it is already stretched too thin,
tearing at the center.
i decided to take a look inside,
and i've discovered that you are an automaton.
you do not have a heart.
and that is the saddest thing about it.
and i, as an inept, inventor am unable to make you a heart.
when is it that your heart stopped thrumming?
when is it that your h
two. i.two. by ECHORIVER6450
i really hate my anxiety,
it makes me hate doing the things i love.
my anxiety is a homewrecker.
my anxiety prevents me from asking my dad to drive,
because my throat swells shut as i start to speak.
my anxiety prevents my kisses from being complete.
my anxiety prevents me from being the Marilyn Monroe this Aubrey Hepburn body is.
my anxiety....my anxiety....my anxiety,
did not matter to you.
my anxiety did not matter to you,
which was a first. everything about me mattered to you in some way...
but not my anxiety. you brushed it off.
and i can't tell if that is a complement
or if you're rubbing salt in the wound.
though, my favorite thing, is the fact that my incomplete kisses make you b r e a t h l e s s,
and you've grown used to me breathing sonnets against your skin.
you've gotten used to me calling you a masterpiece.
you've gotten used to me seeing you as paper skin, and ink veins
Author || 14 || Panromantic/Demisexual |
So here's the deal: I have insomnia and deal with little bouts of crippling depression. I have social anxiety but tend to be a outgoing person I guess.
I have a mild addiction to Tumblr and Pinterest. It's a bit unhealthy.
I want to preform Slam Poetry...but yeah social anxiety. Yay?