Posted in Uncategorized

Comfortable

They say 3 am is witching hour
But the scariest thing I’ve ever found there is my mind
That sinking lonely feeling that makes you want to text your ex, “you up?”
The darkness outside is like a flashlight into the emptiness
That creeps up on you
That’s not a robber, It’s just insomnia rapping at your door
You greet her like an old friend
And you put on a pot of coffee
It feels like you gave up on your bed years ago.
You don’t remember the last time you’ve seen it,
You long so much to rekindle your friendship
But she’s been ghosting you
You incessantly texted her every night
And now every form of contact just feels
Uncomfortable
Like the silence broken
Only by the crashing waves of tears
And the broken record
Of everything I’ve ever done wrong
It’s witching hour and I am in a trance
The only demons here are the ones I’ve summoned
With bad decisions
It’s twitching hour and the coffee is seeping into my pores
I wish I was slipping into my bed
And not deeper into the darkness of my mind
But I guess 3am is starting to get
A little more
Comfortable

Advertisements
Posted in Uncategorized

Severed Ties

My mother was a seamstress of sorts
She spent years meticulously picking out every stitch of you from our family
And the rest of her life looking for any patches
That could fit the gaping hole snugg enough for me to call Father
Until one day you showed up
And my eager hands sewed you back in
Overtime I found your seams slowly splitting
Frantically wondering what was wrong with my stitching
Constantly trying to hold it together
Until I lost you like a button on my peacoat
I couldn’t find you so I tried to replace you
Looking for anything that would fit
The only good thing about you
Was the sperm that gave me life
Because the only difference between you and every other man I’ve ever met
Is the box of condoms in there dresser drawer
Call me Alexander Hamilton,
Because I’m just another bastard, orphan, son of a whore
But I’ve laid a strong enough foundation
To know you only text when duty calls
If he only texts me at 2 am it’s just a booty call
And that I’m worth more than being loved out of obligation
So the next time you show up trying to intertwine
Know that I’ve already severed ties

Posted in Uncategorized

Lord Voldemort

When you said you were sorry for not texting me back.
I said it was fine.
But what I meant to say is that it made me cry myself to sleep that night.
You see, fine is a word I often misplace the definition for
If you ask me how I’m doing
I would say that I was fine
But what I meant is that most days
I think about dying and today
Is no exception
I’m not good, so I’m just fine
I’m living, I’m breathing
The only thing I feel is a chemical created apathy
So I don’t take my own life I’m fine
Until one day
The knot in my stomach ties one too many times
I feel my lunch slowly jumping up
The tightening of my wind pipe
My legs are far to weak
I’m on my knees
Doubled over in the elevator
Head pounding to the point I can’t see
I passed out at work today
Body pressed to the cold hard floor
I woke up shaking so hard I was buzzing like an iPhone
For once I had to admit that I couldn’t take care of myself
Words stumbling out of mouth in fragments
And I learned for the first time that it was okay for someone else to pick me up off the ground
To call my doctor, to drive me home, to make me dinner
Working too hard on every detail of my life’s construction
To forget what it’s like to fall all the way down the stairs I’ve built
To admit I’m crashing
I’m not stressed, I don’t feel anxious
I insist
But I’ve been trying to think of a way to tell my doctor
That I feel like I’ve been possessed by Lord Voldemort
I wake up from a trance not really sure what I’ve done
But knowing I have a lot of messes to clean up
And not really knowing where to start
So I put up walls made of Netflix and pizza boxes
Perpetually pounding on them from the inside
Because I forgot to build a door
Now all I want it a way out.
And I’m not strong enough to break them down.
At least not yet.

Posted in Uncategorized

Love Poem.

Love is not created or destroyed,
It only changes form
And somewhere my dignity crept in
I had no choice but to let it transform
You see,
I tried writing you a love poem
But I wrote one for myself instead
The way I dance around the room
The way I laugh at everything like it’s the best joke ever
Falling asleep on everything and talking like silence should be imprisoned
Infatuated with my way with words
Blonde and blue hair with gray eyes
Eyes sparkling eager to pour out like gray skies
I dreamt about you and you’ve failed to meet my expectations
But goddamn I lived up
Kanye once said
I love myself way more than I love you
Ya see, I tried writing you a love poem
But I don’t love you
I’m too busy catching up on the sleep I’ve lost from men who didn’t think I was good enough
And catching up on the years I didn’t think I was beautiful
Turns out we were all wrong
Because the love I thought was for you
Blossomed into love for someone far more deserving
Someone who stood beside me all these years
I tried writing you a love poem
But I wrote one for myself instead
As it turns out, I’m the one who earned it

Posted in Uncategorized

I couldn’t get the lid off the paint stripper I’ll need you’re help when you get home

Thanks for sharing your texts with me Amy and inspiring me.

It’s 4am,
I cannot sleep
So I made a pot of coffee
Started writing and promised I’d try again tomorrow
I realized I sleep a lot better when I’m beside you
But when you’re here I’d rather be wide awake
As I took off my covers and slid out of my bed
I realized that love is not made late night between thighs
But in midday texts to your husband that say
“I couldn’t get the lid off the paint stripper
I’ll need your help when you get home”
Because when I had met you I was just realizing who I was
And you saw it right away
I think we both love her
It just took me 23 years to love every curve, every impulsive 4 am decision, the way I scrunch my face up
And you always have
You’ll always love me in the mundane moments
Running upstairs to rescue you with toilet paper
The way I brush my teeth
How I lay on the floor for no reason
So when I texted you about the paint stripper
I meant I love you
That you make me safe
And that I know your always happy to help

Posted in Uncategorized

Your New Girl

I never expected you to wait for me
But deep down in my heart I always hoped that you would
I know our ship had left the harbor so long ago
That no one knows where it is
But I was hoping one day we could at least find the remnants
I like your new girl
She makes me laugh so I know your laughing too
But I’ll never get used to the fact that you were the right man
At the wrong time
I hope she decorates your dreams like you decorated mine
I hope she makes you smile
I want so bad to be angry but I know it isn’t right
I hope you don’t forget me
42 stories up looking a the whole city
You pinch me and I’m reminded we were only just a dream
What we could’ve been will always be my favorite bedtime story
One day I’ll tell it to my children
To remind them we don’t always get what we want but,
One day we’ll want something different
I don’t walk under that bridge anymore
I let the path escape from my memory
Hoping not see your face amongst the trees
In fear that she will be with you.
I see you enough in Snapchats
Sitting on bar patios
Beer in hand under twinkle lights when you remind me
She’s you’re queen.
I like your new girl.
But only because you like her.

Posted in Uncategorized

“On Writing”

Writing is the only thing I ever felt any good at
And if were being honest,
I’m not that great
But sometimes stringing words together
And making something beautiful
Can feel an awful lot like freedom
I want to dance away the ache in my chest into sentences
To hold up the stained glass of my joy
And let it sparkle in the sun
To capture my love like sunrises on instagram
And call it art
To cry at every keystroke, whether from joy or pain
Because writing is the only thing
I never wanted to give up on
Starting at the first piece of shitty poetry I wrote when I was thirteen
I knew I’d be here a while
I camped out in the forest of my imagination
Riding down the river of all my emotions
And pitching a tent in the starry skies of all my hopes and dreams
Until one day,
I built a house with every word I wrote
An investment in every sentence
Complete with a picket fence
I raised every story until they grew old enough to stand alone
I showed them to everyone who stood still long enough to listen
Writing is the only thing I ever loved enough to want to be good at
To spend my days plagued with ideas
Scribbling down words in free moments at traffic lights and crosswalks
To wake up at 3 am with poetry written in dreams
I turned the tent in the forest of my imagination into a mansion
And there’s no place like home