The girl I once knew is a miniature version of herself sitting at the pit of her own being.
Her screams echo in the vastness of this shell she used to call her body.
The mind she once knew is the distance away it would take to climb Mount Everest.
Only each day a record blizzard blares away making the slightest step impossible.
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Her
Her with her demure smile.
Quiet.
You couldn’t imagine a word she’d say.
Wholesome.
Modest.
She carries herself like there were pins under her feet.
Her posture was skyscrapers sweeping the clouds.
If you opened her up, you’d think she’d open like a lily on a spring morning.
Incandescent floral tissue paper fragrant with roses.
Her insides would be paper maché and origami.
How you’d imagine the star student’s notebook,
Heart dotted i’s, highlighter for every section, cursive that told you love stories.
Elegant.
Voice, a symphony of every beautiful thing you could imagine.
Songbirds, an ocean wave, the wind through summer leaves.
My Mother’s Worship
Morning church bells ring to the tune of disappointment.
The pews are full of hopeful people.
The prayers come in whispers.
Whispers that so desperately want to sound like a melody.
The tornado of voices whip into the oblivion to a God who sits atop a marble throne.
He lets the phone ring into an infinite answering machine.
Raw
I know what that means now.
The contents of my mind spilled out on the floor
The darkest parts of my insides
My deepest thoughts
Sawed open
A personal display for your enjoyment
Memories turn pile of guts
My baggage the blood you wear on your hands.
Your Music.
Beside the oak tree
A picnic for two
Romantic gestures
A girl could melt in your flowers
A home cooked meal
My heart twisted like your fusilli pasta
I don’t drink wine
But you poured it
You speak pure eloquence
I lay out on a luxuriant bed of flowers
I listen intently
Your mouth a composer
The words are music
I am begging to be your conductor
The orchestra erupts
And I long to be wrapped in your melody
Cradled in this symphony
Your words become the curtain over my eyes
Suddenly I am teetering on the edge of a cliff
Hanging on to the edges of your words
The shards of punctuation stab my fingertips
Holding onto your words is starting to feel like life and death
“I heard you.”
“I’m listening.”
You held my hurt in the palm of your hand
You made it feel small
Nestled it in your arms promising protection
Words and Words
Rehearsed and Repeated
Meaningless music to manipulate
You gave me a foot and I only took an inch
Which is still precisely 1.54 cm more than anyone has ever given me
I’m an intoxicated mess
High off the words you’ve injected into my veins
A musical pulse beating through me
A man who probed me for my wounds
I am having withdrawals from all the things you’ve said to me
I am sick.
Addicted to your words
Your music
Melodic lies that have encased my brain
I can’t tell if you’re a musician or a magician
I have fallen for your tricks
I will be drowning at your concert.
My Notebook
I wrote until my fingers ached
The pen denting my finger
I’d hope the words could bellow out from the page below
Hear me
My mind a jambalaya of thoughts
Expressions tied in knots around the tip of my tongue
Screams jarred down my esophagus
Emotions needling through my veins like mercury
Turning solid in my bones
Remorseful skeleton
Prisoner to her own words
I thought the poetry could set me free
It’s turned my life into complex metaphors
An index of riddles
Lost between lines and stanzas
I’m writing the words out of myself and myself out of the words
My journal has become my emotional purgatory
I wrote my soul on paper
An illustration of a jail cell
What’s no longer locked inside is locked in lines of graphite and ink
Eternal bidding hell
My notebook
My Body
Our bodies are never ours today
They are always our yesterdays
You say today is a new day
But My Body can’t forget
Wincing at the touch.
Today is not a new me
Today is a me that’s a product of my yesterday
A product of my last year
A product of my whole life
And this me can’t shed the feeling of your hands crawling on my skin Continue reading
Our House
There is one thing you taught me from a young age,
To look past mistakes to see the people that are hurting.
You built this house, your temple,
On an unconditional type of love.
Growing up with you was like walking through libraries of people with stories to tell.
And you, painting mosaics of understanding around me.
Mother.
Always crafting the world beneath your hands,
Like Gippedo in his workshop
Breathing life into things people never gave a chance to. Continue reading
Thank you
I always thought I had one of the greatest childhoods. You made my childhood an unforgettable adventure. Every day with you was like a mission. You used to find every piece of scrap in the house and build games out of it. You always had a way of turning a box and piece of trash into a child’s wonder. Birthday parties were always nothing short of amazing. You’d reimagine every theme to transform the world around you and on my 13thbirthday you loaded up ten little teenagers into your red Durango and took us TPing. My friends thought you were the “fun mom.” But to me you are so much more than that. Continue reading
Release Writing
I feel like not remembering,
Has made is easier to move on
I feel like not crying,
Has made it all the less painful
I feel like not knowing,
Has made it easier to forget
Maybe I’ve grown numb to the heart break
But running away from it is my only solution Continue reading
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