theme by starlland
I am not Alice and this isn't Wonderland.
I often wonder what my poetry says to people,
if they think it’s raw or refined, harsh or soft,
if it speaks to the deep, holy parts of their soul
or it calms the itches on their skin,
I want to know.
Someone cuddle me, my exam went badly.
I get jumpy,
have to turn my arms away from you
so you don’t see the scars,
I get shaky,
when you slip your hands under my shirt,
can you feel my held breath, my fear
that I am too much skin for you,
I get scared
that you’ll run off to someone far prettier,
you’ve loved so many girls
and all of them beautiful,
what do you want
with a carcass like me?
I know you will leave,
I watch the clock tick,
I get sad and lonely even when you’re there
because I know you couldn’t love
a ghost for too long,
I know the echoes of a heart aren’t enough
to satisfy,
I get scared
one day you will laugh in my face,
tell me it was all just a joke,
and I’ll know
it was false,
every second I felt you
crawl under my skin,
you will have infected
even my lungs,
I won’t breathe, I won’t speak,
I won’t make a sound,
I know you will leave,
because I am a carcass
and what you need is beauty
not death.
when you realize you’re nobody’s favorite anything and you just
High up in the clouds of superiority
they don’t care what the kids have to say,
no way do they sway to the needs of the hungry,
crying out for mercy, thirsty for existence,
they don’t see the battles that play in our heads everyday
or the scars, both inside and out, don’t care
for the wounded, the beaten, the broken, the lonely,
so long as you’ve a pen in hand, they don’t give a fuck,
now write essays, write cheques, write wills, clear desks,
work and study and work and die,
that’s it
to them, that’s it,
I wasn’t born in a high class, high brow, big house
and I don’t know what it feels like to have all the opportunity and none of the pain,
but I know that I’ve felt better about things that aren’t grades
like being applauded for a speech,
like being read and appreciated,
like holding your sister in your arms, knowing you inspired her,
see, what they don’t understand
on their silver pedestal
is that learning is beautiful
and judging isn’t,
I don’t know you and you don’t know me
why aren’t my words good enough?
I didn’t use enough literary techniques but maybe the way I speak
is different from the way others do, maybe my
mind is all wrapped up in nonsense and I’m sorry that my essay on how I tried to kill myself wasn’t enough to make you cry or get an A,
I’m so fucking done with this shit,
you sit
on a cloud up above it all, marker in hand,
waiting to sum up my worth
in five separate grades.
I clung to him, this wretched thing
who spoke of love and bit me hard,
who tore the diamonds from the sky and laughed as flowers withered,
I clung to him, this renegade, this living genocide of mine,
this murderer, this heartless youth, I clung to him,
and I still do,
for love is bitter and love is blind,
and love sees all except the truth,
love makes fools of all of us,
love made a fool of me.
There is a certain elegance
in the twists and turns of your tongue
as it folds around words and phrases,
caressing them with lips unlocked,to be in your graces,
to feel the vibration of your chest
as you speak and speak, talk until dawn,
burning up the night sky
with the eloquence of you,you see I grew up thinking
silence was golden,
lips were to be locked
until further notice,
but now I’m not so sure,something in your smile invited a world of whim,
and every word loved me the way a knife loves a heart,
shattering me from the inside out
in the most thrilling kind of way,so love me, abuse me, do what you wish,
but never deprive me the sudden thrill
of your deep, entrancing voice.
it’s really weird that 757 people read and like my writing enough to put up with everything else I post
like, wow.
