Life has been hard recently. This poem saved me the other day. #iwrotethisforyou #poem #poetry #words
To the Men who have come into my life:
Dear Mike, Fuck you. I was eleven when you touched me under the Pocahontas blanket the day after I bled for the first time. It was almost as if the world told me, "here's what it means to be a woman." I'm glad you're dead. Dear Brett, I'm sorry I thought we were going to get married after we kissed at that party. You were my first. It lasted four hours. I was 18. The bigger question is why were you at a college party way after you graduated? Dear Anders, You took advantage of my rum drunken stupor and kissed like a slug. I couldn't wear my red white and blue dress for a few years after because I still felt you on me. Dear Zach, I only kissed you so he wasn't my last. Dear Lewis, I was lonely. We were both drunk. Dear Don, You were great until you weren't and I realized you never were. Dear Nevin, Falling out of love with you is the hardest thing Ive ever done.
four kisses
one.
we were strangers at a party when our lips met for the first time. four hours later, i had a phone number, beard burn, and a false hope of starting something more.
two.
it was on a dare. quick, in passing. "i kiss all my friends," you whispered. "it doesn't have to mean anything." so it didn't.
three.
drunk off rum and fruit punches i kissed you and thought of someone else. in the morning i was sore in places i had never been before. i had memories i didn't want. memories that still haunt me.
four.
i came to you because i didn't want his lips to be the last ones to touch mine. you touched me where i didn't want you to and broke my glasses. but i still stayed the night. i think you were disappointed we didn't do more. i regret ever doing anything with you at all.
inkedimagination reblogged
I left my favorite pair of underwear at your house. I know your mother hates me, can I come pick them up?
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It’s been almost a month and I still miss you like a fucking limb.
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I didn’t know my bones could ache until I met you.
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You know, a week before we broke up, do you remember? I had bought a book of poetry. You asked why I didn’t read something more interesting and I could feel my insides splinter.
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You said poetry was all lies dressed up to sound pretty. When I look at you these days, I want to ask if sadness sounds pretty to you too.
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It’s 3 a.m. and this alcohol tastes like you.
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I saw you staring at me today during Lit class. I smiled at you and you didn’t smile back. I almost cried.
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The girl who sits next to me smells like you.
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I miss you.
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I have never had so many bad nights.
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Sometimes I write poetry about you on the internet. Strangers who have never met either of us think you’re cruel – they tell me if they had the honor of loving me, we’d have sex three times a day and they’d scream my name when they came.
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They think it is beautiful, how I am broken. I don’t think they understand.
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You used to tell me I was beautiful. I tried saying it in the mirror the other day, but it sounded wrong without your mouth wrapped around it.
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Everything I say sounds wrong without your mouth wrapped around it.
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We were never in love, but, oh God, we could have been.
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"15 Texts I Almost Sent You" by d.a.s (via rockball)
inkedimagination reblogged
1.
I told you that I was a roadway of potholes, not safe to cross. You said nothing, showed up in my driveway wearing roller-skates.
2.
The first time I asked you on a date, after you hung up, I held the air between our phones against my ear and whispered, “You will fall in love with me. Then, just months later, you will fall out. I will pretend the entire time that I don’t know it’s coming.”
3.
Once, I got naked and danced around your bedroom, awkward and safe. You did the same. We held each other without hesitation and flailed lovely. This was vulnerability foreplay.
4.
The last eight times I told you I loved you, they sounded like apologies.
5.
You recorded me a CD of you repeating, “You are beautiful.” I listened to it until I no longer thought in my own voice.
6.
Into the half-empty phone line, I whispered, “We will wake up believing the worst in each other. We will spit shrapnel at each other’s hearts. The bruises will lodge somewhere we don’t know how to look for and I will still pretend I don’t know its coming.”
7.
You photographed my eyebrow shapes and turned them into flashcards: mood on one side, correct response on the other. You studied them until you knew when to stay silent.
8.
I bought you an entire bakery so that we could eat nothing but breakfast for a week. Breakfast, untainted by the day ahead, was when we still smiled at each other as if we meant it.
9.
I whispered, “I will latch on like a deadbolt to a door and tell you it is only because I want to protect you. Really, I’m afraid that without you I mean nothing.”
10.
I gave you a bouquet of plane tickets so I could practice the feeling of watching you leave.
11.
I picked you up from the airport limping. In your absence, I’d forgotten how to walk. When I collapsed at your feet, you refused to look at me until I learned to stand up without your help.
12.
Too scared to move, I stared while you set fire to your apartment – its walls decaying beyond repair, roaches invading the corpse of your bedroom. You tossed all the faulty appliances through the smoke out your window, screaming that you couldn’t handle choking on one more thing that wouldn’t just fix himself.
13.
I whispered, “We will each weed through the last year and try to spot the moment we began breaking. We will repel sprint away from each other. Your voice will take months to drain out from my ears. You will throw away your notebook of tally marks from each time you wondered if I was worth the work. The invisible bruises will finally surface and I will still pretend that I didn’t know it was coming.”
14.
The entire time, I was only pretending that I knew it was coming.
Miles Walser, “A Sonnet of Invented Memories” (via astronautika)
Source: pigmenting
inkedimagination reblogged
My second grade teacher liked to ask us,
“How do you feel today, on a scale of one to ten?”
Ten always meant I’m super, thank you
and one was always not today, Mrs. MacAuley, not today.
But I never liked numbers, they would always
twist and rebel against my mind so I chose
to speak in colors instead.January third - I am the color
of mint chocolate chip ice cream
but I’ve eaten all the chocolate chips.
I am calm.
February seventh - I am a bruise of
blues and violets today. I think it would
be best if I sat by the window.
These are unhappy colors.
April eleventh - I am turquoise, I am magenta,
I am every color in the rainbow.
April thirtieth - I am gray, I am silent.
May first - I am orange, the color of melting
creamsicles on a beach in July.
June twelfth - I am as yellow as the school bus
that will bring me home to summer. I am free.
Twelve years later, I still use colors.
The winter makes me feel cobalt blue, the ocean
turns me a seafoam green. Violets and purples
leave me uneasy and scarlet is a fever of fury.
Some nights I drown in shades of navy, denim,
and cornflower but other nights I meditate in forests of
harlequin and shamrock.
But you,
you leave me a blinding white followed by a soft yellow:
the color of sunlight after a period of darkness.
(via mmelancholy)
I romanticized you
to the point where
the knives you pressed
into my skin
began to look
like Cupid’s arrows.
inkedimagination reblogged
starredsoul
Stop.
You don’t love him.
You love the idea of him,
the concept of someone
who will fill the void of your bed
and kiss your scars back into your skin.
You crave salvation,
I can’t blame you for that.
But you won’t find it in his stale words,
rehearsed and abused on his
stagnant tongue.
No, no.
Your saving grace is somewhere
inside that scar tissue you’re
so desperate to peel from your body.
(via starredsoul)
I thought of texting you "good morning, I can’t sleep" and then I remembered that you are on a journey which I am not a part of and that’s okay but good morning I can’t sleep
inkedimagination reblogged
i was always told that being feminine won’t get you anywhere because nobody wants to take orders from a girl with a sweet smile and a soft voice and painted nails to hold her flowing skirt well let me tell you a thing or two because when i ask a man to take down the enemy for me i disguise my voice with honey to hide the bitterness underneath and flash just enough of my pearly whites to hide the knives which want to do nothing more than to sink into their necks and tear them apart and he says yes love calls me baby or sugar "anything for you my dear" and he takes down the bad guys like he’s the hero when really he’s just another victim to his desires
i was always told that femininity cannot be a weapon well my nails aren’t chipped and my skirt is still clean so i beg to differ
inkedimagination reblogged
I hope one day somebody loves you so much
that they see violets in the bags under your eyes, sunsets in the downward arch of your lips,
that they recognize you as something green, something fresh and still growing, even if sometimes you are growing sideways,
that they do not waste their time trying to fix you.
inkedimagination reblogged
I cut my thumb this morning
trying to make myself breakfast.
I am not very good at making
myself anything but messes.
There’s no roadmap for this,
for the kind of intimacy that exists
between us, but
I’m glad that even though we
keep stepping on each others’ toes,
we haven’t given up.
I’m sorry about the bruises
covering your feet.
I will always want you to feel safe here.
I will always try to step lightly.
(via graduallyandthensuddenly)
inkedimagination reblogged
My brother is eighteen
when he enlists for war
with a smile on his face.
Mom adapts to his time
so she will never miss
one of his quick phone calls.
I stare at the stranger
who has my brother’s face
and wonder what he’s seen.
inkedimagination reblogged
And I am jealous
of your tattoos and how long
they will stay with you
after I go.
Clementine von Radics (via burberrystyles)
of all the tastes
this world
has to offer,
your lips
seem to be the most
exotic.
inkedimagination reblogged
God I want you
in some primal, wild way
animals want each other.
Untamed and full of teeth.
God I want you,
In some chaste, Victorian way.
A glimpse of your ankle
just kills me.
-Want, Clementine von Radics (via clementinevonradics)
i put everything in boxes
and then put them on a shelf
lock the door behind me,
and try to forget they're there.
until one day,
i reach for one,
and nine topple down with it.