voices in my head
vices in my bed
sleep when im dead
how’d i get here,
can you tell me that
Tag Archives: drafts
safe.
they shouted and raged,
cried tears that were so angry,
pounded on doors
and keyboards,
until their fingers bled.
they yelled until they were hoarse
and then they whispered until there was no sound.
in the silence you could hear their needs
needs to feel safe,
needs to be strong,
the left and the right,
and neither was wrong.
#fromthedraftsfolder
took scissors to my chest,
pulled out my heart,
tried to show you
just how it was beating.
pulsing in my palms,
grotesque but true,
i couldn’t find words;
to say it’s for you.
youre digusted,
i can tell.
i’ll put it back in,
go back to my hell.
sew myself shut,
i dont need you,
i wont need you,
i’ll tell myself.
inside.
she was a fucking hurricane
some days just a waterfall
two knots from fucking insane
that’s how it goes, after all
____
i will never understand
how you can crawl inside someones soul
in.
three.
short.
weeks.
how is that possible?
_____
#fromthedraftsfolder
Some days I feel myself drowning
It’s the damn memories that get me
This is not a poem;;
Before you read this, just know that you’re probably going to leave angry. You’re probably going to feel your face flush and rage shoot through your brain. You’re probably going to go “who the fuck are you?” and “what kind of bullshit is this?” and that’s okay. I can live with that. So if you can read this open minded, that’d be great. If not, that’s okay. I get it. Some things are just too heavy and too raw for people to lift up and look inside.
To the parent who forgot their kid in the car today, or maybe it was last week, or maybe it was that time you’ve never told anyone about…I am so sorry that happened to you. I imagine you wild-eyed with panic. Maybe you dropped the groceries. Maybe you got back in your car and your heart dropped to the floor when you realized what you’d done. I hope your kid was okay and just know that someone knows that you love that kid so. damn. much. The thing about forgetting is that we never intend to forget and that’s the thing about forgetting. We can’t control what we forget. If you could, we wouldn’t forget the important things.
#fromthedraftsfolder
be brave.
#fromthedraftsfolder
struggles.
lies.
I wish I could tell you how much I miss you. I hold onto this fantasy that you’ll come over late one night and tell me how much you missed me and you love me and let’s work it out. I packed your things, I encouraged you to go, because I couldn’t look at you anymore. It hurt too much. I love you. I love you so much, but you hurt me. I just wanted you to want me. I wanted you to conquer the world with me, but here we are. My soul aches for you. I tell my friends I don’t miss you. I tell my therapist I don’t miss you. I tell everyone I don’t miss you at all, but God kows I do.
#fromthedraftsfolder
I think the thing that gets me the most is that people have this inability to look past laws and borders and cultures and skin and see another human being – and I don’t get that. I don’t get how you can look an innocent child in the eye and say “you don’t belong here.” I don’t get how you can be so wrapped up in political lines and invisible fences that you lose the ability to see another human being as just that – another human being. Someone with fears and insecurities and hopes and dreams – just like you.
I don’t get how you can look someone in the eye and essentially say that they only have value as a human being if they follow the rules you think they should follow. We break the rules every day when we think other people aren’t looking. Maybe we were texting and driving. Maybe we had a little too much to drink. Maybe we didn’t scan that one item in the bottom of the cart. Maybe we blurred the lines on our taxes. So many rules that we break every day – and somehow, without an ounce of guilt, we can look at another human being and value them less because they don’t live up to our expectations.
I don’t get how we can expect compassion and yet we give none. We want leniency in our own lives, but we give none. I don’t understand how you can go through life surrounded by so many people with so many stories and you simply don’t care because it doesn’t concern you. Maybe I’m just overly curious.
Because I want to know why. I want to know why someone crosses the border to come to a country where they could be deported any minute. I want to know how someone got to the point that they’re posting videos on Youtube and you know they need help and yet here we sit – watching with pity or laughter – but still watching. I want to know why people would rather go to war than be educated. How did we get to be so callous?
How is it that we put more value on working hard than we do laughter and family, when at the end of the day we’re all dying. Why do we say “I don’t come to work to make friends” when those are the people you see everyday. Who wants to go to work and be miserable everyday? Why is working hard and being exhausted and broken and miserable a commendable characteristic? Calvinism?
