inkskinned :

i have been thinking about how we say it was nice knowing you when we are joking about leaving.

down the street from me, a nursery has a sign that says don’t panic! and nothing else. i am hoping they are referencing hitchhiker’s guide and not referencing the pandemic. i drive past it on the same day we hear about the impeachment.

it was nice knowing you. there’s a carl sagan quote i love: we are how the universe knows itself.

it is hard. we make a plan together where we both only have 5 dollars and a box of tissues. how do we make bread from stone. i tell him - i will have to resort to eating my tongue. he says - i will help you cook it so it tastes good.

it was nice knowing you. like dark and stormy night, i only hear it when we are being purposefully overdramatic. when we are feigning our ending. our final words, movie-theatre lights.

this time last year, there were people i said see you soon to. and i turned around and walked away and didn’t say i love you.

my teacher asked me once: if you can imagine the last words you’d say to a person, why not say them first. love doesn’t need to hide in the epilogue. sometimes love should take the whole stage up. sometimes you should look to a person and tell them - my life is more beautiful for having known you. thank you for letting me in.

no waiting, then. it is nice, knowing you. anyway, i love you and it is a good day to love someone and we are going to make something beautiful in this book long before we get to the end. it is nice knowing you. it is nice being your friend.

Existence: Some more concepts…

ruffled sheets, dusty window blinds, the less pretty part of a sunset, held breaths, worn skin, fragile bones, blue veins contrasting with pale skin, knotted hair stuck to oversaturated cheeks, eye bags

birds chirping for the first time in what seems like years, chilly days, warm sun, blue sky, red buds on trees, headphones playing muffled music, tea and carrots outside, park bench

salty hair, blisters under toes, the thrill of almost drowning still pumping your heart, a light sweatshirt and some dry socks, sunburnt ears and lips, your lungs have never known cold

bonfires, dazed laughter, cans of carbonated beverages and artificially flavored let-loose, third wheeling, checking for the time repeatedly, frequent bathroom visits, dark woods, lots of unknown faces

old treehouses, bruised knees, worn backpacks filled with miscellaneous items, sticks lashed together with spare yarn, self illustrated maps of the local terrain, the company of invisible bodies, sticks as weapons

red lights, secrets, adrenaline, hands being held by someone other than you, flushed cheeks, warm noses, hesitant contact, withheld words, soft and quiet giggles

I can’t help but to mourn my lost potential and the person I would’ve been had I just done things right, you know?

I find myself mourning a better me, one who’s active and sleeps without nightmares haunting her every move.

I look at myself and suddenly I am myself several years ago, when I hadn’t yet reached double digits, when I had first recognized myself in the mirror.

I struggle to breathe knowing that so many chances have grown soggy with every passing moment I exist with my parents- their cares were more like scorch marks to my skin, yet I can’t seem to find any evidence of foul play…

and here I am, 18, sitting awake at 4:30 am, my head throbbing as it has all day, feeling like maybe I deserved better; and so I cry to mourn the lost potential of receiving better, as it will never be what it could’ve been had they loved me from the start…

petty-crockerr :

I need this kind of kiss rn

songs of fire rotting in my brain and somehow I’m young again and somehow I exist both now and in the past and in all of my dead selves at once and if it weren’t for the rotting songs of fire that are drowning me I might be able to sing my own song

I don’t have an eating disorder,

but I find myself admiring the vessel of mine without food in it…

the thought of losing anyone else, before me, to the inevitable permanence of death, is why I hold hands with death still.

it’s been a year since I’ve grown teeth

and here I am, awake at 8:30 am.

But you’re thinking “there’s nothing odd about being awake at 8:30 am.”

You’re absolutely right.

Perhaps direct your attention to the window then;

Outside silent as the aftermath of a nuclear war,

a bomb freezing the colors into place, so much so that the wind refuses to move.

You say, “there’s nothing odd about a quiet and still 8:30am.”

In which I’ll respond with,

“you’re absolutely right,”

and gesture to the still airports- no life anywhere inside-

and then to some frosted glass bowls with delicate paintings and bananas, and how existing in silence for them is nearly impossible,

quite similar to you trying to decipher this.

And so, out of abrupt confusion you’ll ask,

“But what do airports and frosted glass with delicate paintings have to do with anything, especially nuclear war and 8:30 am?!”

to which I’ll respond,

“it’s been a year since I’ve grown teeth”

-“A Poem Written for a Literalist”(2020, December 19)

how do I become someone I’m proud of

applepiekyuu:

types of girls

jupiter: denim overalls, untied shoelaces, and the scent of freshly mowed grass on a sunday afternoon. her voice is sweet and tangy like lemonade and she’ll kiss you on the forehead in both greeting and goodbye. fall in love with jupiter, and your hand will never go unheld again.

neptune: delicate golden jewelry, blueberry jam, and the first drop of rain before a storm. she will draw you in with the promise of answers to her enigma but will continue to keep you on your toes until your feet cramp. fall in love with neptune, and you will question your existence with the most delicious kind of doubt.

mars: electric guitars, california poppies, and a theater thick with silence, waiting for the show to begin. she can love with both the fury of a forest fire or the reassurance of a hearth, but you won’t know which until you wake up beside her. fall in love with mars, and you will know neither peace nor boredom until the day she leaves you without once looking back.

venus: cherubs, lotus blossoms, and coffee with too much cream. with a gaze softer than a mother’s, she’ll seek out your imperfections and perfect them with one word— “mine.” fall in love with venus, and you will fall in love with the world.

saturn: champagne, a crumpled playbill, and the first three hours of new year’s day, when the air still reeks of possibility. she will take you to a michelin bistro just to order spaghetti marinara and blow spitballs into the waiter’s hair. fall in love with saturn, and you will begin to laugh as easy as you breathe.

uranus: stained glass, wild irises, and a cold gust of air sweeping down from the peaks of a mountain range. each of her kisses taste like spearmint and steel, and it’s inexplicably addictive. fall in love with uranus, and silence will no longer be lonely.

mercury: fresh linen sheets, potted succulents, and pancake batter just poured on the griddle. when you cry, she will wipe your tears with the sleeve of her sweater and quietly hum a song you don’t know while you choke down your sobs. fall in love with mercury, and you will sleep soundly.

pluto: amethyst geodes, copper keys, and the hushed laughter of lovers in a library. her eyes will find yours across a crowded room and sing melodies only your soul can hear. fall in love with pluto, and you will finally have a secret worth keeping.

i know this is not my usual content, but i had to write it.

life is incredibly scary but I want to hold your hand through it, which might make it a little more manageable

aarp-vark:

is it too much to ask for snowy days with your lover where you can write “I love you mi amor” on the window before they go to work and have snowball fights when you both get home and sitting inside next to a warm light or fire and read each other little poems you wrote about each other and share some tea and hold each other as if you were the only people left to exist and to see their breath when they exhale in the cold and their rosy cheeks and nose and snow stuck in their hair and a silly little grin on their face while they look at you with eyes that seem to have only seen love, not war.

is that too much?

is it too much to ask for snowy days with your lover where you can write “I love you mi amor” on the window before they go to work and have snowball fights when you both get home and sitting inside next to a warm light or fire and read each other little poems you wrote about each other and share some tea and hold each other as if you were the only people left to exist and to see their breath when they exhale in the cold and their rosy cheeks and nose and snow stuck in their hair and a silly little grin on their face while they look at you with eyes that seem to have only seen love, not war.

is that too much?

sometimes I remember how I used to wonder why nobody wanted to rape me

but now I’m in the arms of a boy who’s love feels like the love of the entire world

and I wonder that, no more

an unknown bathroom embraces me in a hug

one that seems to be lacking

I want to be understood

I want you to understand that we are not perfect

and by you saying so, I am afraid to mess up.

the energy is gone

and for some reason I feel alone

warm days, hair frizzy from sweat, golden hour, bruised knees and bug bites, laughter and t-shirts

chilly nights, over sized sweaters, dry socks, rosy nose and cheeks meet as you kiss your s/o, hugs so tight your knuckles turn white, beat up converse, steamed up windows

the sound of ocean waves crashing in the early morning, heavy blankets, a sunrise, warm tea, gentle stroking of hair, soft humming, pages of your favorite book in the wind

running, pouring rain, your own hand holds scissors to your hair… you cut, washed out hat, black mask, backpack with several ink-stained journals, twenty dollars in your denim jean pocket, a passport in hand, worn out shoes

I’m being blamed for the second hand smoke while you’re smoking the cigarettes

-words I will never get to say to my mom when she blames me for my depression

hold your significant other close; hold them tightly and unapologetically.

scratch their back, and play with their hair. tell them you love them and remind them that they are amazing.

don’t let them forget how much they mean to you. remind them how much you need them.

show your vulnerability. fall head over heels over and over again. show them that you love them.

why wouldn’t you?

how do I tell you that I just really need you to love me right now

-[I’m slowly forgetting how to breathe again]

I just want a hug :(

I want to go back.

not too far like when I fantasized about the end,

but just a little.

to when I felt safe in your arms and nothing else.

poiems :

playlists based on quotes that make me go teary eyed!!

“I love you, I feel as though we were never strangers, you and I, not even for a moment.” -fiedrich nietzche

“A house of my own…my two shoes waiting beside the bed. Nobody to shake a stick at. Nobody’s garbage to pick up after. Only a house quiet as snow, a space for myself to go, clean as paper before the poem.” - Sandra Cisneros

“I just want someone to grab my little face and scream, “ON PURPOSE, ON PURPOSE I AM GOING TO CARE ABOUT YOU.” - Jenny Slate

“do i prefer love letters or playlists…bro those are the same thing.” - tumblr user wellbutrinboy

“there is nothing I would not do for those are really my friends. i have no notion of loving people by halves; it is not my nature. my attachments are always excessively strong.” - Jane Austen

My phone vibrates

but I do not check it.

why would I

when I have your arms wrapped around me

and familiar tastes still lingering on my lips…

this is real.

so I do not check my phone.

it’s absolutely amazing

to feel like all the hurt that you’ve endured for countless hours

was finally worth it

to know that the same vessel you once sought destruction for,

is now a living embodiment of survival and love

you made it.

its 3am

and i feel very alone

I keep thinking about the ocean and rock hill, sc when I was young and the summer my grandma died.

I think about all the nights I’ve spent here with a heavy heart, and suddenly I don’t feel safe anymore.

I cannot remember what it feels like to feel safe and to be wanted and not forgotten. I cannot help but think that maybe staying was a mistake and that my sense of hope is built on a sandy foundation

much like the sand of Rehoboth where I almost left

where I could not breathe underwater

and I could not save myself

would that have been better?

she said “tell me you love me”

and I didn’t know how to respond.

how was I supposed to love someone who made me want to die?

Ode to the girl in a South Carolina bathroom

two shirts, just in case; yes, I see you, and I understand you. you’re the girl who wants to hide and still be noticed. you’re the girl who has a bad habit that you’re too ashamed to admit to. you’re the girl who still had yet to find and experience love.

you felt alone and miniscule in a massive world like this.

and I’m sorry you feel like you’re swimming in deep waters alone

but I can assure you, girl in a South Carolina bathroom, that the dim light you see now, and the empty and hollow insides you’ve become, won’t be forever.

you’ll be okay

feeling safe

is not something easily come by.

many nights I’ve spent

crying, and alone

scared of myself

scared of where I lived

the people who gave birth to me

should not be who kill me

I do not feel safe here

please let me go