I’m heartsick,
And well rehearsed.
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“It could be worse.”
Flowers and You, Touché Amoré

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@31poems
I’m heartsick,
And well rehearsed.
Highly decorated with a badge that reads,
“It could be worse.”
Flowers and You, Touché Amoré

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hole in my heart
I have a hole in my heart,
And it’s shaped just like you.
Orange glasses
Blonde hair
And a smattering of tattoos.
I have a hole in my heart,
And it’s shaped just like you,
You’re not here but i know
We’re staring at the same moon.
I have a hole in my heart,
And it’s frozen in time.
It’s not getting bigger,
But it’s got its own mind.
It’s angry, and vicious,
Putting my worst fears on rewind.
I’m tired, and listless,
I’m out of my mind.
I have a hole in my heart,
And it’s shaped just like you.
Cigarette smoke in the air
Your skin turning blue.
It’s shaped just like you.
my tell-tale heart
Last night, as I laid in my bed,
This strange sound rose out of my chest.
I wanted to be motionless -
No, I wanted to be dead -
But my dumb heart kept right on beating.
12/8/18
“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”
― Jamie Anderson
I want my roses to be every color but Red
I’ve dressed my sorrow in yellow green for as long as I can think. When I met him, I saw blue crawling from his skin. I could not believe, “a match”, it seems. As with every past lover would deem my colors as their signal for greed. I’ve met White, I’ve met Gray, dated Pink, and dreamed of Golden. Purple was there, and so was Orange. I can’t never talk about Red without my eyes getting swollen. I’ve found a lover to play dress up with. He holds my sorrow, We made each other dark green.
By @bangrycxn , Oct. 2024.

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if you’re thinking of me
If you’re thinking of me, just send me a text.
I know you are, cause there’s a hiccup in my chest.
As long ago told in a Nepali legend,
A hiccup is a sign someone’s wishing for your presence.
If you’re thinking of me, just let me know.
I harbor grudges, and I can’t let them go,
But I’m trying to move on and let the past be the past,
Cause all I’ve ever wanted is this good feeling to last.
If you’re thinking of me, just give me a sign.
I’ll be up writing poetry, manifesting all night.
I’ll be up until 5 am, writing in the dark.
Singing prayers that you won’t tear open my heart.
If you’re thinking of me, just send me a text.
It’s crazy to be missing a guy I’ve never met.
But you’re funny and sweet and I’ve got you stuck in my head.
And late at night, I dream about having you in my bed.
9/22/24
"isn't it time / when the fires are too many / to eat the fire and not the cake / and drip the fires from my teeth / as once I had my hot hot youth?"
Paul Goodman, Birthday (1951)
do you regret the blood on your hands? do you regret the destruction you've caused?
you spit on the countless second chances offered to you and yet you wail about your own ruin. you mutilate your own form with tender care, insisting it will heal you, and then when you look at the love you've offered yourself you recoil with disgust. what do you really want? do you know how to love yourself with your claws sheathed? whose fault is it when you watch the time and blood swirl down the drain?
when you look at the damage you've wrought do you remember what it looked like to be clean? when you look in the mirror do you recognize the body staring back at you? what will you do about the blood on your hands? do you try and make amends, years too late, knowing it will never fix the damage you've caused?
if you were offered a blank slate, would you try and keep it pristine or tear into it again? would you even care? do you care about the blood on your lips and under your fingernails? can you ever scrub it clean?
Virginia Woolf, in a diary entry dated 31 August 1928 featured in A Writer's Diary
I've Endured, Now What?
Blue Iris - Mary Oliver / So This Is All I Will Ever Be? - Fatima Aamer Bilal / Vive, Vive - Traci Brimhall

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Words bleed from the tips of my fingers, spilling out over the page.
wherever you are
I think about you still, wherever you are.
Your initials are scarred on the muscles in my still-beating heart.
With you, I forced myself to lie and play the part.
Without you, I had to figure out where I end and where I start.
I know what you said about me to your eager, attentive nation,
And that you create weaving tales rife with themes of desperation.
I know you use death as a tool of manipulation,
But I know I'm not the only one who sees right through every explanation.
I remember how you lovingly glamorized the media that you consumed online,
Mostly all that of the tumblr grunge, manic pixie dream girl kind.
I remember the first day you showed up at school with an arm full of lines,
How you proudly proclaimed to the world that you truly lost your mind.
You counted calories of our meals at every goddamn lunch,
And you marked down and snarked about every fucking Lays chip that I crunched.
I didn't know what it was back then, but I always had a hunch
You would move on to a new perceived slight by the very next month.
I remember how you willfully drove such a deep wedge;
How you left me behind, not a single word said.
But you wanted her so badly that you took me back into your bed,
And you were so skilled at playing pretend, as if I was ever truly your friend.
I remember how upset you were when we finally took action,
Because I know now you spin those stories for the sympathy and the attention.
You act like there's nothing more than a black and white reflection,
But your true self shines through, and you're full of self-satisfaction.
And god, I thought I've been stuck in past, but it's nothing compared to you.
You're still talking shit with your friends about people in your past that you once knew.
Carefully planting every buzzword like terrible, narcissistic, and abuse.
I hope one day they learn that it's all just a fucking ruse.
I think about you still, wherever you are,
Cause you shaped me to downplay tragedies of the heart.
I still write, listen to Halsey, and always press restart.
But I've grown up, and you haven't - that's the truth, however tart.
8/16/24
{F. Scott Fitzgerald/ Robert Brault/ Sai Assari, Dreamer's Collection (Tumblr User: @dawnsfragrance ) (x)/ Tumblr User: @hermoonlit-world (x)/ soulofserenity (via Instagram)/ Sai Assari, Dreamer's Collection (Tumblr User: @dawnsfragrance) (x)/ Tumblr User: @msanonymous (via Instagram)/ Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi/ Tumblr User: @hermoonlit-world (via Instagram)/ N.R.Hart}
Kate Baer, from What Kind of Woman: Poems; “To take back a life”
[Text ID: “the hunger to be held, to be wanted, to / be called from the streets like the family / dog. You are not a good girl. You are not / somebody’s otherness.”]
“We tell our stories differently, don’t we, you and I?”
— Paula Hawkins; Into the Water

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a cursed image of you
I remember your smile; there was nothing quite like it. The glow of your cheeks and the warmth of your beating heart. Your teeth shined, your eyes twinkled, and it was all for me. I remember it like it was yesterday.
But it's been far over a year since the last time I saw that radiant grin. Your fallen face overwhelms it in my memory. Anxiously moving your fingers, fiddling with your jeans. Your big blue eyes rounded with choking desolation.
There was nothing quite like it, and there was nothing quite like us, and now there is nothing at all.
5/19/23
This is how I originally wrote it. One of those that starts as a poem and then begs to be a song. I posted a fragment of this on tumblr a while back, but here’s the initial piece in its entirety 🤍