poems that bruise my mind

It’s the invisibility of the

shards of glass I swear

must stick out of my skin,

and the way my knuckles

have become so accustomed

to the abuse

that they don’t bruise as easily —

even when i really try.

It’s the transparency of which

I cannot speak, but will write and write

my grievances until they become

nothing but a sore spot

on my skin for me to poke and prod,

waiting for the tears to shed —

spoiler alert: they never do.

They never will.

Nothing could have prepared me

for this — for you.

Nothing could have prepared me

for this — the constant struggle

and the endless thoughts

that float through my mind

at 1:38am — the phantom feeling

of your arms wrapped securely

around my body as I desperately

try to find rest.

I warned you once

that there is no rest for the wicked,

however, I have found that I am

neither wicked nor at rest;

so what am i doing pacing and

wishing you were in my room,

when I should be consumed by

my fears in nightmares or

dreams of you?

it’s midnight

and i’m standing in my kitchen,

and i think i’m falling in love.

and i’m terrified,

but not of you.

i worry about my own heart

shattering in 790 pieces.

i know the sun rises in the east,

and that’s where you’ll be,

but it’s midnight,

so i might just be losing my mind.

"i spend my days in the forest, trying to fall in love with the trees and the grass. personifying them as if they can talk to me. they cannot. they just teach me how to breathe. ”

we’ve always walked along

our sand-drawn line, 

but what now that we’re 20 

and not 14 and seeking the attention

of those around us—rather than 

each other? 

the waves are encroaching upon 

the line we drew—

when? when did we draw it?—

neither of us is quite the artist.

and i’ll never stop wanting to ask

if you felt that spark that i felt at 16

or if you did, in fact, like my best friend—

or did you want me? 

i never could tell. 

but these days you’re the only one

i seem to care for,

and you never let it get too dark

without making me smile at least once. 

will we ever know? will i ever ask? 

or will we continue along our 

sand-drawn path? 

i’m the car in the wreck

that you pass on the highway

on a snowy night. 

burning in silence, caving in.

you stop and stare, watching me: 

cracked steel and glass shattered.

i’m the body thrown from the car

when it flipped on its side:

broken bones and crimson blood 

staining the pearly white snow.

i’m the prayer said 

right before the car flipped:

pleading, fighting, yelling into the wind.

you’re the frayed edge 

in my string of faith. 

one pull, you unravel me.

one pull, i’m lost to the world. 

i’m the car in the wreck

that you caused

by tugging and instigating

my fears. 

You only like me because I’m not corrupted.

You only want me because I haven’t been stained. 

You can control me because I’ve been broken. 

And I’m still trying to figure out when

I should leave. 

I should leave. 

No—I shouldn’t?

Shouldn’t I?

But I like the way you speak

And the way you call me yours 

And the way you break the walls

I set up so long ago.

But I know I’ve been delusional in my ways

Of dreaming about you. 

I should leave. 

I should leave.

Shouldn’t I? 

How honest should I be? 

I can start here: 

I am afraid of the things

that can hurt me. 

You can hurt me: 

I am afraid you. 

I am afraid of you leaving me. 

I can leave first: 

and I will. 

I do not think I’m afraid of leaving, 

I’m afraid of you 

not caring that I left,

or wondering what went wrong. 

How honest should I be?

When all I do is worry and pace 

about the things

that have no need for fixing—

no! I have no need for fixing. 

hey! i’m getting that self-diagnosed “sinky-drowny-walls-closing-in-super-fast” kinda feeling lately, so i haven’t been able to write anything down because i, personally, cannot understand what’s going on in my head, but as soon as i do, i will post new poems!

I don’t want to feel this desperate 

to not feel anything at all for you. 

It’s getting easier by the day to block out

the ache in my chest,

to block out the dreams you haunt. 

And I don’t want to learn how to hate you, 

so would it be best to leave now? 

Before you have more chances 

to break me; 

this would be smart, wouldn’t it? 

The questions in my mind 

will never be asked. 

So there’s only one thing to tell me: 

will I find myself running or walking 

away from you? 

Still,

today or tomorrow, 

or a month away, 

I’ll see you as a ghost in my mind

What do I do if suddenly 

the obsidian of the lake, 

and the too-dark sky 

on this rainy day 

remind me of you? 

When it used to be the bright blue sky 

and the clear ocean water 

that reminded me of your eyes. 

All I can seem to do is cry 

in my car; 

you didn’t show up. 

Why would you, when you’re done? 

You had your chance, 

you wrecked it, I guess. 

But I still know if you called right now, 

you’d hear me pick up the phone. 

and there’s that sinking feeling! 

shocking me, again: 

the one i find myself so easily 

drowning in, 

like the cage in my chest is too tight

for my all-too-knowing heartbeats. 

and here come the walls! 

closing in on me,

punishing me,

doubting me. 

words can only do so much damage 

unless there’s a trace of 

reluctance 

and anxiety 

built into the foundation. 

and there’s that word again! 

the word that makes me wince 

because friends are only that 

when strategic phrases are are set.  

and there’s that sinking feeling; 

the one i always know will tear me open,

and drown me there, forevermore. 

no like i genuinely feel like i’m going to throw up over this??

it still hurts me that you don’t talk to me anymore. like one day i existed and the next i had been swallowed whole by the earth. it makes sense, you know, the whole idea of me being stuck in time. i get lost in the trees, even more, lost in my mind. i don’t think of you as much, but when i do, it’s a soul-crushing, seconds-long pain in my chest. sometimes i can convince myself that you knew and you did it on purpose. you left me on purpose, you broke me on purpose, you lied to me on purpose, you made me feel stupid on purpose. but you didn’t, did you? it was all a subconscious reaction to me, like a coal-burning fire and freshly made ice. i wish you’d talk to me; for some odd reason, i thought we were still friends. even though i can’t exactly know for sure what i did wrong, i can guess it must have been damning enough for you to stay in a different state all year and not show up for the annual christmas party. the lights didn’t shine as bright this year, though, i expect they never really will again after that one year you drove behind me all the way down the street til the light so late at night. i used to care. now i just miss saying your name with a falsehood of hate and a middle finger. you did it on purpose, i think. 

I almost wish it had been

goodbye 

when you closed my car door;

I almost wish I had packed my bags,

left no note, 

and left our city in the rear-view 

to burn, to break, to scream:

to crumble in our absence;

that would have been better, 

it seems,

in place of what we have become. 

The unwarranted silence, 

the plotting, planning away the sadness, 

writing it off as ‘busy distance’ 

when it’s undeniable that 

we’re both mistaken. 

I almost wish we had left it

at the door you closed, 

rather than sifting through

our choice in words 

like a game of scrabble. 

You must still see my face on the train,

waving at strangers, hoping they’re me;

if you don’t I’d feel silly

for doing that same thing.