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Mon, 20th of October

I won’t see your texts on my screen
telling me good morning.

No one will call me bean
and say it so sweetly.

When I kiss someone again,
they won’t taste like you.

And when I fall asleep every night
I still think of you
and I hope to god I don’t wake up
believing we are still together.

That disappointment is too much for me to bear.

  hurt   break up   i miss you 
Tue, 14th of October

I just miss you

calculating the angle at which the bead reaches vertical equilibrium,
I am out of balance, tugged down by gravity

it is cold here and the rain is falling
and I remembered the way I fell in love with you

the leaves are falling
and I am bare and cold like these ashen trees

the twigs snap beneath my feet
and I am fragmented

half of my body fights to miss you
half of my body wills myself to tear my soul from yours

you are no good for me anymore
but you remind me of summer

is a memory worth all this sadness.

  sadness   i miss you   love   memory 
Thu, 9th of October
Anonymous asked: Can you write something about someone never letting you in yet not letting you go please?

aestheticintrovert:

You want me to stay,
but what am I staying
for anymore? You are
never fully here, meeting
my questions with sighs
and question marks.

I want so badly to be
a part of your world,
but it is almost as if
you have locked me out.

  with 61 notes
Mon, 29th of September

laughter outside the closed door

why does this create such lonely imagery?

music in my headphones

am I lonely or am I merely alone?

the slow chords like sadness.

but sometimes my sadness bleeds fast—

too many breaths per minute,

oxygen speeding into my brain

as I fight to keep my voice steady

all the pain rushing through my veins.

my voice like a whirlwind,

accusations flying left and right in the storm

when all I would have wanted

would be to sink into the warm slowness

of an embrace.

the laughter rises and falls

the music fades and the sound is unbearable

because I would have rather been

screaming at you

than listening to this laughter.

  sadness   poetry   spilled ink   with 3 notes
Tue, 26th of August

shyness

you’re trapped in a glass box in the middle of a square,
and you watch them but they don’t watch you.
it is air conditioned in the glass box and
summer is in full swing outside,
but the others seem to ignore the heat
as they curl in on each other with teeth-baring smiles
and hands clawed together.
you know they’re talking even if you can’t hear the sounds;
the glass box is practically vibrating with the outside motions:
a band swaying to the beat of their music,
lovers laughing open-mouthed,
fountain shooting jets of water amidst tumbling children.
you’re wearing a lovely purple dress but suddenly you feel naked.
the air conditioning seems too cold.
you open your mouth and can’t hear your own voice
so you start thumping your fists against the glass.
caution: fragile.
when the cracks start to appear the world outside slows down
and people start to crane their necks to watch you.
their eyes are louder than the words they speak,
maybe because it has grown silent. the box vibrates only
with the thump, thump of your fists
and the thump, thump of your heart.
crack, crack of the glass
and the crack, crack of your knuckles,
beating bloody and hard until there is a rain.
you are showered in glistening shards and you think
this is the brightest moment in your life.
people watch, necks bent out of proportion
but your stomach lurches as they giggle and point at you like a zoo creature:

“she’s never done that before!”

all your novelty is shaken away like the last pieces of glass in your hair
and again,
you are utterly alone,
in a box you can’t break out of.

  poetry   spilled ink   shyness   with 2 notes
Tue, 19th of August

I feel really sad and alone

Tue, 19th of August

appointment

hey, would you like to go on a date tomorrow?
yes? okay, please hold

(insert elevator music)

sorry, I had to call back one of my friends.
he and I just arranged plans,
so I’m not sure when we can hang out
but I’ll pencil in a reminder to call you back
when I figure things out?
is that okay? yes? okay.

thank you for calling! bye-bye.

  poetry   spilled ink   with 2 notes
Mon, 14th of July

soft

settling here, like seeds scattered
reaching out with blind stubby roots:
new backyard, new home.
home, like wood and drought—
no, like ivy crisscrossing across stone.
the seasons sharp like ice
where they once blended
the way the lake dribbles into the sky.
your voice distorted over two thousand miles.
crackling like nerve pain,
hollow like absence,
tense like urgent care waiting rooms.
I, bulldozer, an ant on a mountain
trying to consume the world.
let me taste, let me taste;
but there is only rubble here in
my new home.
I am not soft anymore like you remember.

  poetry   spilled ink   with 4 notes
Fri, 13th of June

this graduating class started
with ink on paper—names and numbers,
crossed out on roll sheets and replaced with nicknames
that we called our own.

like the life we breathed into CPR dummies,
each teacher has breathed a little something into us—
a love of langues etrangères, a taste of exploracíon,
carbon monoxide from that one really disastrous lab—
and spun horizons out of fishnets for us to cast into the ocean.

so now it’s time for us to be cast off into our futures,
free to pursue journeys both inward and out
into the galaxies of outer space or the worlds within our own biology.
we’ll discover more names to go with more faces,
juggle internships—business cards—taxes?
no matter what, it’s a chance for us to take in a breath of fresh air—
or really polluted air depending on where we end up
and use what makes us tick
to keep the world ticking along with us.

and though we will stumble, “sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead,”
remember—IT’S JUST A FLESH WOUND.
we’ve got mentors who have catalyzed our fears and doubts
into inspiration and confidence,
and friendships forged through trial and error
whose bonds can withstand the pressure of time and the heat of distance.

we started with names and numbers,
but what we’ll end up with is ours to reach for.

Mon, 9th of June

my world is a Styrofoam cup
and I am a snail tentatively poking
my eyes into the sun-blasted sky,
still delighted to find fresh grass.

you tread over pebbles and weeds
in your scuffed brown sneakers,
each leg racing the other down pavement
wind laughing through your hair.

when you pick me up and smile
it’s like dawn after a frostbitten night.
I scurry out of my shell as best as
a snail can to kiss your fingertips.

but I’m just a snail and your world spins
in dizzying orbits around you. to keep up,
you keep running, and sunset falls with
your back black against the sun-blasted sky.