In my head
I still have conversations with you
You've Endured So Many Storms That You Became OneYou have endured so many storms that you became one.
Your mother was a tsunami.
Her emotions came in waves
and crashed down on you like
“this is all your fault”.
Her high-tide flooded your basement.
There’s water damage in your roots.
She taught you how to swim when you were five years old,
but somehow you’ve been drowning for seventeen years.
You once told me that you hid all the knives in your house
so that the waves wouldn’t carry them away.
Your father was a thunderstorm.
His voice shook your house so much,
I could have almost sworn that you lived by train tracks.
His thought clouds
generated enough electricity to light up your neighborhood.
When his lightning cracked you’d count
to see how far away his hand was from your face
before the friction in his bones was too much for him to bear.
You have endured so many storms that you became one.
You are an earthquake,
and my heart is your San Andreas Fault
Fireflies Don't Leave Burn MarksCertain boys used to press their fingertips into my skin as if they were cigarette butts and I was an ashtray. They stamped out their left over guilt that wouldn’t burn away and grounded it into my skin so that when it rains, I smell smoke and their brand of cologne. I have burn marks on the insides of my palms from when they held my hands with bonfires between theirs. I have scars on the inside of my mouth from where they left their candles burning as if I was a faulty altar. They picked flowers from every garden my body grew and left them at the feet of some makeshift effigy as if they had given me a gift. I have let people ruin me. They burned me to the ground like Rome and called my ashes beautiful ruins.
“I have scars on my hands from touching certain people”. But you told me that you don’t really like Salinger all that much even though you talk like Holden Caulfield. When I think about you, I don’t feel cigarette burns on my skin or smoke being
Winter's HopeMy grandmother told me
that my mother named me “Winter”
because she didn’t really love me.
And when people heard my name they’d shiver
as if snow had been pressed into the skin of their backbone
and they’d taste bitterness and coffee grounds
when they held it in their mouth too long.
So my name become volatile.
It became foreign
and always sounded like “sorry”
when it rolled off of other peoples tongues.
I spent years of my life
My grandmother told me that my mother named me
because nobody loves it either.
But my mother told me
that she named me
Because it translates into
She told me that I held
beginning and ends
within my name and
nurtured life whenever I spoke it;
there are flowers blooming from my taste buds
and vines tangled through the gaps in my teeth.
I am no longer afraid of the sound of my own name.
AnxietyWhen I was four I decided that I wanted to be an astronaut.
My grandfather died when I was five and I didn’t know what death meant yet,
so I sat on my mother’s lap on the front porch while she explained to me
that death was just another word for the way that the seasons move.
I pictured my grandfather at church like on Sunday mornings.
He hugged me and said “goodbye” and it didn’t feel like I was losing him.
He didn’t say goodbye at the funeral.
The drunk driver never said “sorry” to my grandmother.
I stood in my green dress and waited for that word for twelve years.
On the drive home from the funeral
I just kept thinking “forever and ever and ever and ever”
until I stopped breathing and started falling.
When I was four I wanted to be an astronaut.
When I was five I got vertigo from jumping rope on the pavement.
I pulled out my hair when I went to kindergarten
I sat alone on the playground
because I was too afraid to talk to a
The Ocean InbetweenI’ve been told that “if you’re not losing friends
then you’re not growing up.”
I had blue hair when we first met.
You told me that it looked like the ocean.
It had slowly turned a faded sea foam green
by the time we became friends. I spent more time growing up
in your house than my own
and you spent more time with my dad than yours.
Everyone thought we were sisters. They called us by each other’s names
and we had the same eye color; like the pacific after a storm.
Together, we were a million miles above sea level.
On the first day of high school you told me about a dream you’d had.
You said you felt sand between your toes
and the ocean at your ankles.
Then you met him.
A typhoon and a monsoon
had met together in your rib cage and decided to dance;
Katrina and sandy two stepping,
slamming beats into your bones
You told me that you loved him.
I didn’t know how to tell you
that you were New Orleans
and he was a rising sea level.
love poem from a pillar of saltthe words 'i love you'
have always tasted like forbidden fruit
an apple offered by a helpful serpent-
sweet and fleeting but
the words 'i loved you'
just taste of
i always thought that leaving you would be like leaving gomorrah
that i couldn't help looking back
and when i did i'd feel an ocean dry itself beneath my skin
but this is so much quieter
and so much worse.
my knuckles taste of blood,
there is no new testament here
just old testament fire
just lot's wife standing on a forgotten hill
rocksalt freezing her outstretched hands
watching her hometown burn below her.
there is no forgiveness here
just mutual loneliness
just a lost religion and a broken girl
far too tired to play pretend
watching you fall apart behind me.
His BallerinaA gown of silk, flowing as a stream,
Her footsteps so gentle, perhaps she was a dream,
As he crouches near bushes to glare at the unseen,
And she danced like ballerina.
Her fingers combed her golden hair,
A perfect lady who didn't care
To see the man that would never dare
To touch a ballerina.
But desire grew, and patience died,
As a lovely girl danced before his eyes,
So he buried his heart, pulled out a knife,
And tickled the ballerina.
She fought his hands, in fear of death,
A dirty blade sinking through her chest,
For he would never settle for something less,
As she screamed,
She took her final breath...
And the wind grew calm, barely blowing on the stream.
Her voice so quiet (perhaps it was a dream).
As he closes his eyes, cradling his queen...
His beautiful ballerina.
Maybe.Fist fights and battles in my head
I'll always remember what you said...
The day you lied.
Glass shattered all over the dirt
I'll always remember your last words...
The day you died.
I could have saved you, love.
I should have saved you, love.
I would have saved you, love...
Then maybe we could both still be
A Need for Hope AllenxReaderMy fist clenched together. Why. Why did it have to be this way? If I had gone with Allen and Lenalee would I have been able to change the results for both Suman and Allen?
I rested my forehead against my knees as I tucked them in, making myself disappear into the corner of the room. My chin started to tremble uncontrollably, and I bit it trying to stop. I wouldn't let myself cry. But my shoulders had already started shaking and tears blurred my vision.
I hugged myself tightly as I tried to blend in with the darkness of the room. Memories of the news flooding into my mind even if I didn't want them.
- Lavi and Lenalee descended from Lavis innocence grim looks on their faces. I looked at them, the desperate hope in my eyes vanishing when I looked at Lenalee. "No." I whispered in horror. "No, i-it can't be!"
Lavi nodded sadly to me, and I'm sure Lenalee and I mirrored each other. A prick of sadness hit my chest when I realized what Lenalee must be thinking. I looked at her bu
And There Was Lighti.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
Six lessons on love.One. Sometimes love will move so slowly
you will stop waiting for its arrival. You will become an
open bar and you will be drained and drained until one
day you open the door to let last night out and love has
left a calling card on the doormat.
Be patient. Let love come to you piece by piece
until you are full to the brim with it.
Two. Some days it will feel
like love has come for you with a wildfire
at its heels. Let it come; you were
meant to burn brighter than any sun or
star we care to name.
Three. Growing back after burning down
is a sign to leave old loves behind. Let them
go kindly. Wrap them up in tissue paper and
ribbon and give them a kiss goodbye. Be gentle but
Do not use maybe. Do not look back.
Four. Love can hurt and you will let it
because you are in love. It will spit venom and
throw fists until you stand up and throw
Be strong, letting love go is not
Five. Love will sometimes be too much.
It will let y
if you want to stop hurting:i. i have swallowed down this 3am love
like the ibuprofen i fed myself for my
swollen ankle that time in spain
when i pushed a little too hard and
let go for a little too long.
i have swallowed you down so many
times before, kept you like little embers
in the crevices of my chest, burning
holes through tissue and bone and
everything that i am - through everything
that i swore i wasn't.
ii. a few months ago,
i learnt that it's easier to breathe
with your throat open, to take it
down and let go gracefully,
like opening your palms against
the wind outside the car and inhaling
through your nose.
iii. if you want to stop hurting:
listen to them speak but do not hear their words, hear only their voice,
feel it reverberate against your spine and tell yourself -
this isn't a bad thing.
rebuild your body like jenga blocks. if somebody comes close,
hold their hand and tell them -
i trust you.
let the air rush between your fingers,
let the fire in your arteries sizzle aw
my bones awashed on the shorejonah was a man made up of
salt and stone and pieces
of driftwood he found carved with
hearts and letters of teenage boys'
and girls' names. he was
more than his chicken leg bones and
sagging skin, and the neighborhood
kids thought he was the
ghost of ol' samson, but he was just
ninety-eight and pushing it.
jonah was a man who liked
to wear his mother's curtains as clothes
and used moth-eaten tablecloths
as blankets during the chilly nights.
he had this kind of gleam in his
old, dull gray eyes. he thought he'd
build himself a boat and
set it on the ocean and maybe he would
find someone out there.
jonah didn't quite know who he was, yet.
the neighborhood wives that
brought him home-cooked dishes in big
pans to eat always told him
that he was no longer sane.
but jonah said that sometimes
sanity had less to do with the mind and
more to do with the people.
and on a warm tuesday,
he draped his mother's old tablecloth
around his shoulders and
bundled up in a curtain, left h
Guide MeThe shadows of my past, like trembling fingers, strum the song of warfare with my heartstrings and piano-key-ribs.
The ghosts of empty faces, empty shells, waltz to the tune of my miseries.
The war raging inside my head, like the waves of an ocean crashing against the sides of skull, cause me to drown in insecurities so deep within my tired vessel.
I am tired of this warfare.
I am tired of playing the role of some valiant soldier.
I am dimming under the power of the shadows, of the ghosts, of the war inside me –
And my only beacon is you, dear mother.
When the fire rages on, and the music is gone, I will always look to you for guidance – and you will guide me to safety, always ending the war within me.