missed phone calls
mine and yours
remind me
that i don't remember
the last time i heard your
voice in person
remind me
that i probably don't
love you
remind me
that i'm a bitch
missing phone calls
remind me
that i probably
don't miss you
but what i do
miss
and this i
remember
is the chase
the way you feel good
when you know
someone is admiring your legs
stemming out of a short skirt
and how it feels
when you know he's grabbing
peeks at you
out of the corner of his eye
as he passes you by
i remember how it feels to wear
that tight pencil skirt
with heels
as i walk by his open office door
that i remember
but i don't know if that
can translate to the real world
missed phone calls
remind me of summers past
and how my summer flings
never seemed to last
17 November 2008
05 November 2008
you said you'd call.
my hair was in perfect curls
and my dress,
just a little see-through,
hit my thigh
and i waited
waited for you to pick me up
and sweep me away
i waited
you said you'd call
i fielded other invites
my hair started to go limp
and my dress still skimmed
my thighs.
i waited.
i almost wasted my good hair day
on your call that would never come.
i left.
my curls tousled by the night
my dress danced around me
you called
but i had already left
you never saw me that night
my hair was in perfect curls
and my dress,
just a little see-through,
hit my thigh
and i waited
waited for you to pick me up
and sweep me away
i waited
you said you'd call
i fielded other invites
my hair started to go limp
and my dress still skimmed
my thighs.
i waited.
i almost wasted my good hair day
on your call that would never come.
i left.
my curls tousled by the night
my dress danced around me
you called
but i had already left
you never saw me that night
why is it that you always find a way back into my life right as i'm succeeding in talking you out of it?
how do you know that i'm swearing off of you for good? how do you know that THIS time is THE time and that i would've succeeded?
how are you able to fit back into my life after making it painfully clear that i have no space in yours?
how do you know that i'm swearing off of you for good? how do you know that THIS time is THE time and that i would've succeeded?
how are you able to fit back into my life after making it painfully clear that i have no space in yours?
In the Mourning
for me,
a new day does not mean a new hope.
along with sleep, i wipe my dreams
from the corners of my eyes.
it's the dawning of night
that brings the onset of ideas
and grandiose schemes
for the days to come
and it's the day that comes
that leaves me laying in bed
and wanting nothing more
the sun used to be my love
but now all it does is illuminate
the goals i haven't reached
and the bad life choices
i've made
but in the dark, i can pretend the
path i'm on is the right one
and that maybe i haven't gone astray.
sadly, night, like sleep, is fleeting
and soon it's morning
soon i'm up with a smile on my face
after having wiped the sleep
and dreams
from my eyes
they're still in my hands.
a new day does not mean a new hope.
along with sleep, i wipe my dreams
from the corners of my eyes.
it's the dawning of night
that brings the onset of ideas
and grandiose schemes
for the days to come
and it's the day that comes
that leaves me laying in bed
and wanting nothing more
the sun used to be my love
but now all it does is illuminate
the goals i haven't reached
and the bad life choices
i've made
but in the dark, i can pretend the
path i'm on is the right one
and that maybe i haven't gone astray.
sadly, night, like sleep, is fleeting
and soon it's morning
soon i'm up with a smile on my face
after having wiped the sleep
and dreams
from my eyes
they're still in my hands.
21 October 2008
Tiny Boats Floating on Wine
bottles of wine litter my mind
drowning thoughts
letting others float
like boats without a captain
boats aiming for home
with no regard for the currents
just hoping
for warmth in their future
little boats filled with little lights
brimming with ideas
floating the endless sea
behind my eyes
hoping to make contact
to make an impact
it's why my eyes
glitter after a few bottles
and why
i'm so interested in talking with you
when otherwise
i don't give a shit
drowning thoughts
letting others float
like boats without a captain
boats aiming for home
with no regard for the currents
just hoping
for warmth in their future
little boats filled with little lights
brimming with ideas
floating the endless sea
behind my eyes
hoping to make contact
to make an impact
it's why my eyes
glitter after a few bottles
and why
i'm so interested in talking with you
when otherwise
i don't give a shit
18 October 2008
Sheets
white pages
like my bedsheets
clean
and devoid of you
your indentations
any trace of you.
white pages
soon scribbled on
bedsheets
soon rumpled
indentations start paragraphs
your shoulders
start leaving marks
in my mattress
black pen marks
white pages
used
like my bedsheets
clean
and devoid of you
your indentations
any trace of you.
white pages
soon scribbled on
bedsheets
soon rumpled
indentations start paragraphs
your shoulders
start leaving marks
in my mattress
black pen marks
white pages
used
17 October 2008
Only with 7 broken strings could i hear what you speak
wake up to the sound of the stereo
blasting a familiar song
singing about love
but it doesn't sound like it
you have to read the lyrics
to know what the words are
because the music drowns out the voices
which sing such beautiful words
words you can't even hear
but i guess i don't care
because i'm used to it
because that's how you are with me
i never hear what you say
you have to write it out
for me to know the beauty in your words
and how your mind is wrapped around love
and i like how most of the time
you're wrapped around love
for me.
blasting a familiar song
singing about love
but it doesn't sound like it
you have to read the lyrics
to know what the words are
because the music drowns out the voices
which sing such beautiful words
words you can't even hear
but i guess i don't care
because i'm used to it
because that's how you are with me
i never hear what you say
you have to write it out
for me to know the beauty in your words
and how your mind is wrapped around love
and i like how most of the time
you're wrapped around love
for me.
You can't even begin to rival this
this is a newspaper tragedy. everything is spelt out for the world to see, nothing is left to the imagination. and that hurts. all anyone will ever remember of this debaccle are the bad times, the tears and the hurt feelings. no one will ever look back and think of the smiles and the hugs and the holds and the whispers and the winks and all of that. no one except you and me. we hold onto them tight, it's our lifesaver, we know they happened, hell, everyone knows the good times happened, but no one remembers them. they're not interesting. where's the drama in being happy? the poetry you write about happiness can't even begin to rival the poetry you write about sadness and heartbreak.
15 October 2008
No birds, nothing
they soon realized they could build a relationship solely on sex and lust. they didn’t need love. only fools fell in love.they’re no fools. they know that this way, they will not get hurt. some people figure you can’t get hurt
if you don’t give yourself. if you don’t lose yourself. and you can only lose yourself in love, not in lust. sometimes in sex,
they suppose, but not enough for it to make a difference. they build unstable bridges out of unstable concepts.
you can attempt to build a relationship on just sex and lust,
but in the end all you are left with is an empty bed.
just like a tree in the depth of winter,
surrounded by cold,
no birds, nothing, to keep its branches warm.
14 October 2008
unpack this overflowing bag of a heart and show me what i've forgotten.
what i packed and let fall to the bottom burroughs.
show me how to care. because all i know now is how to shrug my shoulders and move on.
show me. remind me how i used to hold on, how i used to cry.
unpack this heavy heart so i can remember to not forget. unpack my heart that used to be so fragile.
what i packed and let fall to the bottom burroughs.
show me how to care. because all i know now is how to shrug my shoulders and move on.
show me. remind me how i used to hold on, how i used to cry.
unpack this heavy heart so i can remember to not forget. unpack my heart that used to be so fragile.
this loveseat hasn't seen love in quite some time.
to be accurate it's a singlegirlseat.
the closest its cushions get to love is when books get left behind, or when the television glares at its upholstery.
this piece of furniture has the hardest name to live up to. if it never feels the throes of passion or witnesses a shiver, is it stil considered a "love seat"? does it become an elongated arm chair? just a seat? what happens in the absence of love?
and what about me? if i haven't seen love in quite some time, will i ever remember it? if i've let it slip through my fingers before, will i be able to hold on next time?
will there be a next time?
will i ever see love? will i ever be able to bring it home?
to be accurate it's a singlegirlseat.
the closest its cushions get to love is when books get left behind, or when the television glares at its upholstery.
this piece of furniture has the hardest name to live up to. if it never feels the throes of passion or witnesses a shiver, is it stil considered a "love seat"? does it become an elongated arm chair? just a seat? what happens in the absence of love?
and what about me? if i haven't seen love in quite some time, will i ever remember it? if i've let it slip through my fingers before, will i be able to hold on next time?
will there be a next time?
will i ever see love? will i ever be able to bring it home?
13 October 2008
With the swipe of an eraser, you can erase history. I never loved him, she was never my best friend. But with the strokes of the pen, you can rewrite it. Make sad stories not so bad - at least for those reading. For those interested. It's not that I loved him and he didn't love me back...we just didn't mesh well together. Actually, it's not that I "loved" him at all - he was the only one there. As a result of having no one else around, I decided he was good enough. My otherwise high standards were lowered so that he would fit them.
History is about lessons
learned so they aren't repeated.
Be kind.
Rewrite your history
so you can learn the lessons
no one else can teach you.
History is about lessons
learned so they aren't repeated.
Be kind.
Rewrite your history
so you can learn the lessons
no one else can teach you.
sincerely, me
late night
stealing away
long calls on patios
and dreaming of dreamy kisses
perpetually
stuck on the dreams
never
imagining futures
or bridging
seven year gaps
maybe that's why
my relationships never last
the farthest forward
i look
is beyond the tip of my nose
to where my lips
meet yours
you can't blame a girl
for sticking to what she knows
stealing away
long calls on patios
and dreaming of dreamy kisses
perpetually
stuck on the dreams
never
imagining futures
or bridging
seven year gaps
maybe that's why
my relationships never last
the farthest forward
i look
is beyond the tip of my nose
to where my lips
meet yours
you can't blame a girl
for sticking to what she knows
11 October 2008
Ode to Young Heartaches
can you be in love at 15
when all you know about
romance was read in books?
watched in movies?
how can every song agree on what
love is
when no two people i know
can describe it in the same words?
how is every poem getting right,
when i, who reads it all,
watches it all,
listens to it all,
can not?
could i really have been in love at 15?
all the signs point to no.
but if that's the case,
how come my heart felt
broken
like all the books
movies
songs
poems
said it should?
when all you know about
romance was read in books?
watched in movies?
how can every song agree on what
love is
when no two people i know
can describe it in the same words?
how is every poem getting right,
when i, who reads it all,
watches it all,
listens to it all,
can not?
could i really have been in love at 15?
all the signs point to no.
but if that's the case,
how come my heart felt
broken
like all the books
movies
songs
poems
said it should?
10 October 2008
I started to write about him, but then I erased it.
It's like ripping a photo,
turning a page,
extinguishing a flame.
He's had predecessors - boys with shining eyes and razor sharp tongues - perfect for cutting someone down. Perfect for ripping hearts to shreds. Except, I wrote so much about those guys, but then again, that's before I met Booze.
Some may say I drank my pain away. Truthfully, I drank to forget. For those bubbly, intoxicated hours and nights, I was happy. I had my friends and pretty dresses. Sometimes afterwards, I'd go about my day as usual - and other days, most days, I hurt.
My head. My stomach.
Mix two bottles of beer,
three shooters,
one Jameson and ginger,
and a broken heart.
Shake.
Stir.
Generally agitate.
Yeah, sometimes I drank my pain away -
knowing full well I'd later flush it away.
It's like ripping a photo,
turning a page,
extinguishing a flame.
He's had predecessors - boys with shining eyes and razor sharp tongues - perfect for cutting someone down. Perfect for ripping hearts to shreds. Except, I wrote so much about those guys, but then again, that's before I met Booze.
Some may say I drank my pain away. Truthfully, I drank to forget. For those bubbly, intoxicated hours and nights, I was happy. I had my friends and pretty dresses. Sometimes afterwards, I'd go about my day as usual - and other days, most days, I hurt.
My head. My stomach.
Mix two bottles of beer,
three shooters,
one Jameson and ginger,
and a broken heart.
Shake.
Stir.
Generally agitate.
Yeah, sometimes I drank my pain away -
knowing full well I'd later flush it away.
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