Nonsense

This isn’t technically a poem, but it’s close to it.

It was a simple task on record, but off it was easily the hardest thing she could ever hope to accomplish.  

In his arms, things were safe, warm, delicate but on the outside of his embrace she was finding life hard to cope with.  On the outside there were no gentle kisses to her lips, cheek and forehead to reassure her of her safety.  There was no strong arms to hold her up from hitting rock bottom.  And there was certainly no peaceful slumber.

She could argue that he didn’t understand what he did to her.  She could almost be certain that he didn’t know of the delicate emotions that erupted with every twitch of his fingers and every flutter of his eyelashes against her cheek.  And, of course, she knew without a doubt that he didn’t know about the sensations she felt when he pressed his bare flesh against hers, or nuzzled her neck.

In fact, she wasn’t even quite sure herself.  The only word previously used to describe these intense emotions was “butterflies”.  The word seemed so broad now.  The butterflies referred to a feeling in your chest or stomach, not a feeling that washed over your skin in waves, making you feel warm, safe and wanted.

Outside of his arms was where she currently resided, head resting on her knees, eyes staring sideways at the blue wall in her darkened room.  One hour being both the exact amount of time he had been gone and the exact amount of time she slept the previous evening (or morning, but who’s counting).  

She was tired, her mind ceased making sense and she still tingled from the whisper of his touch (strong arms previously wrapped around her).  Her body ached to both be with him and to drift off into a peaceful slumber, where her memories of those few beautiful (however, fleeting) moments they shared earlier in the day would be on repeat (and not drenched in blue around the edges).

Alas, neither ache would subside as neither want would come true.

Peace was written on the walls, on her sheets, on her blanket, on her clothes, but never in her mind.  Slumber was painted where it was able to be seen, but not to be acted out.  Love was at the fore front of her mind, body still holding sweet whispers of caresses.  

Dear Mr. Sandman,
the slumber never calms
the waking beast
changing their heart
to let someone in

but perhaps, it’s misery.

my 11 secrets

There are.  
Eleven things.  
I want to write.  
To 11 people.
  
You think you know me?

{.001}

You make me feel like crap.  You make me feel so horrible about where I am in life, I don’t even know how to love you anymore.  You tell me that without me the “house stays clean” and you call me “lazy” and you tell me that I’ll “never be anything”.  

She–your daughter–tells me that you just say that because you believe in me and you want you challenge me to be the best that I can be.  Is she serious?  I don’t think she is because all you ever say to me is negative.  

I don’t think you know how you make me feel when you say things like that.  Not to mention you’re always hostile and living with you makes me feel sick.  You make me feel disgusted with humanity.  I can’t even trust anyone else!  I can’t!  You’ve made everything in my life horrible and I can’t even…

hate you.

{.002}

You’re my world and I love what you’ve done to me.  Though, you tell me I’m a doormat, and maybe I am, but please…can’t you just trust and support me?  I love you so much I can’t even stand it.  I don’t regret anything I’ve done with you and if we don’t last, I doubt I ever will.  I don’t even think I can move on if you decided you didn’t want me anymore.

I’m in awe of you.  Don’t you know that, I’m in awe of you!  You make me feel more than anyone ever could.  

Sometimes, when you ask me if all I want you for is what you can do for me, it hurts.  I love you.  I’d be just as happy just being with you and never being allowed to ask you for something again as I am right now.  You’re so perfect for me, if I ever lost you I don’t think I’d be able to go on.

{.003}

There’s a lot of things we used to be and the fact that we aren’t anymore bugs me.  It’s hard to talk to you because I’m not social and neither are you.  You get depressed easily and it’s really hard for me to carry on a conversation.  Especially since I can only talk about things you’re interested in.  So, I’m really sorry, but that’s why we never talk.

{.004}

You don’t do anything and think you can treat us all like crap.  You use my friends and my boyfriend.  You’re so stupid you’ve tried to kill yourself repeatedly over the same dumb girl.  When are you going to get it?

I wish you’d stop hugging me.  I don’t even want to touch you anymore because I don’t like you.  I really don’t like you.  At all.  Neither do my friends.  They wish you’d stop asking them for money and rides.

But we’re all afraid of you.

{.005}

For the longest time I thought you didn’t like me.  But you’re one of the coolest–if I can say this–moms I know.  I’d love for you to be my mom, but I get the impression that you might have a bit of a temper.  Probably not as bad as my mother’s (who none of us can even stand to be around, no matter how much we love her), but I’m too meek to be yelled at anymore.  However, I love you nonetheless.  You tell the best stories and I wish I got to see you more.

{.006}

You.  Make.  Me.  Sick.  And you need to back off.  You need to just back the heck off.  Find your own.

{.007}

Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?  Close your mouth and look away before I get up and leave.  You’re being rude by looking at me all the time.  I don’t know why you’re even staring over here.  Seriously?  Just stop and go about your business.  I hope you leave soon, or I swear I’m going to call campus security on you.

{.008}

I don’t like you.  I’ve never liked you.  I use you for gossip because you’re the only person that talks to me about the things I want to hear.  Then you talk about me behind my back.

You told everyone I was bi.  You told everyone who I liked.

And it all backfired because I still get more than you.

So thanks.

{.009}

You’re a mess.  I wish you’d stop turning to drugs to get rid of it.  I knew this is what would happen.  So why don’t you just suck it up and live like the rest of us?  

Because.  You’re.  Weak.

{.010}

You’re so fake.  I wish everyone could see you the way I see you.

{.011}

We don’t have any of the same interests anymore.  I wish you’d acknowledge that and let me go.


these are my 11
secrets about eleven secret
people

I want to say good-bye.

& it kills me every time

So tired.  I can’t even function, think straight.  But…but…I’ll be up all night in tears again.  You don’t know what you do to me.

Nothing makes sense, nothing makes sense anymore.  It’s not right when you’re gone.  It just isn’t.  I stay up and I try not to call you.  I try to wait until you call me, but I’m so addicted to your voice that it’s so hard for me to even imagine being without it.

You.  You on the other hand.  You don’t feel anything do you?  You don’t understand why I’d need you so much.  Or how much it hurts to only be permitted to need you for one day a week.

It gets harder every time.  Especially when that phone rings and I know you have to disappear.  

It kills me.  It kills me when you hang up, sigh and stare at me with those big brown eyes.  And I know.  I just know where it’s going.

And you get up and you leave, tell me you have to and if it were my choice.  You can’t make promises anymore.  And I can’t take the broken hearts.  Littered with the knowledge of paper, the title of “pure” and the quantity of “six”.

You kill me.  And you don’t even know it.

the way i want this to be always

It’s been so long, I’d forgotten how good it felt to rest against you like this.  I know we’re both crying now, but I can’t help thinking how amazing it feels to have my face resting against your chest and your arm around me.  

I can’t explain it, but I want to be here with you…like this forever.  It’s comforting to feel this sensation of belonging.  Your hand brushes over my hair and down my back and I’ve never felt so much love for you.

The way things are right now, with you smiling down at me, kissing the top of my head and lacing your free hand with the one I placed on your chest…I wouldn’t trade this for the world.  I feel the sting of tears being brought forth and a smile coming to my lips.  

My thoughts immediately shift to a song from the opera we watched together and I feel the tears roll down from my eyes, down my cheeks and over my lips.  

I never knew I’d love you so much, but I do.

Thanthos

It wasn’t the kind of place you’d expect to see someone like her. She was the type you’d see in the underground poetry clubs bearing her emo soul out before an audience that felt much of the same thing. 

She had short black hair that curled under her chin and bangs that covered her right eye, a pale complexion, red-painted lips, and she wore a lot of black eyeliner. She was one of those goth-emo types that seemed to attract his attention. However, this girl was different from his normal infatuations. She didn’t seem like a tormented soul at all as she lay out in a field of wild flowers, but he knew better.

He positioned himself in a sitting position on top of a large rock on the far end of the field and watched her as she lay there beneath the night sky, a soft breeze moving the flowers around her body. 

“Hey,” she said, without even opening her eyes. He didn’t answer her salutation, instead he slid from the rock and approached her. 

“Desdemona?” He asked, even though he already knew it was her.

“Yes,” she answered, eyes still closed. He knelt next to her and stared at her pale face, red lips, and charcoal painted eyes.

“I am Thanthos,” he answered, “I have a request.”

“And if I refuse?” she questioned, obviously knowing what the michevious spirit was up to.

“You know full well,” he began, “what will happen if you refuse me.”

“I do,” she answered. He traced over her cheek with black painted nails as she lay completely still. 

Weird

“You’ll never make me feel the way he does.”
“You chose me first.”
“I didn’t choose you.”
“You wanted me first.”
“I didn’t want you.”
“You’re lying.”
“I was interested. I didn’t want you. I didn’t choose you.”
“You were interested in me first.”
“I didn’t know him then.”
“You would’ve still liked me.”
“I wish I didn’t.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“You’re ruining my relationship.”
“That isn’t my fault.”
“You want it to be.”
“Maybe.”
“That’s cruel.”
“You’re cruel.”
“You can’t honestly think that.”
“I do.”
“I see the way you look at me.”
“You see what you want to see.”
“Maybe I do.”
“You can’t honestly expect me to believe that you have feelings for him.”
“You’ll never make me feel the way he does.”
“So you still have feelings for me?”
“Ones that are dying.”
“You still want me?”
“I never wanted you.”
“You’re still interested in me?”
“I don’t want to be.”
“But you are.”
“Not like I am with him.”
“More or less?”
“Less.”
“Why?”
“You’ll never make me feel the way he does.”
“You’ve said that three times.”
“It’s true.”
“Whatever.”
“I have to go.”
“Whatever.”
“Bye.”
“Later.”

7 reasons it’s never the same

It’s 6 o’clock and they’re back to being normal.  Or as normal as they can get anyways.  She’s sitting in her pink office chair, writing a paper and he’s on her bed reading for class.  Neither speaks but instead enjoys the serene safety that lingers in the air around them like a blanket.

He turns the page, she minimizes the document window.  A shift in weight, a light sleepy sigh.  She bites her lip in concentration, he shifts and moves his face to rest on his hand.  It’s the same boring…the same dull…the same comfortable routine that neither seems to deviate from out of fear.

If the routine changes, they change.  They change more then they want to, more then they have.  He wants to grow, she wants to hold on to things she still wishes they had.  Yet, neither can move forward without the other.  How? Because here they are, another school night spent together in silence.  Him on her bed, her in her chair.  Both lounging comfortably in the silence they created around them.  The bubble of serenity they refuse to burst with words.

It’s so quiet she imagines she can hear his heartbeat and the feeling of tears and heartache tug at her senses.  Everything about him, every breath, every heartbeat, every single quiet moment shared between the two sends an ache through her heart that it’s obvious will never heal.  His simple, silence presence makes her heart ache for sweet kisses, caresses…love.

I want you to love me, she begs quietly, her eyes lowered to gaze at her keyboard, back to him as he turns another page.  She lets her tears fall and welcomes the dull ache into her chest, letting it swallow her body completely.  She’s so deep into her feelings of loneliness she doesn’t even notice her body begin to tremble, sniffle, sob.  He looks up from his book.

“Why are you crying?” He breaks the silence, his voice incredulous and she snaps out of it.  The ache retreats from her fingertips, her toes, arms, legs, body and back into her heart where it throbs as a constant reminder of loneliness.  She chokes on her words and she hears him shift on the bed, standing and coming to her side.

“Why are you crying?” His voice is harsh, sharp around the edges and her body trembles out of fear.  He must already know he’s the reason because there’s no other reason for her to sob so violently and without abandon.  For the thought of the times when he was her everything, when she mattered…before she was irrelevant and cast aside like a rag doll.  She longed for him to pick her back up, to smooth out the aches and sew up the tears.

But here she was, sitting here with his breath in her ear demanding to know the reason for her tears.  Demanding to know why on earth she would even be crying.  Why she even had the right to cry at any moment whatsoever.

“Tell me,” he whispers as he rubs her shoulders…presses his body against her back.  His comforting warmth flows from his stomach into her body.  Every single thing about him was perfect.  If it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t love her.  If it wasn’t for the annoying fact that he never would.  If it wasn’t…

Her heart ached again, deeply, throbbingly as he touched her shoulders, her back, her arms…her throat.  Body shaking beneath his fingertips with an ache that only he could fulfill.  He whispered her name and asked her again.

And She Still Wouldn’t Answer Him.