shove these p i l l s down my throat and
t e l l – m e that I’m normal
enough for you when I’m staring at an
empty void, loss of color and focus.
you tell me I can be f i x e d with
medication but, when was I ever
stop trying to fix something that’s complete
you’re p i c k i n g away at what I am
away w h o i tried so hard to become.
you tell me I need theselittlewhite p i l l s
because for once in my life I’m finally
H A P P Y.
you’d rather i be
m e dICATED
and normal, simple, dead
in my eyes
(you want them to be void
of sparkle and hope, grace, compassion)
you think it’d be easier
if i never felt the things rising to the surface
bubbling and causing the sweet upward curl
of my lips.
you wish i was flat, emotionless, broken
you choke me on those pills
tell me it’s helping me to be NORMAL
but all it does is bring the
numbness back and force me
under the perpetual shade of
darkness behind my eyelids.
i’ll never be normal enough for you.
in these lines,
remind me how
them so often
tell me who
my words have
heart on contact
hate – red.
my memories of
them seem less
I could find
labyrinth of dark
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.
d r i f t i n g away
against your chest
your heartb e a t
lures me d ee p e r
into a land of dreams
and happy memories
that only e x i s t when
you’re holding me
and telling me “sleep now my
p r i n c e s s”
in that sweet calm voice while
you run your fingers through my
hair and kiss my forehead
and in my dreams
A flurry of southern snow and on Christmas no less
Seen from a lit window, the first snow flakes during
the famous gift exchange
“It’s snowing!” An excited exclamation
and to the window two sets of feet traveled quickly
the room was full of awe and wonder
coats were drawn,
scarves flung around throats haphazardly
And the snow angels danced, spinning with the crystals
of white and purity and the world feels cleansed
You say, “lay down, I’ll show you something beautiful”
I oblige, and you take the snowy ground next to me,
lace your fingers between mine…
and we make snow angel lovers
You tell me, “I want to make these with you forever”
and I tell you, “that’s how long we’ll wait for another miracle.”