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.

i’m the selfish one

Admit it
it’s euphoric to see me this way:
lips chapped
nose red
mouth agape
throat so raw
air feels like sandpaper
in my lungs

it brings you happiness
to see me grovel
beg, long
for your affection

Please, please, please
don’t leave me

but…
you do

&
it fills you with joy
to know that you’ve created a void
an ache in my chest bigger than
the one I caused you

you keep biting at me
insults through letters and words
but I sit here &
wait…
just to be close to you

but…
I’m nothing to you or anyone else
I’m here
bro
ken
& you love it

but I’m the selfish one
so hurt me
because you don’t deserve me

maybe one day I’ll wake up
after everything you’ve done to erase me
and realize I deserve better

but for now
I’m begging with chapped lips
and a sandpaper throat:

don’t go. 

i’m thinkin’ maybe

There’s a pain I can’t ignore
Because Earlier I got to thinkin’ “Maybe I can”
but there’s things you don’t want to deal with
so there in lies the problem
to deny what love is
transforms you to hate.

People are startin’ to worry
that I’ll say good-bye to what I was
now that I feel like this.

I’m talkin’ to him 
and askin’ him “Is this right?” 
but he’s tellin’ me “No”
it don’t suprise me
the answer was there all along.

I’m talkin’ to her
but she don’t know the problem
she don’t know what she’s about.

I don’t wanna say good-bye to yesterday
because it lacks these complications
the things I have to hide
but maybe I can just say it isn’t there
but there in lies the problem…
because it is.