An Ode to Me

I think I appreciate spreading myself across my bed more than someone’s palms pressed against my skin.

I enjoy the crisp wind creeping through my window, stroking my back more than someone’s existence lying next to mine.

I’d rather be awoken each morning to a cup of coffee made perfectly by myself then pretending the muck you made is amazing and pouring it out as you turn your back.

Because I don’t know love in the way most people do, because I don’t feel enough long enough to truly be excited when I see someone gazing upon my profile through my peripheral vision.

I don’t want the smell of you to linger in my bed when you are gone, just a pressing reminder in the back of my head that I could not love you for more than one night.

I don’t want to find pieces of you left behind the next day, when I have things to do, rooms to clean, no time to be thinking of you wondering why I’m only capable of being alone.

You’ll never love me the way I do

You’ll never look into my eyes and become hypnotized by a green so deep, it cannot be replicated by nature

Because there is nothing to compare me to.

I am too vulgar, too blunt, too real to be a flower

I am hotter and more fiery than fire itself

I am nothing like the sun, you can’t take your eyes off me because I am dark, I am new, I am different, I am unthinkable

I am a disaster, so perfectly put together, my pieces don’t fit, but someone took a hammer and smashed me until I became whole

There’s no pulling me apart, I do not fall apart, I do not break, you can not fit inside, there is no more room inside of me for anyone or anything

I am me.

I wake up next to myself, more happy than when I went to sleep

Because in the middle of the night, I did not sneak out and leave myself alone

Because I am so much more than a one night stand

I am something real

Something so strange that even mirrors can’t bear to see me leave but they love to watch my hips swing as I strut away, carrying myself with an unnecessary confidence through my everyday life

Because I told myself I am beautiful, I am sexy, I am powerful, I am a woman, each day until

I became something so surreal, that I am unbelievable.

I did not need a man to caress my back and hold my hand, I held myself each night

Until one day, I did not need anyone but me.

I am tired of writing poetry and wasting beautiful verses on people who do not deserve a piece of this ass

I deserve a piece of this ass and some words to read with my morning oatmeal.

Because damn.

I love me.

The Last Time I Loved (My first sonnet)

He touched my skin, burning my very soul

Though, I do not know his name, all the same

I found my whole aflame, ashes on coal

His fingers caressing my charred, broke frame

His smile has set my calm world on fire

I cannot look him in the eye: my sun

He has me, marionette on a wire

Puppet in his show, I think I have won

Blinded by the stage lights, I cannot see

A similar fire, blazing near my own

A slight girl, strings attached, right next to me

He cuts my strings, rendering me lone

From my tutu pocket, I pull a gun,

For who am I, to allow him such fun?

That One Girl is a Disaster

What are you doing?

Laying by the window, gazing at starlight;

you breathe deeply, inhaling the pain of being lost.

Your eyes sparkle with sadness,

searching for more,

as if you look into the darkness and see something

that is not there.

Golden hair and empty green eyes,

that is you, with no hope,

no ambition here.

You have dreams, that is clear,

but where have you hidden them?

You watch the sun rise and set,

never moving from your bed.

Life goes on, while you wait.

but what are you waiting for?

You are a lost child.

Too accepting of the mess you have become.

You coined yourself disaster,

ripped your clothes,

messed up your hair,

smeared your lipstick,

and laid down in your bed, embracing something

you are not.

Where have you hidden your beauty?

In beds of empty lovers;

in the bottom of wine glasses;

in broken mirrors and an empty home.

Where have you hidden your charm?

On the lies of promised love;

on someone else’s expectations.

You have let yourself be sculpted,

stolen from, taken until you are nothing.

A piece of your clay on everyone you meet.

But darling,

who do you want to be?

I am destroyed

I am the pieces of a broken vase, clumsily put together, pretty to look at and impossible to hold

If you pick me up, I’ll cut your hands and crumble to nothing

I am destroyed

I am chain smoking until you feel sick

I am the smell of loneliness on your hands when you’re alone late in the evening crying softly 

                  wishing things would change

I am the step you take that twists your ankles but you have to keep moving because it’s not really that bad

I am the doctor’s visit that follows that shows you your leg is broken

Because I am destroyed

And I cannot let anyone know

I am everything no one wants

Because at every job they teach you that no one likes unhappy

I am everything they do not want you to be

No one likes pain

I am everything they try to hide

We are what we are and there is nothing else but earth and society

I am claustrophobia so extreme that the universe feels so small and suffocating

Because how can we be free if there’s nowhere to go but somewhere on this planet or in this universe? We are so limited by boundless opportunities

I think maybe I’m evil

The way I tear things apart

The way I crumble at your touch

It’s like I’m hiding behind this façade and before you can run from me

I turn into something new

I am destroyed, you see.

So please don’t follow me.

Inspiration

I found inspiration in the pale white scar on his chest where he tried to set his demons free

I found inspiration in the pain he felt despite never being hurt

I found inspiration in his fear to love me

I found inspiration in the way he seems to be running from something he can’t say

I found inspiration in his happiness at my complicated replies, in the way he seemed excited to learn why I am in pain, and his quick correction to say he does not understand, making him the first to admit

You do not understand

I find inspiration in the way he disappeared and in the way he lied when I knew the truth

I find inspiration in his façade; in his stoner talk; in his cool guy talk; in his fascination with money; in his attempts at Buddhism; the books he reads; in being so much all at once

I find inspiration because he should love me and maybe, I too should love him; but we cannot

In the way he believes only two things are proven; gravity and love

 But he seems so terrified of both

I find inspiration in the sadness he brought me

Sadness not from silence but rather the introspection he brought back into my life

I find inspiration because he reminded me of who I am

I find inspiration in the way he looked at me and yearned for me, but would not admit it

I find inspiration because in one night, he wiped away every ounce of confusion

I think of his words

I think of his mind

I think of our parallels and realize

We are so close we will never speak again

I am Venomous

I remember the day my father left, I turned to my mother and said “does this mean I can call you mommy now?”

I remember blocking her from fists with my tiny arms, only to be thrown to the side

But  my love for my mother is stronger than any hand looking for a place to land.

I remember learning in school, that children from abused homes, will have trouble with social relationships later in life, including romantic relationships.

So when you stare at me with that drooping face, silent eyes and silent mouth, ignoring every word I just threw at you, I want to scream because sounds of fists hitting skin are easier to listen to then the silence you bring into my life. silence is deafening when it comes from the one you love.

Which makes me wonder why I’m so quick to love you when you can’t even speak my name, is it me that’s having trouble or is it you?

I ask you if you’ve ever thought about dying and you say no, you have not, you have never wanted to kill yourself and feel the end but I do not believe you because you spend way too much time on the couch playing video games without ambition to truly want to be alive.

you say you have wanted to kill someone before, shotgun poised in hand, opening the door, staring at a man sleeping on the couch that you wish were dead.

But to this day, you go see him every week to mow his lawn while he laughs about your mothers bruises.

bruises are hard to erase, they fade but you still find yourself pushing the skin where they once laid, hoping for a reminder to know what happened was real but everything seems to fade in the end and so should your sadness, but mine never did.

Now when I look into the eyes of any man, I think of my mother.

I realize that over time, I slowly stopped hugging her because the pain of being touched by another is just too great.

but I’m so quick to jump into the bed of a lover, creating flourished romances out of nothing, finding myself groped and grinning allowing it when this man will never love me, but I won’t let the woman who gave me everything hug me because I want to be loved but only look for it in places that it will never be.

and maybe that’s fucked up. but I’m terrified of finding myself unable to be loved again. your silence has broken me.

like moist wood in the summer time, I have become worthless, I cannot burn, I only rot. the only house I can be used to build is one for termites and let me tell you something, termites eat each others feces, eerily similar to the men I attract; they are full of shit.

They call me beautiful, getting inside and pulling me apart, piece by piece, until they are full, breaking down my tough fibrous being, making me imagine myself as some red lipped beauty queen. but I call myself disaster and they agree. my friend agrees but adds “beautiful,” but what is beautiful about walking into my apartment building in the morning, smudged eyeliner and smeared lipstick, holding my head up, tears back and collapsing in the shower swearing to myself that I am unforgettable.

but let me tell you something, I will plague your mind like insanity that gives in to no sedation,

I am the sickness, making you weak, sending you through the streets, unforgettable sight like dead bodies lining the road, melting in the hot sun

because I don’t have to be beautiful to consume your mind,

do not tempt me with your feeble attempts to harm me because I will drag my ass out of that shower, put on a new shade of bitch and walk out the door untouchable, you will never know the strut of my walk of shame twice because I am venomous and you could not handle me.

The Most Beautiful Thing in the World

I embraced the summer dawn

As you rested in the hospital room

Still fresh in the world,

I never expected to love you as fiercly as I do

I never would have known that the only boy I would want in my life is my beautiful brother

The only voice I want calling my name in the early morning is his

His miniature voice calling to wake me, to come play and be human in his presence

He is the only one I want creeping into my bathroom asking if I’m showering

Cheering because in his eyes, everything I do is great

And only ever being scolded by him because daddy taught him I bring mess

And oh, I am a mess but in a way he’ll never have to know

Because on my bleak days, I miss him more than happiness

Because he’s the only person I’ll speak to after regurgitating on my face

The only time I’ll ever laugh because he does not know what he did

And one day, I’ll get to tell his first love the story and watch his face plaster with embarrassment

And one day, I’ll get to tell him the story to mend his broken heart because love can be painful

And if I can love him even after he poured our mother’s breast milk on my face,

I know a girl can love him no matter how diminishing his flaws

Because one day I’ll have my own children

But he’ll always be my first diaper change,

The first giggle I adored

The first cry that made my heart ache

The first I tortured with kisses

The first to run away begging for more

The first I wanted to protect with every ounce of myself, even if there’s not much of me, I’d do it all

The first child I loved

Because he is the only person I will allow to take my things and declare them as his

Because being far from him is harder than I ever imagined it could be

Because when I want to give up on everything and move far away, I remember

I need to see him grow up,

I need to know him

And I remember how much I long to hear,

“That’s my sister and one day, I want to be just like her.”

Because when the week is eternal and the days drape themselves around my neck, weighted with exhaustion

I imagine your bold blue eyes, sharp against your dark skin,

Your tufted hair, perched atop your head

Your hurried footsteps, since everything in your life is currently a mission

I imagine you screaming ecstatically as I whisper your name when I come to get you from daycare

Throwing yourself down because at two, there are some emotions you just cannot bear

But even at my age, I cry the whole way home, because some emotions we never learn to control, because true excitement cannot be contained inside

Because I may be far

But I can climb into my car, get on an endless road and drive home to you

Because the tears still creep down my face as I open the door, and before I know it

Tiny caramel hands wrap around my fingers and I know I’m home.