Tag: anniepoem

Closure

wingedpiglets:

When you walked out
of my heart, you left
the door wide open.
I poured my soul out
on a paper plane
and chucked it through the
fragile frame,
hoping you’d read the words:
“Please come home.”

I sat for weeks, waiting for you
to close the gaping hole
you carelessly left;
for you to walk through and
apologize for letting the bugs in, you hadn’t meant to, it was a mistake.
but you never did,
so I got up and closed
the damn door myself.

Miss Scarlett In The Ballroom With The Lead Pipe

wingedpiglets:

I washed the sheets four times (once
for every year you dreamt beside me)
before your smell
no longer lingered. 

I deleted all of your
voice messages on my phone, but
they still replay 
in my dreams some nights, and
I will always know your texts by heart. 

I put all your clothes I gathered over the years, tangible
bits and pieces of you, into a garbage bag
and donated them, but 
I still wake up on cold mornings wishing I had 
that black jacket of yours. 

I tore apart 
every picture of us, and still 
it took me too long to be able to 
convince myself there was no missing
half in all those photos of just me. 

I have flipped it so many times, and yet
I cannot get the imprint of 
you out of my memory
foam mattress. The outline of your body
etched in chalk on a crime scene.

Henry

wingedpiglets:

I will never hear you say
why you did it;
but I like to think it was not out of fear
of the future or
cowardice, sadness, or unbearable weight on your slim shoulders,
but rather because you saw
what others felt
and you felt it, too;
and as you sat at the ledge looking down,
it was not out of weakness that you flew,
but out of bravery to know that your message
may not be heard,
out of hope that as you fell into eternal slumber
somebody would wake up
and feel the suffering,
too. 

It Makes Music

wingedpiglets:

I write to      release
the emotions and feelings I’m
            too scared
to express.
To see my thoughts
                 on paper. Sometimes
I write to

            remember
and sometimes to

            forget.

I write because it’s the only way to make
my feelings concrete

                                                solid

                        cohesive, understandable.

            When I write, my
thoughts become art
                                   instead of a jumble in my head. 

Rock-a-Bye, Baby

wingedpiglets:

Nobody warned you
that once I left
the warm walls of your womb,
I would be your sacrifice
to this world;
that I was no longer yours to control.
I was destined to move
with the mountains, to walk
barefoot on the soil and let the soles
of my feet close all gaps between me
and the universe.

And yet you fight—loudly, violently, teeth bared—
to tell the cosmos I am yours.
My first unsteady steps, the first utterances
to tumble from my mouth, my every
achievement and failure
belong to you.
If you cannot have them, no one can,
not even me.

And so you destroy
me
slowly; blindly tearing me apart,
consuming me until
I am once again
completely, undoubtedly, a part
of you. 

Trudy

wingedpiglets:

With cupped hands I show you
the parts of my soul nobody else has
touched.

I am prepared for your eyes
to widen in disgust,
for you to take them
and crush them and
throw them away.

But you hold them,
you know them,
you love them.

And gently, carefully,
you place my darkness back
in my shaking hands.

You have seen all of me and yet
there is only love in your eyes.

For those who jumped, and for those who didn’t jump but wish they had

wingedpiglets:

When you jumped, I cried because
I wished I’d been holding your hand as you fell.
When you were gone, I screamed at the sky to
take me, too.
When I was alone, I was wedged
in a corner of darkness, and I had locked myself in.
I’d wished you’d carried me with you, because
I was just as trapped, just as lost; the books weighed me down, too, you know.
I was filled with just as much hate and hopelessness and
cynicism, just as thirsty for nothingness. 

Now, when I laugh with my whole
heart, I wish you were here laughing, too.
When I sit in the sun and feel the Earth kiss my nose,
I wish you were beside me because
I am learning sometimes
it takes a while sitting in the sun to feel its warmth,
and sometimes when we finally
stumble out
of the darkness, it takes a while for our eyes to
adjust to the light.
But when we can finally get a glimpse of it, it is spectacular.
I wish you were here to see it.

Pink Thread

wingedpiglets:

You wrapped your finger around the loose end
and pulled and pulled and pulled until
it broke;
an absentminded afterthought
hurriedly shoved into the armrest of my car
on your way out.
The hemmed end of your shirt left frayed and
blowing in the wind as
you walked away;
a sad reminder of how it used to be before
it’s innards were pulled out.

Weeks fall away and it still sits there—
the small ball of pink thread;
the mark of your territory on my heart.
The last piece of you. The only thing
holding us together.