Tag: new poets on tumblr

Armageddon

I was born amid chaos.
The first words to leave her lips
when I entered this world
were electric bolts of lightning;
his were thunder.
The pounding of
his fists shook my tiny universe.

I was raised amid the crumbling
walls of a marriage gone sour,
where conversations consisted of heaving chairs,
house-wide rampages, and
chillingly silent dinners.

I learned amid the uproar that
we are not safe from the monsters in our minds:
they escape through the darkness in our eyes
and the fire in our mouths.
They fuel the momentum behind the punch
and fill the cracks in our hearts.

I discovered amid the rubble that
love means fuck you and fuck off and shut up and you bitch.
That anger is holes in the wall,
bruises and scratches, and the crack in your voice.

I watched in the corner amid
the chaos I was born into, and
the Universe watched me recoil from
the destructive violence of sentiment.

I lived my life amid the thwarted truth
that the doors to the storm cellar must always remain shut
to protect others from the tornadoes inside.
And if God forbid
at some point my body could no longer hold the weight of so many
unsaid words,
and I collapse in a heap by your side, bleeding love and anger,
I must apologize; I must mop up my mess
in order to keep you clean.

But I am so fucking sick of
keeping you clean by
mopping up my messes, when
I am covered in your blood.

So I will get up and walk away.
I will speak chaos and tornadoes and destruction.
And I will not ask for your permission,
and I will not apologize

Paralyzed

I could see the words
in her eyes 
long before she wrote them–
long before she read them
on that stage. 

I could feel her pain in the way 
her spine curled into me at night–
long before the melancholy weighed
upon her lips (her cherry smile).  

I knew she was breaking long
before she shattered, but 
all I could do 
was watch. 

Rehab

I’d shoot you up,
swallow you whole with
a glass of orange juice
in the morning—
inhale you
during my lunch breaks.

I thought that I needed you. 

Now my sheets are drenched
in all the words you’ve ever said and 
my eyes roll back to replay
your smile until it distorts
into a sneer.
And I can smell your sweat. 
I can taste your lips. 
I can taste the milk going sour. 

You are leaking out of
the bullet holes—out of
all of my pores—but
I know this
is part of getting clean. 

Rest In Power (His Name Was Blake)

Another light has gone out.
Another line of a story that will be continuously written,  
a battle you are and forever will be a part of.

You were born a billboard of lights, though.
You were made to be seen. 
You were made to be heard.

And you fought valiantly, you beautiful souldier.
It isn’t your fault– sometimes you fight your hardest, and yet
the enemy cracks your armor
with their words and their eyes and
you are left exposed.

But there is and always will be an army behind you.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I met your smile last week, and I am in love with it still.
I will fight for that smile.
I will fight for others’ smiles.
I will fight so that there will always be a smile
for you in someone else when
you cannot give one yourself.

Because I know what it’s like
to have clouds dim the suns in your eyes,
or to have the weight of the world lay heavy on
the corners of your lips.
And I’m so sorry
the spinning tied you down and dragged you
and hunched your shoulders
all while making you wear a mask–
when all you wanted to do was
spread your light so others could learn to love
themselves, too.

And I’m so sorry we aren’t fast enough.
I’m so sorry people cannot love what they don’t understand.
I’m so sorry you ever believed your life wasn’t worth living.
I’m so sorry the world has let one more light 
die. 

When You Ask What I’m Writing About

seeing the world in a
drop of rain. 

finding
meaning in the leaf that has just
fallen onto the pavement. 

discovering truth in the
cracks of the living room
couch. 

frantically catching thoughts–  
like flower petals in a 
whirlwind– 
in the palm of my hand
before they escape
back into the universe.

hearing stories in her
breath as she lies
next to me,

how much i want
to kiss her. 

seeing the universe through
a kaleidoscope,

smashing
it on the floor 
in hopes that the colors will 
repaint
the skies. 

how reading  
perfectly phrased metaphors just feels
whole, and like truth, and
like home. 

Why do I miss someone who doesn’t exist? Why do I miss something that wasn’t even real?

it’s always going to seem better in your memories than it really was, but remember why you did it. remember that you are worth it.