Tag: poets of tumblr

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.

Living

wingedpiglets:

is there a right way to do it?
These days,
I have lost myself:
not in the highs, the news telecasts,
or her eyes.
In a moment.
I am
somewhere in the universe.
I am
every episode of Friends, yesterday’s breakfast burrito,
every 3 a.m. conversation.
I am.
I have shattered myself
into a million tiny pieces,
and it is scary but
liberating. 

one drink
and your name is looping
in my mind

two drinks
and i just want you
next to me, i just want
to feel you, i just want you
to make me warm
i hear your name
in the clinks of glasses

three drinks
this space between us
is pulling me like taffy
i am aching for
my skin to touch yours
i am aching for
you and i know i shouldn’t
have

four drinks
the glass is to my lips
and this heat is
sliding down my throat
this heat is
undeniable and
insatiable and i wish
i was sober.

alone and drunk and missing you // a.s.m