Tag: poets on tumblr

I knew the lonely parts of your heart.
They were my campgrounds
when my walls began to burn and
the ash and smoke threatened
to suffocate me beneath my
crumbling ribcage.

When it was winter in my heart,
and my veins became
frozen red rivers,
you always had a fire going
in yours.
I would huddle inside the
crevices between
your atriums and swim in your
bloodstream until I, too, was red
underneath your skin.

Annie Munro  (via wnq-writers)

We Look For Answers

wingedpiglets:

in the palms of our hands, 
on narrow roads that 
twist and intersect. 

in wishing well eyes, 
uprooting the fibrous tunic in
our frantic pursuit. 

in echoing cathedrals
where we lay our souls upon 
wilting flower beds. 

in brilliant garbage dumps,
piled high, distorted into 
siren’s songs. 

in the mountains and grasslands and
the coursing veins that run through 
the dirt we were and will be. 

in the folded up papers
whose true triviality is unknown
until we are weaved
back into the earth. 

in the booming echoes of
our voices as we stand on 
elevated hills and yell into the valleys 
below. 

where they cannot be found, 
for they reside far beyond
existence. 

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.