Tag: spilled words

The people you love are flowers that take root in your heart. Some of them have shallow roots– they are easy to pluck and be forever rid of. However, some have strong, deep roots that intertwine with your veins– roots that you cannot remove without drawing blood. And when you try to yank them out of your heart, no matter how hard you pull, you will almost always leave some root underneath the surface. There are some people you will never fully rid yourself of– there are some people that will always have the tiniest parts of their roots still splintering your heart.

i will never know how deep your roots go, but i know you’re still here // a.s.m

i’m still dreaming
about razor blade kisses
on my thighs
on my arms
teasing tongue
on my neck.
my first kiss
ever,
always threatening
to be my last.
the only kiss
to ever make me feel
something.

i still dream of razorblade kisses // a.s.m

tucking flowers behind your ears
watching the sun dance in the sky
waiting for the air to clear
i never want to leave your side.

from this hill we see the town
i twist my fingers between yours
to keep myself from falling down
because your love my soul secures.

and when the earth begins to shake
fear will not grip my stuttering heart
because with you i know i’m safe
though the world begins to fall apart.

love poem for nobody // a.s.m

craving the structure of a rhyme
to cry out a word and find
one like fingers intertwined
the need for the steady beat
of pounding feet on dirt trails
the answers to an existence
with no right answers.

i’ve been writing in rhythm lately // a.s.m

a 19-year-old virgin,
i am broken because
the cover of ‘Cosmo’ says 
“20 tips for the best sex ever" 
and instead of it sparking
curiosity, i cringe. 

a 19-year-old something–  
something that i’m not quite 
sure of yet– 
i am broken because i am the only one 
in my group of friends 
who hasn’t given a blow job, 
i am the only one who doesn’t understand
what ‘horny’ feels like. 

a 19-year-old something: 
something i am growing to hate and
to be embarrassed of
i am broken because the words 
on the magazines don’t talk about 
soul mates or "20 tips for the best
heart-to-heart 3-am pillow fort 
conversations with your partner
ever." 
instead of wanting what is sold, 
i am longing for something that doesn’t 
seem to exist. 

a 19-year-old someone 
who has learned that
words can steal the roof off your home
and leave you
exposed
i am broken because 
they can pull you apart,
they can dissect you and stick you
under a microscope,
they can make you feel less than
whole. 

a 20-year old demisexual, 
i am learning
i am not broken because
ten letters can be the foundation
of a home, a family,
to knowing you are not 
alone. 
ten letters can help you 
find yourself.

for people who say labels are stupid: i want you to understand why sometimes they aren’t // a.s.m

where your life’s supposed to start
to fall apart
to see the world
to burn the one i made for myself
to find home
to leave the only one i’ve ever known
to start a life
has nothing before this counted as ‘life’? 
to figure out
you can’t figure it all out
there’s nothing new after this
it’s the same life in a different light
you’ll be fine. 

my heart hangs 
from the ceiling fan; a kite
i never really learned
how to fly.
a bloody carousel
i paid too much
to ride.
an exhibit
to be displayed for the rest
of my life, my remains sit
behind plastic wrap walls
that
leave no handprints,
eternally orbiting
emptiness.

modern art bleeding heart // a.s.m

i am running
in circles from 
one dead end to another
with nothing to pour myself
into but the corners of these walls
that silently scream with
termites from within.

and i’m suffocating myself
with warm whispers
in ziploc bags. little
presents; promises
that were made to be broken

by gentle arms and
gentler lips.

i am inhaling stale air.

what was once
fresh is now foul,
no longer breathable, no longer able
to sustain life.

dead (end) // a.s.m