Tag: TUMBLR POETRY

But Our Life Is Not A Romantic Comedy

You told me it wouldn’t work. 
You were looking for 
that “connection” you said, 
and that we were 
”a little off sync.” 

You were looking for kissing
in the rain, declarations of love
from cardboard balconies, and lovemaking
with moans practiced in front of 
the bathroom mirror. 

You wanted me to read scripts, 
but I’ve never been very good 
in front of an audience. 
You were looking for a cookie dough girl
from a claymation, a girl 
whose words were well rehearsed because, 
after all, practice makes
perfect. 

Fucking perfect. 

But did you know,
my space boy, that
two off sync pendulums will eventually
swing the same way? 
That when you are old and grey 
and your sighing limbs are weak, 
you will wish you had someone 
who would truly listen instead of just waiting
for their next line? Or that the “connection” 
will only last for the 120 minutes
(and if you’re lucky, through the credits)?

They say sex sells,
but the worst part is, sometimes
we don’t even know
we’re buying it. 

You’re Everywhere

You were a new coat of black
polish on my naked nails. 
I settled in quickly, not waiting for you
to dry. 
And as I touched and sat and wrote and ran
you began 
to chip away, and
in little flecks throughout our path
I have left the smallest pieces of you where
only I can find them. 

Falling Apart, Falling Together

Each day jabs its hands
inside my chest
and steals a piece of me.

I am slowly dissolving into
the air, being reassembled into a collage
of the girl that smiles at me 
on the subway and the mailman and
my high school choir director and
that piece of advice my father once told me
that I will never forget. 

I am a masterpiece, the universe’s
papier mache. She is spinning me 
on her wheel and shaping me, 
molding me. 

Danny Boy

You showed me where your heart
beat through your chest;
you let me feel
it pulse through all of you. 
I wanted to see the scars
on your bones and take
the walking tour of
your mind, to carve my name
into the walls
of your skull. 
But you wouldn’t take off your
skin for me
and I’m sick of knocking
on doors that don’t
make any sound. 

ED

I’ll be doing fine. 
I’ll be able to stand on the scale and see the number and be okay. 
I’ll look in the mirror and love what I am, not hate what I am not. 

but then. 

But then I eat something
and all of a sudden I am
larger than life; I am too big
for my clothes, too big to
be loved, too big for myself. 

and then

i want to be gone. 
i want to be anyone or anything
but who i am. 
i want to shrivel up and 
die
because my self hatred weighs
on me
far heavier than the number on the scale, 
and it is too goddamn big. 

the hopelessness that 
i will forever have this body
that i hate is suffocating
me.
let
me
suffocate.