Tag: tumblr poets

ether

a dream
a memory
from a life lived
or living 

maybe mine
maybe someone
else’s

sleepy
sun, still
waking, weaving
between blades 
of thick Iowa grass
yellowing and resolute

worshipping
their golden 
god. 

eternal beds
canopied with iron gates

glorious even in
decaying.

a cemetary in Iowa // a.s.m 

i know you love me,
but it doesn’t make me
feel less alone

sometimes i want to ask you if
you’ve ever been
swallowed whole by something
entirely separate from yourself 
but something you know
was born inside you

fermenting in the warm, dark
parts
expanding & shrinking
breathing
feeding
off of words & feelings
you don’t have names or reasons for

sometimes i want to ask you
if there are parts of yourself
you’re not sure you can
control

but 

when i look in your eyes
unwavering
like nothing has ever made you
fear
your own mind

i know you love me,

i know you will say
no.

alone // a.s.m

19 hours inside these yellow walls
and i can feel everything i had left
leave me

mom’s cheeks are sunken and sickly
she asks me if i know how much
a baggie costs; did she give you
too much money for gas?  

and you,
you are angry
and you scare the shit out of me.
i’m scared
i’m going to hate you, too.

we are out shopping and
mom tells me she found
a needle in your desk drawer
as we pick out strawberries.

i don’t know how to reach you.
when you shut your bedroom door
you shut me out, too
sometimes i fear your limbs
will grow into your bedsheets. 

i love you, don’t you understand
i love you?

i flip through the channels at 2 am 
and can’t watch cartoons even 
though all i want is to laugh
because i know i will
cry instead 

and i’m sorry, i’m so
sorry i don’t understand

how we can be from the same womb,
the same hands holding ours
as we crossed the street,
the same health ed class, the
same high school, the
same town, two different
worlds.

it is the hardest thing to miss someone
who is still right in front of me.

2 worlds // a.s.m

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)

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.