freewrite

in the common time

the moment when Skype isn’t close tho’
so you have to make it so

and you don’t want to smother them
so you choose to keep the chasm there
but every other second
you feel the bridge being built across it
and part of you wants to Wile E Coyote the shit
but they look at you like Roadrunner
so you keep the chase
knowing that at any moment
you and the floor beneath the cliff could have an intimate meeting
but they ain’t lead you there yet
you ain’t tryna get complacent
not like you could
but damn
doesn’t a summer feel like forever when it feels nice?
don’t the look they give you feel like warmth on a cold night?
swear their pupils look like the stars after midnight

bet it feel right
when they lay they head on your shoulder
little too good
like the sweet you stole from the kitchen when the family wasn’t looking
how you meet a human forbidden fruit?
not one bite satiate a sweet tooth..

I.

I promise to treat you the way that no one else could. I will prove to you why your past relationships ended.

II.

I promise to hold you in my arms and in my heart until my body collapses.

III.

I promise to touch every part of your body; and for the places my fingers can’t reach, my words will.

IV.

In the middle of the night when your body is shaking from the sadness that’s pulsing through your veins, I promise to kiss your forehead and hold you tight in my arms until you can finally breathe again.

V.

I promise to make the sting of life hurt a little less. I will try my hardest to protect you, always.


VI.

If the time comes where I have to let you go, I promise I will do it with grace and dignity. However, that does not mean my heart will shatter any less or the earthquake that hits my chest will be any less severe.

VII.

I promise that there won’t be a day where I don’t wake up and think of you.

VIII.

I promise to love you everyday until my heart stops beating, and maybe even then.

—  I don’t need a wedding in order to compose my vows

I know you’re hurting. I know your worst enemy couldn’t possibly hate you as much as you hate yourself.
I know you’ll never be good enough. Strong enough. I know you’ve lied. I know you’ve hurt people. Unintentionally…and those times you knew exactly what you were doing.
I know you’ve given up. Time and again. I know you’ve failed.
I know the life you’re living doesn’t come close to the life you wanted.
I know these things, because I’m trying to live life too.
I know each morning we drag our sorry asses out of bed, we’ve won another battle.
I know each act of kindness we’re responsible for in this wicked and wonderful world is the best weapon we have in our arsenal.
I know every smile is hard won, and that much sweeter for it.
I know caring is the only way we’ll ever outsmart the hate
and loving is worth it no matter how much it hurts.
I need you to know, you’re never alone
I need you to know
We got this

Natasha Head
#poetry #poetrylovers #prose #literature #books #BirthingInadequacy #tashtoo #writer #poet #poems #love #prosepoetry #freewrite #WritersOfIG #poetsofig

So, you left.
But in your absence, I will learn forgiveness. I will learn to love myself and better myself so I can be the person I want to be. I will learn to stop cringing at your name and my memory will have more space after you are drained from it.
My biggest mistake, though, was thinking of a future with you by my side. Naming unborn kids, discussing where we want to live together, and making plans for our ideal home is my only regret. I’d take it all back if I could.
However, I don’t regret meeting you or telling you I love you. I don’t regret the nights we spent talking for ridiculous amounts of time. I don’t regret falling in love with you, even though erasing you will be one of the biggest challenges I’ve come across. Because of you, I’m a stronger person. I’m a survivor, and so are you. That’s the plus side to all of this.
I’ve learned that I can’t help someone who doesn’t want it. I can’t force someone to love me, no matter how badly I want them to. I can’t trust everything someone says, simply because they could be lying.

I’m sorry something changed in you to second guess us.
It hurts to think there’s no longer an “us”. Just you. Just me.

But above all things, I hope you’ll learn to be happy. I hope the future doesn’t scare you as you grow and I hope you find someone who is as proud to have you as I was.

Good luck.

—  closure you’ll probably never see
I look at her and think…
“What does she have that I dont?”
“What did she give you that I didnt?”
I gave you my world, my everything.
Every smile, every joke, every compliment,
that was geniuine.
I thought you loved me the way I loved you.
But you were never satisfied.
You were hungry for love and affection. You drank my love as if it was last nights beer, selfish and always looking for more.
You moved from me to her in a heart beat and now I think to myself
“Will I ever be good enough to satisfy anyone? Or will I always be everyones second choice?”
—  m.t. poetry, Anon’s request on not being good enough.

they say
“brown girls do not
think of dying”
so you swallow the pain
covering it with so much
borrowed strength

they said
“dark skin? better bleach”
so you hide your beauty
apologizing for how
your melanin soaks in sugar

they say
“brown girls do not think
of dying”
you carry yourself into tomorrow
like a warrior
but no one told you
but no one told you
no one ever told you
even the lioness
hurts sometimes.

merlot at 1:30 am on a thursday. (freewrite)

your lips are aged.
there is life behind your breath that far
surpasses the twenty odd years your lungs
have met so i must ask,
where have i met you before?
were we swimming on the banks of a far
away oasis? did i believe you to be
real? because 
in this life you have been
on top of
inside of
beside run through mind
beat through chest.
here you have existed.
& if only in this instance, i insist we
listen with more intent to air bend
when you breathe next to
me as if it be all too familiar.

your lips are aged, & your
kiss taste like yesterday with a 
sure hint of tomorrow. just a shot of
next week has got me drunk off now
considering then. when
did we last do this thing where you
fit my ribs too perfectly for me
not to expand my chest to 
hold you here. have no fear,
my faith remains the same as it
was when my name wasn’t.
you were so i 
am & i 
do & i
chose so 
i choose
you.

Craving. I’m thinking about the way it feels when we finally get to touch after months apart. I’m thinking about the way it feels when summer comes and the sweat rolls down my back but I’m happy because it’s okay if I forget my jacket and there’s no more ice to slip on, only ice cream to lick. I’m thinking about the 2 AM need for chocolate and the all the time need for your hands, wherever you want them, as long as they’re on me. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t need you and I don’t know if it’s selective amnesia or just because that’s how it’s always been—my body has always craved yours, always known that you were a right fit for me and never a right fit for anyone else. There are nights where I stay up until 3 AM and always my thoughts wander back to you and I can’t help but think how much easier I’d sleep if you were here instead of in her arms, building her blanket forts, and making her laugh the way you always make everyone laugh. It’s not so fair, the way you came into my life and woke up this monster inside of me. You could have left it sleeping for years, I never would have known how intensely I need you but now I do and I cannot shake it, not while I’m in class, not while I’m drinking coffee, especially not when I’m falling asleep. But you did, you did come into my life and you took pieces of me slowly and so quietly I didn’t even notice. I think in most relationships, that’s the point where you give pieces of yourself too, but instead you kept yourself so guarded and secret, I just screamed at your doors and no one ever answered. So now five months later, I am finding pieces of myself in between sheets and in journals and in receipts crumpled in the pockets of my fall jackets and you are on your way, but I am left to wonder and to miss you and to think about you always. It’s not so much that craving you is horrible, because I think it feels good sometimes, but now it’s slowly being starved to death and all it needs is you, but all it gets is shitty men who move their hands too far up my skirt and never through my hair and they’re always reaching for their belts and never for my hand and all they’re giving me is sex which is sometimes good and sometimes bad but really all I crave is you.
—  freewrite on craving - n.m.
People keep saying that loving yourself cures loneliness.
People keep lying.
People won’t admit that it’s a lonely thing to be the only person to have loved you unconditionally…
No one to witness it.
No one to pick up the slack.
Just a buncha lonely selfies and leftovers in the fridge.
Just a buncha love… All by yourself.
You know you’re a ball of fire and for you, the only warm thing in this cold world.
—  “talking to myself about loneliness…”, j.l.
3

My desk at work featuring the view I try to ignore while I work // 05/27/2015.

1. Actual work.
2. “Unraveled” by Elizabeth Krause, the professor I am working with next semester, as well as a free write for a paper due Friday.
3. The surprisingly heavy scope I can’t move.

home. (freewrite:whiskey:3am)

if you were to ask my mawmaw about the day she met
my papa, she would tell you that she said to her girlfriend
(in the way old people use it) “girl, i’ma marry that fine piece of
man.” 47 years, 3 children, 7 grandchildren, & too many pets to 
count later,

mawmaw was so right.

each morning, papa yells up the stairs 
“i love you sugar” before he leaves for work. he calls
her on his lunch break. & again from traffic on the
way home as if home hasn’t been 47
years the same route, 50 years the same heart. each
evening, he makes her plate with just the right sized
portion for her to have left overs to snack on
throughout the night.

he calls her his best friend.

i don’t know where we will be or even who
we will become but theirs is the love i’ll model 
ours from. & though i’m sure to get some things
wrong, your hand in mine will always be right.
& though i may falter as your lover & spouse,
i will always be the best friend to you
i have ever been at all.

there was emptiness here long before the church burned down there was a longing you could not put a name to could not vocalize because your tongue was stuck like glue
like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth

my insides are an abandoned cathedral so exquisite in their architecture but cold in the night the heat is turned off for the night and my eyes grow dim in the night and the moon can light my way but it cannot warm my trivial limbs with cold reflected empty light

the sun seems to rise earlier and earlier then it did when I was eleven and watching the sun rise at five in the morning for the first time and that was before the old thoughts began to be in my body that is not my body my body is not my own body but what is my body and will I ever know The feeling of comfortable skin my own and yours too again precious sapphire gleam you are to me

—  i wanted to write a poem and it ended up being a letter to me and myself by charlie estin
murmurs.

The walls are humming, disembodied voices 
Send staccato vibrations through my pillows
Desperation permeates these walls in the
Indistinguishable murmurs of four a.m. conversations
I pull the sheets up to my ears and
Bury my head in the silence of sleep
But find no quiet there
Four a.m conversations fill my dreams with echoes
“Last Friday, we were supposed to make love”
The consonants find their way
Unmangled through the concrete
As clear as though whispered into my ear
It is the last sentence I hear him say
I do not hear the door close but in my dreams
The walls grow like cancer throughout the house
Covering windows and sealing off corridors
Until the whole house is one solid sheet of concrete
Smooth and relentless beneath my fingertips
His words bounce around this concrete infinity, no
They do not bounce, they are swallowed
And then spat back at me from
Some place beyond the walls
Some place beyond sleep
“We were supposed to make love”
The door may have slammed but I
Did not hear it I am gone, gone, gone
I am running through cavernous tunnels
Chasing him through the hollowness
He is not here, he is somewhere too real
He is at a bus stop or a bar or something but
I do not care instead I chase him in my dreams
Through these lonely four a.m. walls

Tell me what to say to make you stay. 

He traced the veins on my arm. 

Lead me somewhere. It was more of a statement than a request. 

Hold me a litte. 

Keep me for awhile. 

The comfort of sleep and the disappointment of waking up. 

Holding, like holding up, like holding on. 

a lie
  1. you are like scaffolding, my love: holding up things that are were destined to have collapsed. 
  2. i think of your body as a measure of perimeters and grow lonely. how strange a thing it was to think of you as both body and ghost, and now you are memory i have no name for. 
  3. when he thinks of his voice over things like the rain or a train running through the city or his father beating his mother and the silence, good god the silence is a welcomed triumph. 
  4. your ex girlfriend is drinking too much and flirting between you and a boy and you take to the wine because anywhere and here you are meant to be almost but not quite but always and barely there. your bodies touched once.
  5. i would have drawn it out this long, i would have done more than made a poem out of you but you little boy are a haiku for the winters i grew out of myself into a woman. and sure maybe then and now i think of you as the lie i have told myself in the breath of many. 
  6. you try to think of all the reasons you should stay like how maybe he wears good shoes or matching socks and doesn’t lose them in the wash or even how his hands are elegant even though they are large and he has a shade of brown that wishes kashmir had never taken so much of the south indian out of you yet nothing is ever reason enough to stay. everything has been fleeting and as temporary as both your happiness and sadness, like the borders you have come to forgive, as never being yours. 
  7. ‘look,’ you tell him, 'this whole universe is made up of so much dark matter that what good is it if we give up so much to a whiteness our melanin can swallow up into nothing? what good is it if we keep chasing whiteness like stars when they were born and die out of us?’ and you do a smart thing in that moment like hand both a map of the galaxy and a body and ask him to compare the details of what will only save you in the end. 
  8. he listens, he tries so hard to listen, to follow the spirit and urgency of what you’re saying but he leaves and goes back to what he knows best. you laugh the kind of laughter that has a residual stain about it because when it comes down to it some people will only think skin failed them down to the beloved. 
  9. and he’s looking at you telling you about love and all you can think about is you suddenly don’t know the way home. you’re fishing around for the map you swore you brought with you, that has your name and address and even an emergency kit that tells you how to put it all back together just in case and the directions to leave important things behind when you begin to believe them. you lose your voice and even your eyes in this pool of soft that is not yours. so what part of you is now left of the moon, of the thing that is just today’s ocean and tomorrow’s drought? of you, a body and a body alone.