not-poetry

I just want to kiss your forehead when you least expect it. I want to hold your hand and cuddle you all day. Then I want to settle down in bed at night and tell you everything you want to know about me. Finally I want to have you fall asleep in my arms after a soft, sweet goodnight kiss. That’s all I want for as long as I’m able to have you be mine.

I don’t sleep in anymore

No longer do I lay in bed exhausted from nightmares
Up, showered, breakfasted and out before everyone else

Somethings changed
And I fucking love it

I’m more selfish and less needy
More active and less anxious
I want to fuck at least 20% of people in every room I enter

I’m eating less
The only hunger I feel comes not from my stomach

I like myself more when I’m sober
I like myself more when I’m naked

I’m alert at all times
I talk less but better

I have perverted thoughts frequently
I don’t crave to be wanted anymore

I just crave

I care less

I always want more

—  .p.k – Evening confessions … [04/10/14]

my mama thinks im a monster & i think she’s right
i saw the devil in the mirror last night
     but if you think i’m pretty, well
     the world can
                    fucking burn

You had to wait until we were both beyond damned, didn’t you?

You couldn’t have just shrugged the next morning and said, “Look, that was a mistake and here’s why.”

You could’t have said, “Sorry, but no” instead of, “Call you later.”

You had to wait until I trusted you?

I love you so fucking much and I hate you for lying to me but I am so afraid of losing you, and my stupid heart still soars at the sound of your voice.

What have you done?

What have you done?

But the worst part is I can’t blame you.

Because I would have done the same

fucking

thing.

—  Grabbing onto an electric fence with both hands
you, me and the distance

Our relationship does not solely consist
of you and me, for years it has been
you, me and the wretched distance between us,
I’ve grown to love you more
in your absence,
and for no reason at all
I have also grown to hate you,
it’s the fault of distance,
not yours
not mine,
I often want to punch you in the face
declaring MK-style fights
in the wee hours of the night,
I hate you,
and the distance makes me
depraved and pathetic,
commanding you to never speak to me again
in an effort to make you contact me more,
tell me how your day’s been,
because I feel like I no longer know you,
it’s the distance, blame it on him
when I’m a demanding asshole,
a selfish wretch
blame it on him,
not me,
not you.

I’m done romanticizing these miles,
there is no poetry latent in these dire days
the blessed plane rides we cannot afford,
I’m too broke and depleted,
for romance, the distance
has sucked me dry of my wherewithal
but not my love,
and if it ever does,
the blame wouldn’t be
on the distance.

You know, there are things
I want to be able to write. 

Like falling in love.
Like dying and breathing.
Like knowing what it would have been like
if I had never met you.

And how different I would be,
for being okay, for standing upright
as a girl, for knowing how to breathe
without remembering you have tasted me.

And I can’t.

And this is a shitty poem
that is the closest I will ever come
to writing about you.

Because it will never not have happened,
and I will keep on keeping on.

i think one of the most beautiful things in the world is having someone write about you. To impact them in a way that makes them take your essences and put it into stumbling sentences just leaves me at a loss for words. Its beautiful the kind of impression you leave on someone. I want to do that to someone, and i want someone to leave that kind of impression on me. But the problem is, can i ever impact someone in that way?