poem 88

I wish you can see yourself the way I see you.
I wish you wouldn’t beat up yourself so much every night for every bad decision you’ve made.
I hope you don’t lay awake thinking I’m going to leave because of that. I’m here. I’m always here.
You’re my bad decision , and I’ve tasted what it feels like to do the wrong thing and now I can’t go back.
You stay up questioning your sanity and I’m here to tell you we can be both insanely intolerable together.
You’re the first drug I’ve tasted, you’re the guilty pleasure I’m supposed to quit, but I’m terrible at quitting things.
—  maa-88 

Poetry 88

Rain poured
Thunder roared
Lighting snapped up above you
There was nothing I could do to stop it
The streets were wet
Caused you to wreck
I became a sunken mess
Depressed beyond my limits
God really put me to the test
Do I fail for still missing you?
Do I fail because I still love you?
I don’t know what to do anymore
I want god to give you back
My chest is so sore
Your name still brings a smile to my face
But sadness to my heart
It’s like I want to rejoice for you
But at the same time it rips me apart
If I could talk to you again,
I don’t know where I’d begin
But this isn’t a poem about beginnings
Regrettably, It’s a poem about the end

haunted. my skin is like a house with walls that crawl with uneasy ghosts – your touch still lives with me, slithering into the spaces between my fingers where your hands used to be. i never knew something that wasn’t there could hurt so badly.

raking over old coals only brings more heat to the surface, more burning under the scars i thought had healed. i claw at them to stop the madness, but they only gape wider. and still, they burn.

in the rain, they ache like my bones are cracking apart in my body. the chill you left with your wintery goodbye seeps through to the core, leaving me almost numb. almost.

it’s like a part of me is gone but still there. i can feel your fingers and smell your cologne, and it’s like you never left, except when i reach for you, you’re not there. a faint swirl of smoke, the echo of your smile, and nothing more.

some things never rest peacefully.

—  phantom pains / abby, day 88

I used to always wonder if I 
was the root of every causality, if I was the perpetrator of anger, of sorrow, of hatred. 
I used to believe that correlation and coincidence equaled 
causation, that a knife through the lung 
meant I deserved it. 

But I met you, and I realized that 
sometimes people don’t need a reason to 
drive a stake through your heart, sometimes they don't 
need a reason to push you off 
the cliff. 

Bullies aren’t bullies because they had 
awful childhoods and low 
self esteem issues. 
Bullies exist because sometimes, 
people are mean. 

People try to hurt you in the worst way possible, 
make you feel like shit because you care 
so much,
so so much,
but they could give a stranger more 
kindness than they gave you.

Sometimes there’s just not a reason, 
no matter how hard you look.

The opposite of love isn’t hatred. 
It’s indifference.

—  Poem #11 // E.Z. (365 Poems for 365 Days)

Poem Eighty-Eight | After one brief night…

難波江の Naniwa-e no
芦のかりねの Ashi no karine no
一夜ゆへ Hitoyo yue

身をつくしてや Mi wo tsukushite ya
恋わたるべき Koi wataru beki