twc*

you, with your lips tainted
with red smudged
after kissing mouths
of strangers along the streets,
are more than the monsters
and all the chances
you’ve let go.

you, with the taste of alcohol –
three straight shots of tequila,
another four of vodka – lingering
like the scent of a lover
after another night’s fuck,
are not the breakfasts left untouched
nor the cups of coffee thrown in the sink.

you, with tear stained cheeks
and bleeding hands while the sun sets
and a new day hesitates to say hello,
are more than the words they throw
at your body that you have never seen
as beautiful.

you, with poems in between each breath,
are a fighter.
a warrior.
a survivor.
a victor.

you, with this poem at hand,
will carry on until tomorrow,
ready to conquer another land.

To live through you...

I thought
I had a bad dream
one that had my life in question
because I lost you
and I pondered 
I thought about every option
after all 
the only person I wanted was you
I lost myself 
the day I lost you
in order to find myself
I needed you
or so I thought
I had to figure out
how to go on
and then I did
I realized how easy it was
to live through pain
I put it in every song
poem
post
and tweet
I lived
through the absence of you
and I made it work 
for me…

There is nothing rational about the way you make me feel. Is that love? Everything about you, about us, about this, is… Devastating. We are devastating. Maybe we had our chance and we were petrol and matches, maybe. But knowing you are out there still, knowing you, oh, that’s enough to soothe this consuming storm for a while.
—  Text messages that I wish I had sent to you (five)

What sorry beasts we must indeed be, to be dragged to our knees by lust and greed….

Here is love, written on a page. Confined between the lines like a tiger in a cage.
Here is love, drowning in the waves.

I love the sickness, I love the sadness.
I love the taste of sorry.
I learned the words to your favourite song, burned them onto the back of my eyes so I would never get them wrong.
But I didn’t know I could ever feel so low, for so long.
It shouldn’t be so hard to say
I miss you.

Sharing your heart is good for your health.
We count wealth in coins and notes and numbers instead of how many souls connect with our own.
We moan about the weather and worry whether we will ever make it home.
But we are all lonely sailors caught in a storm.
We are all magnificent universes, just waiting to be born.

—  giraffevader - Here is love
Two women, lovers in more ways
than one; strong minds and hearts
like the stars that rose and set
on the days of their births.
On those days,
Gods watched with awe,
crowded around a table to watch their works
unfold before them.
I don’t know if they knew what they’d created -
they probably had no idea
what they’d done. As is the way with the
most beautiful things: we never recognise them at first.
And so years pass.
Two women, like wave and shore meet 
and begin to learn themselves new. 
And how they learned:
it took the sea four years to understand
that you cannot smooth the edges of every stone,
and the land realised that sometimes stability
means the ability to move at will.
It was then that they recognised
their love. How it was rough and yet soft,
stable and yet able to move with the wind,
as graceful and graceless as life itself.  
Two women, like fire
and water forever destined to love
but never hold for too long.
We all struggle inherently 
with what we are, 
with what the stars tell us we are.  
Two women, friends longer than lovers,
lovers now only in the stars.
Two women, twice parted by fate but all I know
is this:
the universe cannot keep apart what is destined,
what has been written since the beginning of time.
—  If It Is Meant, Then It Will Be

for Anonymous
Ordinary

I can’t tell the difference between
Love and hate
When both are powerful enough
To move mountains and destroy cities.
Nothing can make me pay attention
To what I don’t believe in,
To what makes me so sick I can’t breathe.
I keep forgetting what it was like
To be ordinary
In a city of prodigies.
I’m drowning in nostalgia,
Sinking deeper with each breath I take.
I would do anything
To go back
To the way we were.
But that can never happen;
I don’t have a time machine
Or a time turner,
But a girl can dream.

Please please don’t let the poison of the cynic seep into your bloodstream. Don’t let the world make you cruel and unkind. I can see your heart hardening, your love fading, and your eyes sharpening.
You were always the gentle one, the one we looked up to.
You’re supposed to be the best of us, please do not turn into us.
—  RB, please don’t let this happen to you

You’ve got a great valley of sorrow
hidden between your collarbones.
I’ve got two eager hands and a copy of an excavation study
your last lover made when he was away
from you and you were on his mind-
swiveling dust storms of yearning, and lust.

I cut my hands on these razor sharp pages;
every detail from the echo of your laughter
to the soft arches of your feet, he writes
of how every time you made love
something died in him, which you buried
in the graves of your chest.

He explains how the color of your eyes
matches the bedsheets, and the strands of your hair
are knotting themselves into a noose
hanging very close to his head- almost
invitingly so; your lips are sealed with
ache and resin.

You don’t speak any more than you kiss,
and we haven’t kissed since I buried this book
in the bones of your neck; I went on an adventure
in the meadows of your skin, and all I ever found
was silence; you won’t say anything and
I’ll drown in pages.

—  Don’t speak/ Excavation by aye rah
The Middle of Me

she tears right through
me
tears walls apart to the center of my heart
she sings with conviction…
sings with tears and pain
in her soul…
in her eyes
I sail to the middle of
me
strips my spirit down to its core
she is fluid…
she is invincible…
she’s naked emotions
defenseless and stripped down
she stands center stage
she’s raw with her body motions
wearing nothing except fiery passion
she sends me…
sends shivers that run through me
takes me on a journey…
to the center of her heart
I love how her songs transform
me
…transfix me
she leaves me changed…
for good

FollowCB | Copyright 2016

Fact:
Until I was five years old,
my mother’s favourite perfume
was called Pure Poison. 
It came in a red bottle that looked 
like a poppy flower and I wondered 
that if you used too much of it, 
could it kill you.

Fact:
Pure Poison reminds me 
of my father. Reminds me how
I can only remember him being there
when he wasn’t anymrore.
How the scent of my mother’s perfume
was stronger than she was: strong enough 
to drown the stench of the liquor
that saturated our house.
 
Fact:
To this day, when I smell Pure Poison,
either in boutiques or passing people on the street,
I am transported back
to the day she decided
she didn’t want to wear it anymore. 
It smelled too much 
like my father: too much like absence. 


Fact:
On the morning of my advanced mathematics exam, 
I sprayed a cloud of Pure Poison in my bedroom.
Walked into it, arms outstretched,
the teddy bear I’ve had since the day I was born
clasped between my white knuckled fist and
wished for the strength the perfume had bestowed
upon my mother. 
How it made her strong enough 
to do the impossible: to make me, 
to make us. 


Fact:
During that exam, I held onto the bear
and hugged it as if there was cocaine hiding 
in its fur - the scent was all my mother:
all soothe, all calm. 


Fact:
I got a B in that exam
after everyone said that I would fail. 


Fact:
My favourite perfume
is Pure Poison. 
When I wear it, nothing 
can touch me.

— 

Pure Poison

prompt by @yapsalot00 - thank you so much! This was wicked fun to write :D

Keep sending me prompts, people!

Conjunctions

And I’m sorry I keep starting poems
with conjunctions. I know it isn’t 
                                                           proper

but I’m not sure how I’m supposed
to start talking about something new
when there’s a part
of my heart
that’s terrified 
that the old isn’t over. 

And listen. We aren’t the first, and
I’m positive we won’t be the last, but that
doesn’t stop me from being sorry.
I wish it hadn’t ended like this.
With blame and guilt hanging
heavy on my shoulders
like an overgrown and rain drenched fur coat.
I don’t know how you must feel,
but if you’re at least half the human I know you are,
then you will be feeling the same. We will both wear
this garment forever and it will shrink only
as we age and spend more time 
in the sunlight.

And I hope you find a sunny spot.

And please forgive me,
or don’t forgive me,
for saying what you will undoubtedly know
is true. I wasn’t what you wanted.
Because people change and change is
inexorable. You cannot contain it, it’s just 
“something that happens” and that’s something
I heard before but never believed
until now. 

And I wish
it could have played out differently, 
that it could have been easy 
but life doesn’t work like that - we’ve both
played and been played by the game
long enough to know the way it bends the rules.

And I’m sorry.
But please believe me when I say
that every time I told you I loved you,
I was telling you the truth.                                                 

9

get to know me meme: [2/5] Actresses - Crystal Reed 

“I just have to say that Allison– it’s so hard for me to let go of her. And I went into, like, a week of mourning because a part of me left with a part of her. She’ll always be there with me. I’m so proud of her. I don’t think I would have been so upset that she died if she wasn’t so special to me. But she really was. It’s so sad. I don’t know what to say. I definitely feel it too. I feel it.”