Better Off

I fount those pictures you took of me

Early last summer

Hidden under my bed sheet –

I wonder, will anyone see such beauty in me again?

And I hate myself for wasting your love

Time and time again.

 

I hope you’re well,

And I wish I could apologize

For putting you through Hell,

But we both know I’m no good

At saying how I feel

Out loud.

 

Everyone is sick of desperately

Trying to sort me out –

And no one can seem to read me

Quite as well as you.

It’s clear you’ll be better off without me,

But I cant say I’ll ever be okay without you.

text message

Don’t trust

The perfectly spelled  out messages

They send.

They tell you want you want to hear –

You can’t hear the shake of

Their voice

Over text

Or see the sweat

On their palms

Or the tears

In their eyes.

Don’t trust

Anyone who’s ever given you a reason not to

Or failed to give you a reason to.

This world just wants to break you down, baby.

Don’t let it.

That Girl Is A Storm.

That girl is a storm,

Her ribcage rattled by the tempest

inside her.

Visions and daydreams wash over her like

Tidal Waves;

She often talks of the ocean in

her chest,

But rarely does she mention the

Shipwreck.

Her voice echoes like thunder over a

Spacious canyon,

And she is destructive as a great bolt of lightning.

She’ll laugh as you get lost in her

Hurricane eyes

And if you aren’t careful she’ll drown you beneath her

Clouded skies.

Magazine Clippings

Leave school to write poetry

Make friends with empty streets

The only perfume you wear comes from magazines

And try as you might, you can’t figure out what the graffiti means

Fill your veins with coffee

Until you feel real again

Let the cold sink into your skin

Until you can feel again

Bury yourself in books and poetry

Stare down at empty streets

Cover your walls in pages from magazines

And hope you can figure out what all of this means

Before you become just another teenage tragedy

War Machine

Have you ever noticed

How some of the most powerful things,

From great ships to destructive war machines

Are referred to as “she”?

And how women are compared to

Black widows,

Vipers,

And the ever mysterious sirens of mythology?

 

So why has society always told me I must be

contained?

That I must be clever,

But not too clever;

Pretty, but not so pretty

As to intimidate.

 

I’ve spent my life in a box too small for

My being;

My mind opening up and threatening

To spill out of the corners and

Flood my surroundings with

Inappropriate opinions and loud observations.

 

I was told that to be a woman was to be

Weak;

They said I fight like a girl,

And I didn’t understand why that was an insult

When I asked, all they said was

“It just is”.

 

And now, when someone tells me I fight like a girl,

I say “Good, you should too.”

Because a woman is a war machine

And can destroy your fragile ego in a fraction of the time it took

To tear ours down.

 

As Laurel Thatcher Ulrich once said,

“Well behaved women seldom make history.”

So watch in awe as I

Rewrite the rules of this war

And fight it like a girl.

 

 

 

 

Black

What does it mean when

your favorite color isn’t even

A color at all?

But merely –

A lack of everything or

The absence of nothing,

All at once,

Mixed together in a cloud of mystery and uncertainty.

 

My favorite color is the color of

darkness;

The color of your dilated pupils that swim through your ocean blue eyes,

The color of the inside of your mouth as it collides with mine –

The color of the space between our bodies as we lay in my room;

The color of sleeping next to you.

 

My favorite color is the color of

Space;

The infinite vacuum in which my entire existence is based –

The color of the lightyears which separate the stars

And of of selfish, destructive meteors;

The color of creation, destruction, and starting anew.

My favorite color is the color of

Silence;

So quiet that you’re overwhelmed with noise –

The color of the moments between thunder and lightning,

Where everything seems to stop –

The color of the space between every heartbeat or breath within my body.

My favorite color is a contradiction,

A romanticized paradox.

My favorite color is nothing and everything

All at once.

Love

Part of me is forever laughing with the girls in the street,

Big dreams in our minds and gravel under our feet.

Small town blues and water tower love

Will eternally haunt all the streets that we drove.

 

Late nights and early sunsets

Are the times I don’t ever want to forget –

All dressed up with nowhere to go,

Who’d have guessed we’d ever reach this low?

 

We meet outside the school, at half past three –

I smile at you, and you smile at me.

My life is nearly over, but yours is just beginning –

I thought I was losing, but now I can see that I’m winning.

 

And I love this life that we’re living,

And I love this lie that we’re telling;

I love this all so much –

I love you, don’t you know?