The ashes are piling up,
I used to say I didn’t litter,
Now my butts line the blocks i frequent
Guiding me on the same path I choose day in and day out
We’re all doctors here
I’m no better
Self diagnosis:
You’ve got direction OCD
Obsessed with the order in which you step
Carefully placing yourself back into the footprints you set in concrete from the day you arrive anywhere.
You claim change, but you are no different than yesterday
Stuck in your ways,
In your cozy little rut,
Claiming that you’re hunting down true freedom,
While being a slave to daily whatevers and on and ons.
All this damned smoke is blocking my view.
However, I can still clearly see the coffee rings
Stained on my clothes and around my mouth,
“Why don’t you save some fucking money by cleaning up your act?”
Wipe your fingerprints off the lives you think you touched
And be done with it.
How many unfulfilled, self proclaimed prophecies settle in the nook of your mind a day?
I’ve never been a clean person.
The only thing I can organize is an essay
And I half-ass that, too.
I wish I could give someone advice I actually follow,
But I’m too busy inhaling man made things
Hoping to be as good as a man someday;
Working, running, and being strong enough to do a woman’s job anyway.
Lifting heavy spirits that aren’t even mine,
What’s a man going to do with that anyway?
I’m flirting with the way caffeine makes my hands tremble with anxiety.
I take it unsweetened to prove a point.
I’m strong enough to drown in the darkness
While being covered in ashes
And they are starting to taste good— that’s what scares me.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
2/10/12 #2
I want you to know that you’re a coward for fucking me like it was revenge…
Pretending that you were a man on top of me
Knowing you were continuing the curse of lies about love for lust
That you so purposely fulfilled and now extended into the after life of us.
See, we died a long time ago,
But we had a lot of scares that ended with us in an emergency room of make up fucking that I called making love because it seemed to stitch up our leaking relationship, like a wound
That would never heal because you kept ripping my heart apart over and over again.
The time we actually lost our pulse, I started heading toward the light to let go,
Fed up, without grieving, and unwilling to fight
While you kept crying and fighting because you could kill, but you were afraid of being murdered,
As I slept calm, ignoring you, and occasionally screaming for you to let it go.
You once said something I should have engraved in my head for the the future,
“I just don’t want to feel this way anymore. When will things switch back to the way they were.”
And you meant with me crying, with me being the one dying, with me feeling like the smallest person in the world.
You see, I should have remembered that, but when we reminisce we never remember the bad or the red flags or the moment we realized we didn’t want what we had anymore.
I want you to know that you are a coward for fucking me like it was revenge.
For grabbing me by the neck, ass, back, and slapping me the way you know I like
For remembering the rough things I would ask you to do to me
And the rough things you liked that you introduced to me that I loved
And fucking me that way.
For forgetting to slip kisses into the moments of ecstasy I expressed thoroughly
And for forgetting that “I love you”s were what made me really drip down into the depths of the oceans we used to create on a bed we called our own before you soiled it with other female’s drops of momentary lust.
For forgetting to hold me in a real way when we were done and instead for washing off the moments that had just happened that were still clinging to your skin
And also itching me in your bed as I waited.
For really not forgetting anything at all because it was all a part of your plan—
Making sure to see the reciprocal of where we last left off before you dropped the defibrillator and gave up.
I was still alive, but barely, and you were too exhausted, too stubborn
Like three times, weeks, was enough effort to bring something so violently murdered for three years back from the dead.
I was supposed to magically heal and make you my king again like a miracle of the gods.
There were no gods on our side when we died because we mutually believed in nothing.
I just want you to know that you are a coward for fucking me like it was revenge.
Like your small amount of heartbreak was worth murdering for.
If that’s the case, I owe you death in any life you are reincarnated.
Just know that you won’t be a king in any other because traitors can never be kings and, though malevolence is sometimes used to describe a king, you’re more like a bad omen.
You killed my spirit again, but this time didn’t hurt that bad because I expected it, but didn’t see it coming as you stabbed me in the back before my head hit the pillow.
By the time your hands were between my thighs you had already dragged the knife down and ripped out my spine.
Paralyzed by old feelings I just let it happen— twice.
You already knew you couldn’t feel the emotions lined on my lips when you didn’t touch them,
But I already hurt you,
And I deserved it right?
You handed me my spine and wrapped my unmoving fingers around it
Completing the finishing touches to your masterfully planned murder and then you left.
Real serial killers don’t act out of revenge, cowards do.
Pretending that you were a man on top of me
Knowing you were continuing the curse of lies about love for lust
That you so purposely fulfilled and now extended into the after life of us.
See, we died a long time ago,
But we had a lot of scares that ended with us in an emergency room of make up fucking that I called making love because it seemed to stitch up our leaking relationship, like a wound
That would never heal because you kept ripping my heart apart over and over again.
The time we actually lost our pulse, I started heading toward the light to let go,
Fed up, without grieving, and unwilling to fight
While you kept crying and fighting because you could kill, but you were afraid of being murdered,
As I slept calm, ignoring you, and occasionally screaming for you to let it go.
You once said something I should have engraved in my head for the the future,
“I just don’t want to feel this way anymore. When will things switch back to the way they were.”
And you meant with me crying, with me being the one dying, with me feeling like the smallest person in the world.
You see, I should have remembered that, but when we reminisce we never remember the bad or the red flags or the moment we realized we didn’t want what we had anymore.
I want you to know that you are a coward for fucking me like it was revenge.
For grabbing me by the neck, ass, back, and slapping me the way you know I like
For remembering the rough things I would ask you to do to me
And the rough things you liked that you introduced to me that I loved
And fucking me that way.
For forgetting to slip kisses into the moments of ecstasy I expressed thoroughly
And for forgetting that “I love you”s were what made me really drip down into the depths of the oceans we used to create on a bed we called our own before you soiled it with other female’s drops of momentary lust.
For forgetting to hold me in a real way when we were done and instead for washing off the moments that had just happened that were still clinging to your skin
And also itching me in your bed as I waited.
For really not forgetting anything at all because it was all a part of your plan—
Making sure to see the reciprocal of where we last left off before you dropped the defibrillator and gave up.
I was still alive, but barely, and you were too exhausted, too stubborn
Like three times, weeks, was enough effort to bring something so violently murdered for three years back from the dead.
I was supposed to magically heal and make you my king again like a miracle of the gods.
There were no gods on our side when we died because we mutually believed in nothing.
I just want you to know that you are a coward for fucking me like it was revenge.
Like your small amount of heartbreak was worth murdering for.
If that’s the case, I owe you death in any life you are reincarnated.
Just know that you won’t be a king in any other because traitors can never be kings and, though malevolence is sometimes used to describe a king, you’re more like a bad omen.
You killed my spirit again, but this time didn’t hurt that bad because I expected it, but didn’t see it coming as you stabbed me in the back before my head hit the pillow.
By the time your hands were between my thighs you had already dragged the knife down and ripped out my spine.
Paralyzed by old feelings I just let it happen— twice.
You already knew you couldn’t feel the emotions lined on my lips when you didn’t touch them,
But I already hurt you,
And I deserved it right?
You handed me my spine and wrapped my unmoving fingers around it
Completing the finishing touches to your masterfully planned murder and then you left.
Real serial killers don’t act out of revenge, cowards do.
2/10/12
“You can tell a lot about a person by the way they like their coffee.”
I like mine unsweetened and black.
So, that makes me think of you and your blank stare when I made jokes you didn’t want to understand.
Occasionally, I take mine sweetened by hazelnut and light by soy
And this reminds me of you, too.
The way once in a while I’d say something right and you might actually crack a smile
And it felt like a reward
That would make my whole day,
But someone or something always ruins my hazelnut caffeine high
And that also, reminds me of you
Because we didn’t have a day of rest
And you had a lust problem.
I have a hard time swallowing coffee because I never liked the taste,
I’m just addicted to that feeling it gives me and it seems to give me a purpose to be awake
And that reminds me of the way I never liked you, but I was addicted to the pain you caused me because it gave me a purpose to be alive. I would have settled for any emotion
(ironically, you killed me, my soul, as addictions do).
When I don’t have my coffee I’m cranky because of my caffeine deprivation
And it reminds me of all the days you denied me of love or even acknowledgement
And how in nearly three years I could never go more than a couple days without you— and I never had to.
And sometimes I’m reminded of you because I catch you swimming in my coffee
Saying things I used to like
And smiling with your smile that I once didn’t admire, but grew to love
And then I remember that I’m not that person that liked those things that you said with your smile that I loved that I no longer do.
Finally, the only appealing thing about my coffee is its deep brown hue like your uneven skin.
I can remember tasting the darker portion of your birthmarks,
Finding a bit of sweet in everything that was bitter about you.
I find it funny that I can find my deepest memories of you in a single cup.
I like mine unsweetened and black.
So, that makes me think of you and your blank stare when I made jokes you didn’t want to understand.
Occasionally, I take mine sweetened by hazelnut and light by soy
And this reminds me of you, too.
The way once in a while I’d say something right and you might actually crack a smile
And it felt like a reward
That would make my whole day,
But someone or something always ruins my hazelnut caffeine high
And that also, reminds me of you
Because we didn’t have a day of rest
And you had a lust problem.
I have a hard time swallowing coffee because I never liked the taste,
I’m just addicted to that feeling it gives me and it seems to give me a purpose to be awake
And that reminds me of the way I never liked you, but I was addicted to the pain you caused me because it gave me a purpose to be alive. I would have settled for any emotion
(ironically, you killed me, my soul, as addictions do).
When I don’t have my coffee I’m cranky because of my caffeine deprivation
And it reminds me of all the days you denied me of love or even acknowledgement
And how in nearly three years I could never go more than a couple days without you— and I never had to.
And sometimes I’m reminded of you because I catch you swimming in my coffee
Saying things I used to like
And smiling with your smile that I once didn’t admire, but grew to love
And then I remember that I’m not that person that liked those things that you said with your smile that I loved that I no longer do.
Finally, the only appealing thing about my coffee is its deep brown hue like your uneven skin.
I can remember tasting the darker portion of your birthmarks,
Finding a bit of sweet in everything that was bitter about you.
I find it funny that I can find my deepest memories of you in a single cup.
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