IM UNSTABLE, UNATTAINABLE

I now know what it’s like to bite tongues that aren’t my own
Leaving fresh wounds,
Tasting their blood
Is better than my own
I clung to her clothes yet when she came there’d never be anyone home
I knew what it was like,
Maybe that’s why
I thought I deserved to feel what they did
To feel chased with no intention of slowing down
The feeling of freedom,
While passing my hand through her hair
I was never truly there
But it was nice to feel wanted without wanting
I let him get close, kept him near
In case I stumbled too far I wanted someone to lend an ear
This time it was me who didn’t say hi,
I didn’t say bye either
I just watched as she tried to reach through my barriers
This was something I watched you do and I was envious of the inaccessibility
Now I’m inaccessible
I’m not sure if this is what I wanted
But in the end, it’s better than being forgotten

Beloved Hands Don’t Always Love

i. My mothers hands never had a soft land on the skin across my cheek. Always rough side, knuckle bared swipe leaving me with the realization I could never do right. Could always do better, be better, be nothing like anything. Just say what she thought and do as she does and I could walk away with less bruises this time.

ii. That’s why when his rough hands took fistfuls of hair I grit my teeth, I did not swear. He always said, I could be like her. He wanted me to be like her. Just do as he says, and say what he needs and I would leave with less cuts on my knees.

iii. Yet her.. her hands seemed soft and safe, unlike past skin – against mine did not chafe. Though soft hands proved strong grips, with nails like claws – skin rips. She always said it was my fault. So I do as she says, repeat words that pass her lips in hopes that maybe this time she’ll loosen grips.

I learned to trust no hands, not even my own. As the most damage dealt was done alone.

shitty heartfelt rambles via text 

she had left me with nothing more than a 
t-shirt and shitty heartfelt rambles via text. nothing to remember her by other than the burning taste of whiskey and cigarettes. I switched to the brand she buys so maybe the scent of stale smoke would help it feel like she was still there. the taste is something I can’t stand but it’s no worse than the taste of loneliness she left me with. I can’t stand the smell of whiskey but each drink reminds me of those drunken nights we spent together. always ended up in her bed, but gone before noon. neither of us would say anything as we wouldn’t see each other soon. she got sick of me. she told me she wouldn’t but they always do. empty words spoken through believable lips. each phrase feels like poison in my veins, yet I keep rereading them. for pain is all she left me with, and my lungs can hardly breathe. at least this way I’ll remember her, and have some sort of relief. maybe it was less about love and more about aggression. all I know is this came with no lesson. left with hatred and a hollow heart where her name used to be. now filled with a false sense of security due to my whiskey filled delusions, about how now I’m set free. as hard as I try, no degree of intoxication could convince me that I’m fine.

after all, it was my fault. you were never even mine.

text messages I never sent

why were you so cold today [delete]

how was I so fucking stupid to think this time would be any different [delete]

I hate that you seem so distant, but I’m used to this by now [delete]

you know I put up with it, that’s why you’re doing this to me.. you’ve explained it time and time again, you think I’d get it by now [delete]

you’re the girl all my poems are about [delete]

you already knew that [delete]

you said you’d always be there for me, yet ditched me on my birthday [delete]

why does this hurt so much [delete]

you said you were scared to get close, then why the fuck did you let me [delete]

why do you always build up hope just to rip it away [delete]

I want to message you but I’m tired of no replies and awkward silences [delete]

I hate you [delete]

I hate that I can’t hate you [delete]

I fucking love you [delete]

she had lips of rose petals

She had spoken with silken words, and her tongue could spin thread better than any seamstress. With lips as delicate as rose petals, I watched them… wondering what roses taste like.

Though roses have thorns, and with thread comes needles. It was inevitable that eventually I would draw blood through her hands. It was unexpected that I would impale myself on such beauty, as to where I was afraid that my blood would taint the silk or wilt her roses.

But it was my hands that drew blood, she was never close enough to be near when it drips – you cannot ruin what lays not within your grips.