Collection of Old Poetry

so easy we thought
to find a weak spot 
how easy we were taught
pouring single words of love would be to 
reinforce an ideology 
that these simple things 
could fix a person

but now i wonder if:

would it be better to rip a chest open and plant a blossoming garden would be better then forcing shut a wound with treads of golden force

.

.

.
Pace, pace, pace

Rhythm of slapping feet

No where, no where

Oh I am just silent outside revenue

Tight throat;

Oh god I’m screaming

Validation, validated.

Please, daffodils, please

.

.

.

Words spoken as if

Vacant lots in a closed 
Down town

Was my manifest destiny

No means of translation 
Or altercations

Clear blue cruising day one

Sinking ships today

Tomorrow to today

“I love you I love you

Don’t forget that I love”

Seems a little bit more like

“I’m scared to let go”

.

.

.
Escaping an unraveling

Knotted tethered noose

Fingers clasped tightly

My grandmothers heart necklace

Throbbing little knots

Rug burn craving

Into weathered palms

Hold on just right.

.

.

.
Pressing my palms together

For a second searching for light

To fill fallen cracks with

Something that could fix it for some time

Waking mid-night to think again

About distant past memories

Tell myself once more

That this person I remember had past

I cover my naked cracks

Daffodils, pansies, and vermillion lilacs

I cover a stone statue 
With appearances of aliveness

A beautiful moment though is

When weeds begin to erode stone

Creating space between something once so cold

And replacing it with something so warm.

.

.

.

Throw me a line

Referring to the right word

Not the best nor

The worse at these things

Over and over

Pacing familiar halls

Opening and shutting

Similar feeling doors

Lock them once ajar

Self promises to

Never revisit this place

.

.

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“Lipstick stained mugs

Breathe tinted with

Smoke and liquor

Sunsets and sunrises

Nothing more and nothing less

All I could ask from you is

Is to pour me a cup and lit the end

And stay for a chat ”

.

.

.

she had been a

forest craved out

set blazing bright

burnt and destroyed 

beauty and glory stolen

till one day

you met her at midnight

so careful to plant a new garden

.

.

.

“One day you’ll realize you can’t keep hating yourself

”
Peeled potatoes skins
”

Sliver slicing throw beige bodies

“You can’t hate yourself forever” 

11 and I have my first drink

A drink to forget turns into

Pills to not feel at 12

At 13, my stomach matches

The void of where a child use to be

And then 15 I fill myself with

Affections and love from forgien men

I am 18 now and I still am trying to

Figure out how to not hate myself

.

.

.

i am not a whole 
nor am i broken

but instead

I am many little people

strewn together

sometimes so tightly 
and in other

loose like lacey fabric 

i do not know how to feel about this

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