|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Starving sleep and apologies.My sleep is starving.
It is shivering sweat like snow
across my shoulders as I sob scream
after scream against your skin;
"sorry, I'm so sorry,
go back to sleep."
I am sad
and struggling to stay
together but you slump
against my sickness
and hold me
Clarity.I woke up this morning
and found that I had known
the word for you all along,
that I had known
your hands searching
for my hands;
they could only ever
have been called
Lucidity.The dreams leave
me with scars I can't see,
bruises that don't show,
wounds that can't heal.
I'm carrying ghosts around
in sentences and sleep.
For the woman shamed.Never let a lover tell
you what to do with your body.
Never let that compliment
dictate how long or short you keep
Never let their words dictate
if you eat, or starve
yourself to death.
Never let a lover tell
you that the patch of hair
between your legs is unattractive,
that your body must be waxed clean
of its natural state,
that your womanhood is too loose,
too tight, too womanly.
Never let a lover tell
you that you are too sexual
for them to please, or
not sexual enough.
Never let a lover tell
you that you could be so much
if you only listened
to their advice.
Never let a lover tell
you that you have let too many
people worship your body
You are beautiful,
you are a woman with a
body that is all her own and
you are not the summation
of the criticisms of the
men and women who have
you are not good enough.
Never let a lover
turn you into a person you
The art of self-destruction.I have spent
my whole life perfecting
how to separate my
insides from the
outsides without a
scar to show.
My arms have been
weapons instead of shields
and I have built no other
walls to defend me.
I grew up in
this house of flesh
and instead of tending
to its needs I have
been letting people
set it on fire instead
of loving me.
Be gentle, love.Be gentle,
my body is too heavy
hollowed out and
filled back up
Be gentle, love.
Be gentle and
let me lay here,
still and silent,
until my emptiness
Six lessons on love.One. Sometimes love will move so slowly
you will stop waiting for its arrival. You will become an
open bar and you will be drained and drained until one
day you open the door to let last night out and love has
left a calling card on the doormat.
Be patient. Let love come to you piece by piece
until you are full to the brim with it.
Two. Some days it will feel
like love has come for you with a wildfire
at its heels. Let it come; you were
meant to burn brighter than any sun or
star we care to name.
Three. Growing back after burning down
is a sign to leave old loves behind. Let them
go kindly. Wrap them up in tissue paper and
ribbon and give them a kiss goodbye. Be gentle but
Do not use maybe. Do not look back.
Four. Love can hurt and you will let it
because you are in love. It will spit venom and
throw fists until you stand up and throw
Be strong, letting love go is not
Five. Love will sometimes be too much.
It will let y
breathing takes a second too longi'm just going to write this all out because if i stop to so much as breathe or count the seconds in my head until i feel like maybe you're a little closer to me then i might just fall apart. i don't have much control over my punctuation or spelling or grammar but i also don't have much control over myself and especially not over you and me together, and it's terrifying but it's all i want.
i want to be able to see you and i want to press myself against you as tightly as i can because there have been way too many miles between us for way too long and all i want is you and when i stand up i want you to still be against me and when i lie down i want you still to surround me and when i walk over to the door to leave because maybe you made me sad or maybe it's just time to go i want to walk out to my doorstep and have you still be encircling me like i am the destination on your map that you've been looking for for so long.
i don't want to be the sore spot between your elbow and forearm fro
on growing upit will happen like this;
one day you will be so tired of yourself and the rolling days and the sleepless nights, and you've never liked coffee before but you'll take it and you'll mix in four sugars and you'll wince with every sip but you'll drink it all. then each step is a little lighter, and the mornings a little less cold and suddenly you'll realise you've forgotten what it felt like to just be awake all by yourself.
and one day you'll cry at school and all the people walking past won't stop and your friends won't have the right words like they used to. you'll sit and you'll shake until your tears have bled you of everything that you've got, and suddenly you'll realise you don't even have the energy to be sad anymore. and you'll go home with tear streaked cheeks and your mother won't ask you what's wrong and you'll go to bed and you'll realise that maybe there's more comfort in darkness and silence than you've ever known before.
it will be the weekend and you'll come home alone an
(on a page torn from the back of my journal)
clogs my arteries.
slice my chest open
and cut my bleeding heart free:
hold it in your hands
for just a second.
i want to know
what it’s like
(on a page torn from my relapse food diary)
i cut you out
it didn’t bleed much
(on the outside).
(on lined paper with a coffee stain)
if you want to know why i stopped:
(on paper with the words carving their own pathways)
my stomach is tearing holes
and i need to tell you,
sometimes you make me believe
every word he said to hurt me.
my head is spinning,
i regret my trust in you.
i always do.
I spend most of the
day tucked like a
my covers –
the world is grey
I am sheltered
with my eyes
is tired like my
and my mind is sluggish
Hunger PainsIt begins with a bang.
I forget to eat for a few months and
I drown in cheap ideas with pretty names,
the ones they fill books and barren wrists
and stormy heads with, and soon,
moonlight shines from inside
my ribs and I am a lighthouse.
Thank you for the things you gave me,
intrinsically, a knowledge of
how to properly wear
myself. Thank you
for not fixing me.
I used to write about the color
of your voice, always blue-- the sky
before I fell asleep and the morning
dragging me back; I wonder
that you could’ve loved me better
if you explained who the
Something was that shared your bed
at night, or why insincere words
were your favorite.
My poems still cling to my skin
even when I sleep. even when
I wake, an anchor. even when
I boil myself alive and unfold
like a pallid lily inside your
and after enough time,
I forget to say goodbye.
I pick the scabs on my hips,
kiss the sorry out of your smile,
and breathe like this air
isn’t already a million years old.
moments of being awakehearing from you
gives me road rash
the kind the drunk man
who touched the shoulders of women
in long, lingering lashes
gets when he's thrown
from the bar
it slaps me in the face
harder than winter wind
after a night spent
alone in a bed
or not alone in a bed
i wonder if you wonder
if i'm sleeping with somebody
if i'm in love and happy
if i'm alone and miserable and
aching for someone like you
because i admit i do-
i spend some time
wondering about you.
scraps and sacramentsyou,
beautiful siren girl with melodies
entangled in her hair: you are
shell-shocked and sea-struck
even though you cannot stand
the sensation of sand beneath
you have fingers for prying, picking,
pulling at your skin and nesting
in that hollow space between
your bones. and if anyone asks,
you will swear there are monsters
sleeping in the concaves of your ribs;
there are ghosts beneath your tongue,
embittered, and you are not the words
they say there is an answer, little girl
(sometimes you begin to believe you are
a scarecrow on the border of reality
begging people to turn the other way;
and the mirror will agree)
how far have you gone? a feather in
the breeze who won’t promise to return
again; there is a wandering warmth in
the hesitation of your harbored fear.
where will you be in six months when
the future has become itself and you
are still astray? little one, no one is like you
in the way you sway to the cadence of a
dissonant night. no one knows your
pre-subliminationa few years back you drowned
yourself nightly, face-down
and bloated, infatuated
with the moon's pearly depressions.
in darkness, I’d remembered you as
the theoretical portrait you used
to define death to different
philosophers. but now, a long
and simple time exceeds your careful
skin, your embryonic forms bruising
beneath quietudes where i had promised
you absolution and developed things,
and you kept still like a planet.
the letters you wrote from loved to lonely
were there when you peeled back my teachings,
because the skin beneath my thoughts
was your one taste of honest stillness
without newspaper words calling themselves
over, heady and apologetic, like lineal
beauties mating with the ambience.
you prophesized your own downfall
and romanticized it, noting only
the longevity of the paper doll people with
champagne sincerities frothing from their lips,
instead of the muffled pulse they carried
in weakness. and when you scar,
not beautifully, you will begin
to honor the treas
Keep in Touch!