[x]

You can't have all of me.I hope you'll understand,

I've parcelled my heart
up in postcards
and back-alley blow jobs
and I might
still want to kiss
other people and
touch other people
and love other people

but I'll never want to
come home to anyone else.

I left my trust in the desert.I still think
you'll leave me
someday.

Damaged goods.Sometimes I tell them that
it's a birth defect,

that when they dragged
me from my mother's womb
they broke me,

that my mother left the hospital
with a cheque in hand to make up for
"the accident," of course.

Sometimes I tell them
that they said,
"she'll live,
but it'll hurt her."

Because I live and
it hurts me and I don't know
how else to say,

"I'm sad all the time
and I can't get out of bed some
days and I've considered that
not living might be
beneficial to my survival,"

and as they try to work
that out I'm heading for the door
with my head down and
my dignity scraping along on
the floor.

Give me all your secrets...Give me all your secrets, that I might turn them into birds.

I want you to tell me
about your childhood bruises,
because darling,

I want to know
what's made you
grow up so heavily.

(So blue and green and
yellowed skin.)

I want you to tell me
about the bags under
your eyes,

how you sat up all night
crying for a boy on the news
you'd never known,
but thought
you could have loved
because his hips
stuck out above his jeans
and that struck a chord
with the gap of your
lips.

I want to know about
how you wrote your own obituary
and sent it to the paper,
just to see how many people
would call and about
how you felt when no-

Things I'll tell you when you're older.The monsters
don't fit under beds
anymore

and neither
do we.

Sensory memoryI wish I had learnt you like a language;

my hands on your skin and my tongue
in your mouth.

I wish that I had taken you apart
and committed you to memory, piece
by bloody, gutted, honest piece.

I wish I had kept my knowledge
of you secret, tucked away
and always there for me to touch
when my stomach drops six feet
with missing you.

Lovers.They swallow
you whole and
then spit you
out in pieces,

teeth and
intestines on
tiled floors,

swearing blind
that this
is how you
love someone.

Honestly dishonest.I'd kissed you seventeen times before they tore me
away from the coffin.

This could be tragically romantic but I'm lying;
I wasn't allowed through the chapel doors.

Not quite a love poem, but close enough.I still think of you sometimes;

ever-present,
ever-here and
ever-gone at the same time.

I see you in colours without names,
with just their codes to keep track of the mottled
blues-greys-greens of the artist's palette and

you're in the cloudless sky on
days when the girl with the freckled
shoulders is too lost in life to dream

(and if you read this you'd sigh,
because you never could convince
me that clouds aren't daydreams aren't
daytears aren't dayfears)

The world is quiet here with you gone,
but you promised you'd be back soon and I'm still waiting.

Anxiety.I had words I wanted
to write, but the shaking
of my hands was so strong
I couldn't remember what it
was that I wanted to say.

A letter I'll never send.The letter I keep writing
to my children.

'My darlings,

I have never told you
that I once lost you to my
own sadness,

that your tiny flailing
fists once made me feel as if
the world was striking out
at me through you.

I used to feed you in
the bath tub, wondering if
perhaps I could let your
weight drag us under.

I still believe that it was
you who kept me afloat.

I keep writing this letter
to keep me calm, to keep me from
hating myself for ever thinking
of you as burdens.

And someday I want to tell you
that I once lost myself to
my own sadness, and that
it was you that kept
me here.'

on being and belonging toi hate that to other people,
there is no
'me'. it is always
'you and z',
it is always 'us',
it is always 'we'.
not to say
that being with someone for so long
doesn't make them a part of you,
(because it does),
but it doesn't make you
the same person.
last time i checked,
i still have a cunt between my legs
& flowers in my hair, though
wilted & bloomed again into
something else entirely.
last time i checked i still sleep alone
most nights, and the earth doesn't crumble
beneath my feet and the sea and the moon
don't sway from their keep if i am seen
without him, and the bones
in my spine and the beat
in my heart do not
dissipate if i seem steady
as a girl belonging to no one
body mind & tongue
of her own.

The world in the palm of a poor child's hand.I held something,
the world perhaps.
I think it is soft and cold,
deceptive.

(Just like you.)

I dropped it from a cliff into
the sea and waited for the splash
to set me free.

I didn't look back,
I just hoped that it would sink and
take you with it.

(But you're painted on my eyelids, and
everytime I blink…)

I was poor,
I could have used it to buy me shelter.
But in my eagerness to be free I decided
to sleep under the stars and rain.

This time ahead of me is wary,
and I must be cautious.

I am unchained.

I conceive something in the mechanised f

Garotted.I grew up with
rosary beads around my throat,
garotted by both my mother's
Faith and His word.

She would say,
'He can save you,
you have only to pray to His
Greatness.'

So I would clasp my
baby-girl fingers and
pray, pray, pray
that the hands under
my bed would leave me
alone when the lights
went out.

They never did,
and I grew out of
hoping.

Crocodile smile, you followed me home.You leant in
and brushed my
neck and I

sighed

because you
felt sincere, and I
capitulated,
just as I feared
I would.

You were average
at best, but
your laugh was
magnetic and
you followed me
home,

three steps ahead
of me and breathing
down my neck
at the same time.

But,
I want more
than the maybe,
maybe-nots
you seem to offer
with each
glistening,
crocodile
smile.

So hand me my
socks from by the bed
and don't forget to
slam the door when I'm
gone.

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Things I'll tell you when you're older (5).You'll cry and that's okay,
you'll be fine.

I promise.

Things I'll tell you when you're older (4).There is never a wrong
time to love someone,

but sometimes there will be
the wrong someone who
will love you the
wrong way.

Flatline."--evere trauma--"

Hushed voices dressed in
white twist somewhere far above my
head and the bed that isn't
mine.

"--blood loss,
we aren't abl--"

My eyes are too heavy,
my tongue too thick.

I want to tell them
that I'm sinking but not
dying, not yet,

"--about her family?"

but the wind comes in through the
window, cracked open whisper-thin,
and pulls my voice away,
away.

"only survivor, she's--"

Beep. Beep.

"--ragedy really, to di--"

Beep.

"--o young--"

Beeeeeeeeeeep.

Summer wine.Red lips;
you sit beside me and
prompt in jest.

I love you.

Desert-boy.Summer heat blisters
my tongue and leaves me parched.

I am dry cracked lips and I am
panting hopelessly for
your approval.

Insomnia.The sleep I'm not sleeping
cornered me behind the garden shed
and split its knuckles
on the sharper edges of my
teeth.

I think it was trying
to kill the restlessness
in me.

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[x]

On wanting to commit suicide, she wrote.

by ~trembling-knees, Nov 26, 2012, 3:12:55 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / Post-Teen (Mature) / Free Verse

_{It feels like
keeping a secret
for a very long
time,

keeping and
keeping and
keeping

until suddenly you
can't speak for fear
of spitting out
the truth.

So it rests bitter
on your tongue,
and heavy on your
teeth.

And you give in
to silence.}

On wanting to commit suicide, she wrote.by ~trembling-knees

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / Post-Teen (Mature) / Free Verse

©2012-2013 ~trembling-knees

-----

*0hgravity Nov 26, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

don't know you that well but I sincerely hope you feel better.

Reply

~trembling-knees Nov 26, 2012 General Artist

Reply

~disrhythmic Nov 26, 2012

I just want you to know I'm here if you need, darling.

You know I love you.

Reply

~trembling-knees Nov 26, 2012 General Artist

Thank you darling, I love you

Reply

~disrhythmic Nov 26, 2012

Reply

~Fires-of-Winter Nov 26, 2012

You okay, Hun?

Reply

~trembling-knees Nov 26, 2012 General Artist

I don't know how to tell anymore.

Reply

~Fires-of-Winter Nov 26, 2012

If you ever need someone to talk to, feel free to send me a message, kay? And don't worry, things can only get better.

Reply

~trembling-knees Nov 26, 2012 General Artist

Thank you so much

Reply

*Hfeather53 Nov 26, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I hope the writing helps <3

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