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Depression.To be depressed is
to carry every unwashed thing
in your life in your
arms.

The dishes you
couldn't clean pile
up with your innards,
jostling for space
amongst the lungs you've
smoked black and the
heart you've loved
thin.

Your unwashed sheets
hang around your shoulders,
gathering dead skin cells and
catching hair you habitually
tear from your skull, a
nervous twitch you never
quite shook.

You wake up one morning
and find that your hands are
still stained with dirt
from that time you buried
your lover in the backyard,

wanting to let go
but discovering that letting
go feels a lot like
giving up and
you're not rea

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

and neither
do we.

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.'

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.

You spoke synonyms to me."I want to live inside your chest,"
you said, "I want to burn between your legs."

Things I'll tell you when you're older (2).Che sarà, sarà

You will
learn one day as
I did,

what will be, will be.

note to self [narcissist].please dear
don't find yourself so fascinating
you're tripping up on your own inadequacies
as if the world's
never seen them before

please dear
you've really got to stop
this dog-and-pony show
this "welcome-to-my-personal-tragedy"
exhibition

really dear
you've done nothing but make
a damned fool
of yourself.

fast-forward through the goodbyesthis is the beginning of the end
“i know you,” he says.
and he looks defeated, he looks sad, he looks like
he's a boy who may one day realize how much
he cares for you, so you cut him off and say,
“minus all the secrets i don’t tell anyone.”
“well, yeah, minus those.”
“then you don’t know me at all.”

and then you tell him,
i love you. but you don’t use those words
because those are taboo. are jinxed.
are knock on wood three times fast.
instead you press him in a hug and say,
i’m sorry, knowing he won’t understand
that this is the first time you ever cared for some

Love letter to myself.Small handed girl,
you've written the truth
of your scars wherever there's
space to write it

and I love you.

They painted over
the rape you wrote about
on the front door of
your Uncle's house

and I love you.

They took the floorboards
of your bedroom out where you'd
carved the shape of your
father's fist into their
varnished surface

and I love you.

You shook the sand of
your fifteenth birthday out of
your hair and into a jar
you keep under the bed to
remember a girl with crooked
teeth and bony knees who
fled and flew

and I love you.

You've built yourself into a
fortress with nothing but your
fingernails and shredded skin
and you let

A letter to myself.
You're destroying yourself
and I love you.

Your arms are
barbed wire
and I love you.

You pull them
across your
cageribskin
and I love you.

You're a one and twenty year,
eight month old war and
nobody's a winner
because there's only
you in this skin.

I left you alone
but I love you.

I wrote you a poem
and I love you.

I'm full of you
and I love you.

On wanting to commit suicide, she wrote.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.

GreyI like the color grey;
it's not black and it's not white,
but sometimes it's a little blue.

wrists that roarmama says
pull down your sleeves
they'll see, they'll see
but no-one's even looking

i say mama
tigers are proud and strong
and tigers show their stripes
so today i'm a tiger

and who says
i can't be a tiger
when razors made me fierce
and secrets kept me lonely

who says
i can't tiger-roar
when everything unsaid
ripped my throat raw

i made my stripes
with tiger-claws and tiger-teeth
so damned if i'm not a tiger
and damned if i won't roar

mama, i'm a tiger
mama, hear me roar

Of BlissKissing daffodils sway,
serenaded by the waver of
gossamer wings;

faces blushing bright
as the sunlight
slips away.

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

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Laced.Slit-skin glances and
sour tongue words slip straight
into my bloodstream and fester.
And won't you please take back what

you
said.

Absence makes the heart grow heavy.I need to bury my face in
your neck and
my fingers, like strangers,
in your hair.

I need to lay myself flat
against your bones
and be reminded that
I am whole.

Hushed voicesThe whisper of your
spine keeps me up
at night;

sweet nothings in the
sheets and I murmur secrets
into your skin with my
fingertips.

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You can't have all of me.

by ~trembling-knees, Nov 20, 2012, 1:03:41 AM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / Post-Teen (Mature) / Free Verse

_{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.}

304

27 18 1

You can't have all of me.by ~trembling-knees

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And some nights I'll be sleeping next to you but my heart will curled up by her grave, but I'll be with you and that's the part that matters, right?

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Submitted on: November 20, 2012
File Size: 411 bytes

Views: 304
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=Magnepix Apr 4, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Wow. This.. this is really, just. WOW.

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~smilewithlove Jan 23, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

your wonderful work has been featured here [link]

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~trembling-knees Feb 21, 2013 General Artist

And thank you again!

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=Sammur-amat Dec 28, 2012 General Artist

Stunning! Congratulations on the DLD, sweetheart!

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~trembling-knees Dec 28, 2012 General Artist

Thank you darling!

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=Sammur-amat Dec 29, 2012 General Artist

Always

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=DailyLitDeviations Dec 24, 2012

Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DailyLitDeviations in a news article that can be found here [link]
Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by

ing the News Article.

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~trembling-knees Dec 24, 2012 General Artist

Thank you so much!

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!Lacewinged-Beauty Nov 20, 2012 Writer

^{Woah. I like it. The A.C almost feels like part of the piece.}

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*Hfeather53 Nov 20, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This is very sweet. It portrays what you said in that response very well. (=

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