When every inch of my body
my nose slightly dripping
and fingers icicles
that’s when I feel the most alive.
I can feel every part of my flesh
living against this cold
and it feels like the first fight I’ll ever win.
And the air is cold
like the shoulder you gave me
and the sheets that have not had your presence since that day
and it feels clean.
It feels so fucking clean
I’m clean for the first time
and I can’t see the sins on my wrists
and the visible breath i let go of
is all those mistakes that I made
and all those times I wasn’t enough.
I like the cold because I’m aware of every tiny part of me
that still wants to hold on.
i shout over the steamed neck of
my 5th bottle of beer.
“fuck with me”
i dare you.
I chase my beer with spit
choke on my feelings on the way
i’ve got alcohol in my system
but i’m not drunk yet.
just enough poison in the veins
to feel like i’m dying
(although i feel that way sober).
so fuck with me.
I’ve got nothing to lose.
(I found out) I like the boys with the crooked noses and the crooked smiles
(I found out) I like the girls with the curved hips and the curved lips
(I found out) I like the boys with the long hair and the long faces
(I found out) pretty faces and pretty words won’t solve my problems
but (I found out) that i can pretend they will
i write poems about loves i have never had
and boys i have never kissed.
i write poems of places i have never been
and things i will never say.
these poems are easier
because i know how love is supposed to feel
and i’d rather feel that.
As a child i dressed up as Barbie Bride for halloween
put on a big white dress
and a thin white veil
and waited for Ken.
I saw my sister feel trapped
from the moment she said ‘i do’.
I saw my other marry a man that doesn’t deserve her.
And now I think I’ll keep the dress but take off the veil.
I don’t want to marry Ken anymore.
i am not drunk
but everyone else is.
i am not drunk
But i am sad
and they end up the same.
Alcohol may give you beer goggles
but i’ve got denial.
And in the morning
we’ll both wake up
with a headache and a feeling like
we’ve been slowly dying
only i wasn’t drunk.
I am so desperate for inspiration
but i’m hiding in the front seat of the bus
Who can tell the dancer from the dance?
When someone creates
(or is a part of)
we tend to group them with their creation.
The dance and the dancer- the same.
But the same
the same goes for bad things
(or haven’t you noticed people call frankenstein the monster?)
am i separate from my mistakes?
Or have i become the same to you?
Who can tell the mistaken from the the mistake?
Am i different from what i’ve done wrong?
Who can tell the anxious from the anxiety?
(i am not sure who or what i am anymore)
You havent texted me for a whole two weeks
check phone check phone check phone