Muse

Every poem, story, and thought is based on my life. 100% true, and 100% mine. Welcome to my diary.

One day you stopped seeing me,
You’d look passed me and through me and away from me but never at me,
We were always dripping in too much love and it scared you,
I remember the weeks leading up too the goodbye,
I could feel you pulling away slowly,
Every goodnight kiss ending a little quicker,
Every ‘I love you’ felt a little less permanent,
And then you just stopped seeing me all together,
You couldn’t bare to watch me leave so instead you turned away.

Why are boys so mean to me?

You were everything that was good about being a teenager and that means sneaking out at 2 am to be in your arms, and smoking cigarettes on the beach under the stars, and getting too high, and being in love, and making all of the mistakes our parents feared that we would one day make,
You are every memory I have of moving faster than we were suppose to but God they all feel so good,
And yes, maybe I loved you more than I like to admit, but you are the things I loved about being 16 and 17 and 18 and it’s time to leave you behind like the blankets and stuffed animals and Disney movies I loved as a child,
Sometimes it’s okay to let go of what tethers you to an age,
Sometimes you just out grow things,
It’s okay to grow up.

If the boy’s lips taste like poison
kiss them until you feel numb,
Let it sink in until your skin is blue and bruised and kiss him more when they start to fade,
If he smells like cigarettes, ask him for a light, chain smoke on the back porch while the sun is setting
ask him how he got the circle shaped scars on his forearms, maybe he likes pain as much as you do, maybe he was an unruly child,
If he offers you vodka, drink it, get dizzy, tell him you can burp the abc’s, show him all of your chewed up fingernails, you’re a dirty girl after all,
When he asks what color panties you’re wearing, show him, ask him if he likes what he sees, strip without music, wrap your legs around his waist, let him play rough,
Wake up the next morning with a headache, don’t worry if he’s already left, remind yourself that you’re daring and damn beautiful,
wash his smell from your skin,
move on to the next.

understandablyuncertain asked: Your poetry is beautiful and really well written, I just wanted you to know that:*

Aww, thank you so much love!

When his left pocket is filled with anger
and his right pocket is filled with stars,
run, run as fast as you can
Because darling you’ve found a boy who can make the nights beautiful and magical and filled with a vastness that you’ll want to explore
He will be everything you’ve always loved about staying up late and sleeping in the backs of truck beds
But you’ve also grabbed a handful of all his broken pieces which will leave you bleeding and scarred and you will try so hard to fix it but patching up holes in the walls of your apartment
and staying quiet
and letting him hold you too roughly will never be enough to mend all the red in his blood

—Peaceful nights are not a good enough reason to sail through the stormy mornings

You started to learn how to swim when you were three,
YMCA lessons every Saturday morning,
First with hands around your waist,
Taught to kick,
Taught to breathe only when your head is above the water,
Taught to keep moving forward,
The ocean feels natural to you,
But sometimes the water can be too much for even the strongest of swimmers,
Sometimes the pull of the riptides, the height if the waves, the moment of the sea, is all too powerful, and keeping yourself afloat seems impossible.

—Sometimes my anxiety makes me feel like I’m drowning

We are smoking cigars which is an excuse to do anything else with our lips than kiss because we are trying to be just friends and you crack one of your silly jokes the way you do and I start laughing and coughing so hard that my eyes tear up and I look over at you and your big brown eyes and think “fuck this is going to be hard” and you raise your eyebrows like you heard me say it and I turn away because looking at you for two long makes everything hurt but you grab my face and pull me into you and all I can think is “that didn’t last long” and I feel you smile like you’re thinking the same thing

—This is the only thing that ever feels right with you, I don’t think we can just be friends, I’m sorry

I always ask boys what they’re scared of because if they say nothing, I know they are a liar and if they tell me, I know their weaknesses.

I ripped out all the pages in my notebook where your name fit so perfectly in between the lines next to the list of books I’ll never get to read and all of the lines of poetry I wrote when I was too high to stop my hands from shaking without a pen and I’m tearing up all of the love letters that I’ll never show you because they taste too much like defeat and I’ve never been good at being wrong and I’ve never been good at goodbyes but I’m damn good at destroying things that once were beautiful