505 </3

Maybe it was the superficial love I used to be attracted too. In love with the idea of the person, not the person. In love with the idea of being someone’s, anyone’s number one.

Not to say the boys I have been with aren’t special to me, because they are; they always will be. But, I’ve just never felt the way I do now about anyone. I didn’t know I could.

I never understood what people meant when they talked about being in love with someone. When they said they would want to spend all their time with their partner. When their partner would do something so unattractive and they would still be so in love with that person. I always kind of either thought they were faking it or it was something that grows over a lot time.

I understand now.

If I could, I would give everything to this boy.

All we’ve ever been was close friends, but I don’t mind.

I never wanted to lose him. Just being friends was enough for me.

That’s the worst part of it all; we don’t talk as much anymore.

It hurts the most when I know he can see what I said, but doesn’t respond.

It hurts the most when he made me call him when I got home, so he knew I was safe, won’t respond to a stupid message.

I just want to know he still cares about me.

Even when we live hours apart, I want to know he would still see me if he could.

My go-to response to something like this is usually to get angry and cut him off. T say “he isn’t shit” or “screw him” but, I could never be mad at this boy.

“i’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck”

“505” – The Arctic Monkeys

Photo Credit: pinterest.com
Advertisements

My Little Journal

So many things I can’t say out loud.

So many things I want no one to know, but I want everyone to know at the same time. I want to scream them out into the void and have someone find my words and listen. A complete stranger, one who won’t judge me, though, I wouldn’t really care if they did.

I have so many things I want to write out. Emotions, frustrations… life. But, I can’t formulate the words to say to the people I want to listen, nor can I figure out how to write them on here.

So, I bought a journal. A small, leather journal that I write all my thoughts into.

I tried journaling a number of times in the past, but it only lasted two days maximum. Now, I can’t put my journal down. I write and write, sometimes words of gibberish, but they fill pages of my thoughts, pouring out of the pencil and onto the lined pages.

Now, I make sure to grab my journal and pen every night before I go to bed and I write. I write until my fingers feel numb and the lead wears down.

I guess it feels nice having an outlet to express myself. One that feels like I’m talking to many, when, in reality, I’m the only one who gets to read it. It makes me feel safe and exposed all at once, a type of feeling I never thought would be so rejuvenating.

Photo Credit: Favim.com

Four Letters

Love is just a four letter word thrown around like a feather.

Photo Credit: http://www.flickr.com

I used to throw it around without a care because, to me, it was just a word.  At least, that’s what I told myself.

Then, one day, I fell in love.

It was the strongest emotion I had ever felt.  It was like when you’re a kid and you got to sleepover at your best friend’s house on a school night.  I felt like I was flying.  Nothing could ever break me down.

Then, he ripped me to shreds.  He tore my heart out and stomped on it without ever looking back.

That four letter word lifted me higher than I had ever been.  Then, tore me down faster than I fell for his lies.  It was the strongest emotion I had ever felt.  Then, I felt the aftermath of it: heartbreak.

Now, I wonder how anyone could ever say that word in the first place.

Love is not just a four letter word.

courage

last night, i cried so hard that my ears hurt.

today, i woke up with my throat screaming,

too dry to open my mouth and let air in.

my pillows were still wet,

my eyes still puffy.

when i plopped out of bed,

my knees and shoulders ached

and i buckled under my own weight.

sometimes you wake up with the difficulties of yesterday.

people will spout condolences or positive, affirming quotes,

but no amount of rainbows and hanging cats

could make my heart stop diving down into

the pit of my hollow stomach.

because, it takes a lot,

a whole lot of courage

to leave your hollow space

in the one corner of your bed

when all you want to do

is build a brick wall around it.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

it takes a whole lot of courage

to let prying eyes bore into your soul

wondering what they can do to help.

it’s hard to face yourself in the mirror

and pick out all the things you’d like to change.

it’s hard being blue

in a world of yellows.

and, yet, you get out of bed.

you brush your hair

and you put on makeup.

you put on your brave face,

because staying in bed all day is one way to cope,

but, it takes courage,

not more or less,

just

courage

to live your life.

Born in the Wrong Era

I often wonder if I’ve been born in the wrong era. Minding the politics and controversy in the older years, I fantasize over the fashion, music, and culture.

The clothes in the nineties, with the bright colored windbreakers, mom jeans, and Converse make me so happy.

In the fifties and sixties, the music was roaring, with soft tones and voices being interluded into the songs.

 

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

 

Many people were so much happier in this time and lived their life without restraints. They were carefree, and went with the flow of everyone else.

Nowadays, life is more constricted with people being obsessed with technology and social media, and not finding the fun in life like people used to.

Social media has taken over the world, and don’t get me wrong, I’m still an addict with it , but if it wasn’t in the world, I wouldn’t care. I’d probably be a lot happier.

Though many people tend to argue, times were in some ways simpler in those days, and I wonder if that is why we keep trying to copy it.

My Hypocritical love

I’ve watched you in the sunset

Carefully letting yourself soak in the rain,

via static.tumblr.com

Waiting for the morning to make it all better,

The morning that never came.

 

I’ve watched you tear up

So bitterly, from graceful sadness,

So stabbing and red from crept up anger,

So utterly, from jokes and lies.

 

I’ve watched your eyes go from glowing golden

to stained with red.

All love swept away,

leaving your desperately addictive blood,

for me to seek and find and spit out.

 

“Don’t leave me,” you’ve said too many times,

With trembling hands and pretentious tears.

You’re selfish in the most delicate way, you know,

Agonizing and cool, burning for undivided attention.

 

So I want nothing but to watch you cry and soak,

And I do it too, because I am just like you.

“Don’t leave me,” I exhale towards the plain, shut door,

In sweet despair of your silky soul.

 

three poems (that don’t have anything to do with each other)

Thank you.

A girl, pale and sweet

skipping through the sunset,

via static.tumblr.com

cutting dead roses

to put in her hair.

“Why, child,” says her mother.

“Those are dead!”

The girls nods understandingly.

“Yes momma, you killed them.”

_________________________

200 Glowing Stars

Every night, before I sleep

I lay down

on my bed in my room

in my home, our home.

via biggreen.club

It might not be what it was

before the fire took our flame.

but we have a tapestry,

200 glowing stars (exactly),

CDs and vinyls

and signed posters,

new favorite dresses

and a surprisingly healthy orchid.

It smells like cool air and rosemary,

a little bit like horse.

we have a door and walls

and a window with a view

on the top of a hill

with ruins that won’t be rebuilt.

but we have our room

where I lay at night

covered in a blanket

of our 200 glowing stars.

_____________________

Where were you

where were you when I needed you?

where were you when my house had no walls,

when the sun refused to look me in the eyes

and tell me I was worth shining for.

when claws ripped my pride

like a wet paper bag,

scratching

gnawing

beating up on me

over and

via i.vimeocdn.com

over and

over again.

Where were you then?

I remember your face–

as if it was a bad dream–

behind the mirror watching me

your hideously gorgeous face.

go away.

I don’t need you now

to make up

what you unrestorably took.