poems i wrote for the signs (ii)
aries: you were smoking cigarettes on top of his old man’s hill at four o’clock in the morning and / it was almost uncanny how the sky was just like the two of you; / it was dark and / it was quiet and / it was mysterious, and so were you, but / the sky couldn’t talk and it couldn’t feel and / sometimes you wished that you couldn’t either / “i love you,” you told him / “your problem,” he replied
taurus: you’re right here but he’s way over there and / that drives you crazy because sometimes you want to know what his laugh sounds like in person / not over the phone and / you want to know what you look like standing next to him and / you will always wonder if he can kiss your skin the / same way he can kiss your mind / (distance makes the heart grow fonder until the heart just breaks)
gemini: you get nightmares every tuesday about the time he rested his hand on your cheek and really looked at you and / every sunday you’re reminded of how it felt to be / trapped between him and his mangled cotton bed sheets and / mondays are the worst because / you can only think about that saturday when you told him you hated him and / you can still smell the sadness in his eyes / (he was flying, you were crashing) / (this wasn’t the love you thought you wanted)
cancer: you think you’re nothing but a jigsaw puzzle of bones wrapped in someone else’s skin with / a corrupted mind and half a heart but / someday you will meet someone who smells like old books and salt water and / just like the end of a story or the ocean tides / he will teach you what it really means to move somebody / (you won’t know if you’re feeling everything at once or nothing at all but / maybe that’s a good thing)
leo: he never bought you flowers and / he never held the door open and / he only tried to kiss you whenever he had a girlfriend; / you tried so hard to forget about his olive skin and playful eyes but / he still had the nerve to tell you how much he loved you / (do not apologize for missing him; he might have been an asshole but / you still see the good in everybody)
virgo: your twisted heart strings wrap around your chest to leave an unwanted reminder that you love him and / you loved him and / you will love him and / it hurts; / you used to wrap yourself around him every night like / a caterpillar that didn’t want to become a butterfly but / time doesn’t stop for anyone, does it? / (you hit the ground as soon as you left the cocoon) / (how could you fly when your heart is so heavy?)
libra: at seventeen, you should’ve known that / the world isn’t always beautiful and that / life isn’t always lovely and / you should never change the way you are for the sake of a teenage boy but / yesterday he told you that there is something beautiful in death and / you wanted nothing more than to stand on the edge of a cliff and / feel your feet get swept out from underneath you
scorpio: he thinks you’re pretty during the day but / he knows you’re beautiful at night when the only light in the room is / coming from the dreams that are falling quickly from your mouth and / your hands are shaking because they’ve never held his until now; / before you met him, you didn’t think it was okay to like sad things but / he loves how rainy days and sleepless nights make you feel / something worth writing about / (you’re so used to running that you didn’t realize anyone was chasing you)
sagittarius: she doesn’t love him like you do and / you know this because she doesn’t know how he likes his coffee (black) or / what his favorite movie is (hotel rwanda) or / why he’s afraid of airplanes (his sister died on 9/11) / so you tell her; / you tell her that he is an introverted mind with a beautiful soul, / that he has a fragile heart and she cannot fix it no matter how hard she tries; / you do not tell her these things to scare her / you tell her these things because you might not like her but / you love him / (you know how he deserves to be treated)
capricorn: sixty-four days later and you’re still writing love songs on your bedroom wall for / all of the moments that could’ve been / would’ve been / should’ve been, but weren’t; / your head hurts and / you’re tired and / you want to bleach your skin because you can remember every touch he’s ever made on your body (with his hands / with his lips / with his mind); / i know you’re hurting but / bleach your walls instead, darling / (he’s not the only one you’ll write love songs for)
aquarius: “it’s been so long,“ he says, / “come home,” he tells you / “i miss you” / and you get in your car and you drive down the road but / it’s hard to see anything when the world is hidden under a haze of smoke and a string of memories and / you’re lost; / you think home is where the air smells like the ocean and / the sky is as bright as his eyes are when he’s kissing you but / you don’t remember what that feels like anymore / (he never calls again)
pisces: you fell in love with the artist because you both dreamed in shades of green and misty mountain tops and / you liked the way he ran his paintbrush over your hips / your chest / your thighs, blending trails of dark purples and light browns into / small galaxies on your skin; / “purple means royalty,” he tells you, “brown means strength,” / but he uses your tongue as a punching bag whenever his lips are on yours and that’s when you knew / (loving him wasn’t supposed to hurt)
titsay
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
blakekathryn
annaxmalina
areudirty
2087
