untitled

I hate everything I’ve ever written

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

I love the way he talks

and the way he talks about rhode island

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

“to be loved is to be known” fuck youuuu

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

I am stuck in the space between the words we don’t say to each other

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

funny how invisible strings can pull you down

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

i typed out your favorite poem

in the format of an email

one year ago, for your birthday.

i can’t listen to that author anymore.

after you hurt me, i remember wondering

if my gift to you would still be

proudly displayed on your shelf.

now, i worry it may still sit there.

i wonder what i wrote

on the back of the picture frame.

i’m glad i can’t remember.

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

words have failed me

for months as i have tried

to rebuiled myself and the blockade

against the the sickness you he instilled.

no, this isn’t for you him. this is for me.

slowly, he has only just begun to fade from my mind.

he no longer lingers hovers over me at all hours;

now, only reduced to darker moments.

he took so much,

but i’m gaining my life back.

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

“dodged the bullet”

no,

you hit me straight on,

and i’ve been bleeding out ever since.

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

i have too long stared at the words of old diary entries

and the cruel riddles of the present that have been left in their wake.

i see it all as an unsolvable puzzle,

rather than the reflection of myself

and my state of mind.

a modern rubik’s,

replacing colored blocks with

knives in my back

and phrases that haunt

and…

maybe, if i twist them just the right way,

all the colors will line up to make sense.

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

the weight of the world

ever so gently floating on the surface

of the water in a clear glass

filled to the brim.

every touch

every wind

everything:

i spill over.

i put that weight there,

i’m convinced.

cursing myself for my absence.

unable to fix the dumpster fires

halfway across the world

in my own head

and right in front of me.

with all this water,

one would think i could do SOMETHING:

just the sight is exhausting,

or so i’m always told,

as if i’m not tired enough.

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

shared the same plans and dreams with both of us… did you get deja vu?

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

“fireworks that went off too soon”

the gunpowder’s all burnt up now

fuck your fourth of july

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

there’s no poetry that can express

what you did to me.

the demon on my shoulder

whispers about how i was never loved,

always lied to,

simply second best.

he strikes me down in my dreams,

so i fear sleep.

he drains my appetite,

this is too much for me to eat.

face-to-face, three days away.

with hateful words still whispered to my brain.

pretty lies and frequent goodbyes…

the devil never tells the truth.

i hate everything i write because it’s filled with so much fucking pain and spite but i don’t know how to heal my wounds.

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

lavender is only you

but it too often fades to midnight blue.

pixelated ginger is a dampened essence

of what i so frequently miss:

sunset curls and ink-splattered cheeks

that shields a poet’s mind.

i reminisce on our pale fingertips;

our touch to transfer feelings

from atom to atom.

grey static feels my ears

as the telephone cracks,

carrying the burden

of an invisible reach.

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

i feel pathetic writing poetry

about someone who can

hardly admit that they

love me.

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

i would rather my hopes

be like the lakes

than the tides

they are rising and falling

dependent

raging

i wish for calm

steady

focused

the uncertainty of the moon

tugs at my waters

shining down in different phases

the sand under my feet retreats

as the water is pulled back to the ocean

sinking me deeper

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

i don’t know what to make

of poems that aren’t addressed to me

i simply stare at words on a screen

and, after a moment, remember to breathe

no perilous storm

i am dead calm

eleventh form

stepping stones

across a steady pond

rocks feel steady feet

that used to leap

i wonder if they’re proud of me

[cherrypickedrhetoric]

i detest looking in the mirror

with no one’s arms around me

or going to sleep

in an empty bed.

i have been loved

and i have been left.

i have been lied to

and the light left my eyes

a little more each time.

i trust, even still.

playing with the matches

that have left burns on my fingertips.

both dousing and tending the flames

with my own memories;

a never-ending cycle

of chasing my tail.

they would never intervene.

only watching from the sidelines,

tossing breadcrumbs

for me to follow

on a wild goose chase.

the smallest reassurance

would help ease

but is hardly heard.