i will love you like the sirens are a church choir
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@drunkensunflowers
i will love you like the sirens are a church choir
s a / s h
when i’m sitting so close to you i can feel your breath
i wonder if you know i’m going to replay this moment
in my memories for the next few moons
for the sound of your laugh is a sunday afternoon
your sparkling, devilish eyes make me delirious
the witty, back-and-forth banter exhilarates me
the sultry smile we secretly share is enough
to convince my exalted mind to give it all up
for more of this bittersweet paradise of lust and laughs
where it’s so hard to read your charming words and clever spurs
how could i ever decipher what this energy between us is
(i’m content in my ignorance so long this ends in a kiss)
everyone tells me i’m not allowed to feel anything for you but
don’t they know that telling me i can’t
makes me want to even more
so much so that it (you) (this) consumes my every waking thought
as you; calm and charm, play me like sport
but that’s just it
even if i lose the final score
the game was worth it. and more.
you don’t have to call me tonight
even though it’s 4 am and blue
the night is cold and november
i smoke myself into surrender
you don’t have to call me friday
when the city lights blind girls
in the deaf club of lonely hearts
as i look for love mistakes to start
you don’t have to call me christmas
all mistletoe high and red romantic
dazed in the lights of the tyrant tree
trapped in the mirage of you and me
but you can call me next year in april
you hear the song and can’t not call
you drink too much and i am water
you think of me as you kiss her
call me then
when you realise that i am it:
a firecracker sunrise of pink
the cerulean ocean that sinks
call me when you realise you loved me
call me and let’s talk about today
with voices that betray our age
as i hear regret in your nostalgia
“what ifs” hang like a black dahlia
and when you finally call
i’ll smile a tragic ironic sigh
and perhaps write victoriously
about how you had but lost me.
4:03 am, call me, august 6th
i wonder
if you think about me sometimes
even though you know you shouldn’t
especially because you know you shouldn’t
if you ever look at me and forget
that this isn’t supposed to happen
that you and i is strictly off limits
if you ever smile at me and wish
wish that we weren’t star crossed
scarlet lettered
wish that you could be with me
the way fire burns and people die
these fantasies are wild dreams
crazy and impossible
an imagination gone off the rails
reading too much into smoke trails
but the way you’re looking at me right now
(like i am the only person worth looking at
like i am the most magnetic thing alive)
makes me believe
that maybe i’m not so crazy
and maybe it’s not all in my head
and maybe
you should fuck thinking and wondering and reasoning
and just kiss me.
maybe i should’ve known better
as your black jacket tight lipped
kissed me convinced me i was it
maybe i should’ve seen the signs
for your liquorice laugh and those
kind eyes were in a cloud of smoke
and maybe i was being deluded
when i ignored the crimson lip stains
instead of seeing the red flags
but maybe i was a lost romantic
wasting heart on a cold ghost
because maybe
you should’ve known better
than to play with a girl looking
for something to believe in
“losing my religion”
my sadness simmers below the surface
of a gleaming face in worn places
i choke
barely holding it together at dinner
spilling all over at drinks
self-destructive at dance
this is lonely /
and i feel lost /
in a palace of self-loathing /
“help”
i write on the shower wall
it has faded as i put on my brace.
it has faded as i put on my face.
friday, 2 am, 27th july 2019. sad!.
i write about other people now
i write about summer and sun and sex
about flings and fun and forgetting you
but sometimes
a friend of a friend will mention you
in casual conversation like it means nothing
and if it happens to be a day my heart bleeds,
the air is knocked out of my chest
and suddenly i remember everything
then, i write about you
and all the other people i wrote about
are cold, dusty prose
you, on the other hand,
are an epic, a tragedy, a sonnet and an elegy
today was a day my heart bled
and i saw an old photograph
so here we are.
but i’d like you to know
that i write about other people now
(mostly)
condemn me;
pink skies
first kisses
slow dances
lost romances
are all the objects of my art
critics called it ‘tired’
and ‘uninspired’
as are
the smell after rainy dusks
the way you hold my hand
and the sound of mum’s laugh
but forgive me;
these subjects are common
because they are felt
sometimes
i do drown in lonely
midnights do feel magic
and poetry does exalt
art unfiltered
less unique
more unifying
join me;
the yellow swing set smells like picnics and time passed
a map
a key
the most important moments of my life happened here
as i walk through the foliage
a secret
a song
the childhood haze has met the teenage debauchery
as i climb the jungle gym
a dance
a kiss
years from now the archaeologists will uncover
the grass our bare feet danced to
in the music of the falling rain
they will find
the bottles we thought our parents didn’t know about
wedged between the sunset and the unused cigarette
that you lit on the wrong end
each cough like a commitment to childhood
and an assertion of independence
2:30 am and we had our first date here
a firecracker paradise of easy laughter
drunken conversations under the banyan tree
about college and everything we wanted to be
the time we bitched one friend forgot to bring the wine
the same time my mother woke up at 3 am looking for me
the time we thanked that one friend for forgetting to bring the wine
pre game in the basketball court
our hearts dribbled by boys who were used to playing
post party sober up our legs dangling into the pool
every boy i brought here i thought was the one
but every friend i brought here reminded me he wasn’t
as we laughed our breakups away
flying
sliding
as i walk through my building garden
in a stupor of nostalgia
i see the little children draw dragons and dreams
on the ground with sidewalk chalk
and i see the memories i’ve carved out
with lipstick and glitter
on the trees i tried to climb
and the trees i found love under
i draw stories of reckless youth
no regrets can find me
this garden has seen me make mistakes and smile
smile smile smile
i’ve never been happier than in this
childhood haze of teenage debauchery
the yellow swing set smells like picnics and time passed
and for a moment i close my eyes and hope
at least in our memories, we last.
“gardens”
can you see it?
can you feel it?
this? this? this?
the songs we know by heart know us back
they thunder through the night in your dad’s new car
with the scent of drive-thru fries hanging fresh
and as we laugh about love and light and lana del rey
you speed like we’re missing our redeye to nowhere
sitting there in that stolen perfect moment i swear
i felt god in that diner and its midnight scrambled eggs
with our glazed eyes and gentle smiles do you know
you looked at me and said that you were happy
and then spilled your coke float all over my pyjamas
the rain was falling
our hair was flying
i could see it
i could feel it
this
this
this.
midnight drives. thursday, 13thjune, 3:05 am.
we sit in silence
years of knowing each other and not knowing each other fill the pages of this bildungs roman
the air feels warm as we smoke sunsets in your wooden balcony
my lips are still sticky from mangoes at your grandmother’s house
where we spilt filter coffee over cards and casual affections
and i think to myself
drunk on your parent’s rum and old photographs
that you are my version of a memory:
a coming of age story written in the language of
missed calls and words unsaid
(or) faith and room to grow
the comfort i find in you is
unwavering
across continents
you knew me at my cotton candy cute
and at my drugged destructive despair
here, we have
unshakeable honesty
silent love
i have known many evolutions of you
we have grown up watching us become ourselves
i can not wait to see the people we become
( on love, maturity, and long distance best friends )
i am bursting with the love i have not yet given
i leave it
in hotel rooms i wish were homes
i look for it
in every smile laugh kiss shared between friends
i create it
in places it does not exist
my love has not found refuge in this cold
it searches and romanticises and dreams
and i can’t do this anymore
i call my wandering nomadic love a fear of commitment
and maybe that is what it is
but maybe the shiny flings and friends with benefits
are what i’ve told myself is what i want
too afraid to consider what i need
and maybe this wandering nomadic love
is a wasted vulnerability that falls on deaf ears
of boys who do not want it
the love i have to give overpowers me
so it must overpower those who do not want it
so i hold my love
lonely
cold
i cradle it in my arms
kiss it goodnight
and try to give some of it to myself
but i don’t want it either (self-loathing is unpoetic)
(but so is being unlovable)
he asks me if i smoke
i pause; study his sunken skin and
try to determine which version of myself
i will be tonight
the shallowness in his eyes tells me
that he is not “trying to get to know me”:
he has already created me in his mind
and with each word i piece together
the manic pixie dream girl that
he so desperately needs me to be
sifting through the personalities like a closet
picking the one most suited to the occasion
a liquid taking the shape of any vessel it’s in
lately
the fabrication is almost instinctive and
i commit so earnestly to character that
somewhere in the act i lose myself
(whoever that is) (?)
it is 2016 and i own all of myself.
i am wrapped in a warmth of ignorance and naiveté
it is 2017 and i kiss the boy i love for the first and last time
i kiss him and i give him a piece of this heart of mine
between lips i name him first boyfriend
he breaks my heart before i can blink
and as i detangle my body from his mess i realise
a part of me died in the labyrinth of loving him
it is still 2017 and i am a girl scorned
i try to kiss away the memory of first boyfriend
i throw a party and invite every boy he hates
i make myself the party favour
it is 2018 and a drunken daze disguised as consent took something from me.
the night is a haze of hands and hurt,
and suddenly, these days, i blame things on myself
the boys that promise to be different aren’t
and i feel…up for grabs?
my body feels foreign and cold, i hate it and it hates me back
the mouths i explore all still reek of first boyfriend
and my self-worth resides in the untrustworthy hands of boys
who treat me like i treat myself
and piece by piece i have become a dandelion
a wisp of a girl who never quite became woman
there is nothing home about my own body
so full of smoke and drink you’d think i was trying to destroy it
it is still 2018 and i make my body a self-destruct button
last night i pushed his hand away
i said no and i meant it
it is 2019 and watch:
i am taking my body back.
i don’t like making you feel important
so sometimes i pretend that this has
nothing to do with you
but i’m wary of “working late”s and missed calls
and it’s harder to lie to yourself after four drinks and a stranger
trust issues
And maybe it’s because it felt like one of those nights – the kind you always remembered, the one you told your mom about, the one that felt like they were a beginning. Serendipitous. Kismet. When smiles sloped into shoulder touches on accident, and laughs fell like showers of blessings. From the first moment that I saw you walk towards me with that effortless confidence of yours it felt like you would come to mean something. And hey, of course I didn’t think it was love at first sight – maybe lust – but there was still a certain kindness in your eyes that drew me even more than my (almost overpowering) physical attraction to you. The night we met was a montage from a movie, a sonnet scribbled on skin, and a dream in a daze of destiny. It felt like it mattered. Even as I lived it, each giggle and side glance peeled back layers of my wariness and jaded cynicism. There was something in the air that tasted…different. Spring, after months of cold. And the way you looked at me, god, I swear, you looked at me like I was more than a girl in a dress on a blind date. You looked at me like I would matter to you. The first night people meet they have to break the ice at first but like I said, with you, it was instant spring. I’m not one to usually believe in the universe and signs and fate but that night I really did. I floated back home on a high, enchanted to meet you. And maybe that’s why the hurt cut so deep, and why I felt so blindsided, so stupid – because to me it truly felt like one of those nights. The kind that mattered.
meet cute with a ghost
when you look at her
does your throat constrict
do you feel stupid and sick
do you reduce to just panic
when you talk to her
is every second syllable a struggle against confession
is each breath you take a balancing act of betrayal
is your laugh an instinctive defence of repression
when she smiles at you
can you remember the way we held each other
can you feel my delicate warmth still close
can you see in her lips our time together
because i still wake from nightmares
where her best friend bracelet bleeds me dry
for somehow the disloyal secret is spilt
drowning me in my palace of lies
how long will we keep playing this game
of charades and hide and seek all in one
where the dream of winning is sinning
but the price of losing is friendship undone
“how are you dealing with this unforgettable guilt?”