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I know what I know

I know what I know Once again, someone bleeds brand new. What are you to me? You are what I know, and what I know Is a souvenir of a terribly broken heart.

You called yesterday, It brought me back to when I heard from you I was still winning I loved you like nobody else would I told you so, and never heard from you again.

I lost it so many times, Drinking alone at weekends 'cause all I wanted was you, Spilling my feelings at unanswered voice calls and messages. Not even when things got bad, not when I gave up on dreams older Than when you came in. But that's my prize, my cross to bear after loving you.

Four years is a long time, Did it finally get lonely at Mount View? Are you scared of getting old? Did you marry and get bored? I can only know what I know You are just an old idiot That broke my heart When I was 22 or 23, And I am such a slow forgetter.

I made it out of this love alive, I lost it so many times Licking my wounds from the sidelines Nobody healed me, I did it on my own, I finally got the love I deserve, No one is taking that away from me, I will always put up a fight for life, I am brave, authentic and loyal. I am sorry for the bullet you missed.

I will never answer you again, you never spared me any kindness After I was not the one you wanted. I know what I know And you dreamed of a river of light leading you to me, Lost your appetite, your sleep and, Don't think of anything else but me ever since.

I know what I know I am surprised I wasn't the only one Who bled brand new, After such a long time, That's now your prize.

#original poem #original poetry #original writing #poetry #spilled writing #poem #spilled poetry #spilled poem #spilled feelings #writing #r.s

I love my dad as the man I hear talking

about books, music and philosophy.

I hate my father as the coward who raised me,

getting out of the room every time

my mother started to scream.

I love my dad as the man who taught me,

as my grandfather did, to be curious about the world.

I resent my father for being the man who kept driving

when my mother threw me out of the car.

I resent my father for getting two jobs

to get away from his wife.

I love my dad, I hate my father

do the bills make it easier?

do I own anything?

do I owe them anything for being alive?

The bills, do they come from love or guilt?

I hate my father, he allowed bad things to happen to me.

I love my dad, he is the floor that doesn't let me fall through.

A kid yesterday asked why I was so sad.

I said: I am not.

He said, oh well, it looks like someone did you wrong.

#original poem #original poetry #original writing #poetry #spilled writing #poem #spilled poetry #spilled poem #spilled feelings #writing

I don't remember when it started,

did it ever?

An axiom:

the world exists.

There is me, and the little gravity points

every room I go to, they guide me,

an axis of rotation, don't make a fool of yourself,

the same teacup, the same seat, the same same

it brings me enough stability to know I can stay.

#original poem #original poetry #original writing #poetry #spilled writing #spilled poetry #poem #spilled poem #spilled feelings #writing

Something just happened, and as they said:

I am head over heels.

Meditations in the laundry mat aside,

It’s rainy, and there’s a 24 hours neon sign,

The kaleidoscope droplets there remind me

Of your eyes, always blurry from night shifts.

Suddenly, I am not afraid anymore

Of being too late and having to go home

I am not alone.

Time goes softly by,

In your your arms, in the clouds

Inside everything I love you for.

The building lights are all flickering

I am not afraid, I found a home,

Yèmāozi, hold my hand

Sleep on my chest.

If the world looks for a Sun,

I am the happiest one

Because my world orbits around The Moon,

You are the love of my life,

You are my favorite one.

I love you,

When this world is gone,

I love you.

When everything is done,

I love you.

#original poem #original poetry #original writing #poetry #spilled writing #poem #spilled poetry #spilled poem #spilled feelings #writing #g.m.c

Companion

I was once just a lonely teenager in the waiting room.

And you were a punk rock teen, stealing red hair dye

from your mom.

Some weeks are tough, we have to talk on the phone,

But this is finally real,

You say my thoughts

before I can form the words as if we have

a world of our own inside ourselves.

Then, the weekend is here,

And the love of my life is stretched out in my bed

With the confidence of a cat.

You make my father laugh, you amaze my stepmother,

You made me love myself, my face, body, and soul.

Just like heaven, just like our song,

because we cannot stop kissing, ever.

You are the love of my life,

You are better than a reverie,

You are a beautiful dream that I can reach.

#original poem #original poetry #original writing #poetry #spilled writing #poem #spilled poetry #spilled feelings #spilled poem #writing #gmc

Reverie of people, people, and people.

I am 27, and I still wear braces.

Rolf won’t ever call again.

He doesn’t feel lonely anymore at Mount View

surrounded by his shining few.

It was the last time I loved

as my parents’ poor daughter.

Life goes like a tidal wave

I've finally got it all.

a sine wave

back-and-forth, see you later,

now, later, all-in-between

then, cased in glass, forever goodbye.

The mistakes I made years ago

They come back and haunt me, sometimes.

In and out of love, loneliness, and despair

Time passes, and I am alive,

It is the easiest of times.

All I should know, there’s no way

I could’ve known better.

Nowadays, Frank has an ugly mustache

the kind you only see in rats.

A mama’s boy with no real problem but the ones

He got by himself ‘cause he watched Sid & Nancy once.

Frank only does what’s best for Frank

Unfortunately, I was there for all of it.

Just not to see him nickname his wife

the same as all his past girlfriends.

Sugar leaves, old bushes,

walking down to a bus stop that once

made me cry and wish for a second childhood.

Looking back at the men who gave it to me,

I should’ve stuck to the first one.

Frightened of the world as I once was,

I pretend to wear my favorite daddy’s shirt.

hanging on to it tight while I go to outer space.

It is the easiest of times.

#original poem #original poetry #original writing #poetry #poem #spilled writing #spilled poetry #spilled poem #spilled feelings #writing

Tomorrow, 27.

Birthday lasted a whole week, with glimpses of love, affection, and warmth, never felt so much before.

I haven't been seventeen in a decade, haven't felt like a big, disgusting wound in a long, long time.

The future is scary, and the past is comfortable, It invites me in, sit here, dream about when you loved a Latvian boy, never touched it, but first love never dies, I came to terms with being unusual. I can't stay here forever, though.

Tomorrow came by, Godeč, you look like someone I want to know better, Want to take a walk in the park sometime?

The world crushed me, so many times, Every time I came back alive, wasn't cruelty that got me here, It was love.

I smile, and just before I invite you in, You should know, I don't waste my time on just anybody, I don't change my mind for just anybody, I don't go after just anybody, I won't share my life with just anybody.

My confidence, my backbone, and articulation, comes from the fact that I was loved before, comes that I am loved now, and by seeing it, I see myself with the care they put into me. Then, I see you, And like me, you aren't just anybody.

#original poem #original poetry #original writing #poetry #spilled writing #poem #spilled poetry #spilled poem #spilled feelings #writing #g.c

justagirlluckyme

“used to be one of the rotten ones

and i liked u for that

now ur all gone

got ur makeup on

and ur not coming back”

beautifuiprincessdisorder

aliiaart

oh we must stop meeting like this

cruellesummer

and they nicknamed her "The Bolter"

a requiem to solitude

Sundays are for drinking way too much coffee, savoring my wounds, licking them like a dog lost in self-pity. Why do I never bite back?

This morning, I forgave myself.

For not having the same body I had when we met. Losing myself, being the other woman, and then breaking my own heart, so many times.

For dating that stupid old American I was only nineteen, so wide-eyed Ignoring that anger and entitlement.

I lied so many times, and it's a dangerous game. It comforts me, you never saw the real me. So what's the big fucking deal? I also lied to myself, so we are even As I took all the collateral damage.

Living is dangerous, and coming as who you are Unshamed, it's generous. At what cost? My love, Do me a favour, and just once, Accept me as who I am.

#original poem #original poetry #original writing #poetry #spilled writing #poem #spilled poetry #spilled poem #spilled feelings #writing

Weekly thoughts #1, June: the way we were

Katie Morosky's complex, Did he ever wonder that the places he lives in give everything way too willingly? Did he ever feel guilt when all the good things happen all at once like you are a fallen angel, and life hugs you 'cause this is just the way things are.

I sigh, I don't think so.

Why not even the brightest women can get spared from Eros intolerance? Meanwhile, those creatures are incapable of love outside of peripheral vision.

I wish I didn't believe in fate, I am out of control, hearing your late-night dumplings of supposed taste. Bad blood, said once. A low life path, unspoken but felt.

I should beg, untie me from my bad blood, please, please. I should be ashamed of my circumstances, of being born into a low life.

I am in control, a heartfelt voice that only belongs to me. I am the Universe's best well-kept secret, You have to look twice to get it, and once you do, You won't forget it anytime soon.

I am in control, and I see I was the one who tried to untie you from your bad blood, bitter, low-life, and spiritually demeaning. I was never the one that should have been ashamed.

#original poem #original poetry #original writing #poetry #poem #spilled writing #spilled poetry #spilled poem #spilled feelings #writing #p.a #r.s

Laura's street

May's blizzard, Mother's Day is around the corner, and I am no longer in pink house arrest. Surviving neglect isn't all cracked up to be A survivor that it is.

I used to accept so little 'cause I didn't have much ahead of me, no one taught me how to live, how to take care of myself in the same way I loved the others. I could've drowned, the way life took advantage of it, I should've drowned, instead, I screamed and made sure to hide, and never again to be found.

Today, I took a bus ride, fighting for myself no one can be a victim of circumstances forever. I take myself to all the appointments they never took me, I am not afraid to ask for help, or demand that my needs be satisfied, otherwise, what are you here for?

I take the wrong direction, it always takes me a while to get on the right track.

I am in your neighborhood, and I never meant to but that's Lauras Street? Who is she? That's where you have been hiding since we were 19? She gave you structure, endless green, and architectural love.

The way things were, The way we were raised, The past goes right through me, it allows me to let it go.

I wasted so much time wondering what could have been wrong? Everything that it is. You never were going to be good, or good enough for me.

#p.a

glittergroovy

b2b - charli xcx

weekly thoughts

The day wants to write a poem that won't write itself.

The droplets of tears in my face dry as the autumn breeze grips me by the monster of memory.

What justifies that I don't drive? Shallow, small, meaningless daily burdens flash before my eyes until there's a clear view.

I get to the point. Mother, father, diagnosis, social isolation, rejection, The Danish I opened up myself for, for what? and I turned my back to the world because I couldn't bear to witness when it faded to gray.

Sunday morning, a friend gave me a hand when I was on a tightrope, just like all the children with their parents surrounding us, filling the air with laughter.

Wednesday afternoon, the therapist finally heard the name. I decided I wouldn't call him The Danish anymore, I say as it was, and I keep wondering: I thought he was the one, but why did I keep myself In this situation? Longing for something that was mostly in my head, and such a long time ago.

I could fall in love again, I could get someone all for myself, Why do I keep behaving like this? I cannot stand the thought of being seen like this again. At least, I finally talked about it.

Thursday night at Giba friends picking up cards and laughing so loud about a time I burned someone's couch and an idiot acted like I was too clumsy to stay outside with them.

I am not fully grown up, past the paragon of guilt, I realize with all the kindness in my heart: I should have done worse, I should have lit up the whole couch, and maybe would've cleaned up all those people's bad blood.

As far as these shots go, three do a number on me, just not far enough to get into my head, I learned there's nothing wrong with that, staying inside my head, that it is. And I am always sober when I am alone.

#original poem #original poetry #original writing #poetry #spilled writing #poem #spilled poetry #spilled poem #spilled feelings #writing

Wyatt

William is an Ivan, making himself present through a ghostly absence, hoping I won't have him all figured out.

A fake premise of superficial worry when all he worries about it's about to be forgotten.

I wrote it because all that was said went through my head, and I was gone. I am writing it because I know I will forget about it in no time.

I could have fallen for it, and I should have fallen for it, like a child spiting up the oxygen. Meet this brand-new world you have been welcome to.

When we met, I got this feeling, a kind of feeling I didn't know it was possible at a certain age, yet there we were, rootless with desire pouring into the drought, a spring rain.

Then, abstinence, a paper cut sting, all this confidence and desire going to the sink I called him a coward with a blasé apathy Because I saw a man, once again, for what it is.

trying to turn this into afterglow yoyo, it just doesn't leave my head in disarray, because I got a box full of the toys you try to trick me with.

#original poem #original poetry #original writing #poetry #spilled writing #poem #spilled poetry #spilled poem #spilled feelings #writing

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