so i want to publish these poems and books and stuff one day, but i do NOT want my identity to be revealed. these poems will be up for a long time, until theyâre published. I turned off reblogs so i can delete these without any issue of getting found. PLEASE PLEASE do not take screenshots or copy my work, this is simply where i want to get feedback and interact with my friends.
if and when these poems get deleted, itâs because theyâll be printed out somewhere else. please do not try to salvage them or take any recordings. I really donât want my tumblr to get leaked as a professional author :(( thank you smmm
I am in the car, next to a beautiful boy. It is raining and his blood is staining my fatherâs brand new cushioned seats. How will I explain to him the agony I was in to steal and sneak and chase after someone who did not want to be saved? How will I beg that father, please give me grace, for I love and care and am in pain. Over a beautiful boy with an open wound. The only perceivable weight on me is my heart and a head on my shoulder, a wet and limp pile of curls. My freshly painted, manicured nails dig into his scalp like there is anything left of him to hold on to. I want to scream, youâre not dead yet. You can move your hands and can bleed. Bleeding is a sign of life, and if it be the only sign left, I will take it to heart. I bite my tongue and swallow my only words, which would be a pure, pathetic plea to give me your hand and let me have you as you are, empty and hollow and bitter. Let me lap up your bloody lips. It is silent for a minute, the rain persisting and pounding. Iâm pushing down everything I have felt, for there is enough to be said in silence, in a car, with a beautiful boy who does not love me.
my mom says sheâs not a hugger. but when i put my arms around her on a gloomy day or after bad news sheâs the last to let go.
my dad says he doesnât want gifts on his birthday, but i see the way his face light up when i get him a card with a nice message and a box full of chocolate anyway. heâs just a kid inside, still. it makes him giddy.
my brother never says i love you. but when i tell him âi just need to finish the dishes before i vacuum!â he wordlessly goes to vacuum the entire house before i can, and if he sees me struggle with a wrapper or a jar or a bottle he mutters âcâmereâ and opens it for me without even sparing me a glance.
the thing is, people love you quietly, and you love them quietly, and the air is buzzing with tiny but grand gestures & once you look for them, you find them everywhere. i think thatâs really beautiful.
Whenever I miss you a little extra, I like to put my ear up to my pillow. Like you hear the ocean through a seashell, I hear you. I hear a little hum and I can smell your dadâs cologne and I can stretch my fingertips and brush your hair. Youâre at the bottom of the ocean, and I can hear it. Youâre voice bubbles and your eyes twinkle and I keep diving but the water is made of stone. Iâm pushing and forcing and trying to get to you, but Iâve decided drowning gets me no closer. I float.