mara

writing shitty poetry while under the influence is my favorite hobby

[lightlylight]

it has to be right, it has to be correct, it has to fit with your precious idea of what life should be. you are neatly picking out the pictures you can salvage from the mess that is living. building an illusion, choking on its reality. control is a hand around your throat.  you sit there and everything that could have been rots beside you.

[lightlylight]

The room spins as you carry me back to bed. I cling to your warmth, burying my face in your chest wishing we could stay like this. Wishing you did not have to burn me. I know you know I am scared, can't you hold me a second longer? I shiver as your fingers carefully trail down my body, careful not to cross a line, careful not to make it evident you are already on the other side. How limp does my body have to be for it to be more like a corpse, less like a woman? I curl up and sob when the room turns cold. 

[lightlylight]

“i find you in the sun glittering across the surface of the ocean, in the rustling of leaves caught by the wind, in the cold water forming pearls on my skin, i have spent this summer finding you in all my favorite things and choking back i love you’s when i do, i wonder if there ever really was a time i did not know you”

[lightlylight]

When I was little I was always too loud, too much or too weird. I wanted to make friends but the only thing I could make was fault lines around myself, scaring anyone from moving too close. I have never been further from the world than I was at 12. Sometimes they would engage, you know? It was funny,  observing the weird kid like a science experiment. I never liked to be poked and prodded on but what could I do but let them? I have never been closer to warmth than I was on the icy metal table. So I would be their little project. I wanted to call them friends, I knew they were not.  This was repeated all through my teenage years. Find the scientists, become the experiment. I started filling my boots, I excelled at my role and I made friends that never stayed long enough to hear the end of my jokes. Maybe that is all you get, sometimes I find myself wanting more.

[lightlylight]

In my grief I find myself wishing I was able to reach down into the well of all the days gone by line them up and pick out the best  I wish I was not so sad  a murky blue clouding up the waters and the memories within it I ache in all the corners of what I cannot remember and longing for a time forgotten spills out like sludge

[lightlylight]

I wanted to be the sun for you, once. I wanted to watch your flowers bloom through my bones and crack ribs on their way. Making homes out of hollow ends. I was the sun until the roses drew blood, and the weeds grew roots. I have never seen a garden more beautiful in its destruction, and I will never regret turning away.

[lightlylight]

Maybe your eyes are just another plain shade of brown, but I would not hesitate to sink into the depths of honey and gold. Drowning in the sea of your soul would be a sweetness clinging to my lips, unfolding on my tongue. A death I would not resist. Tell me darling, do you cry liquid gold? Do you know your eyes hold the spark of a thousand dying stars? Under your gaze I come undone like the universe curling in on itself only to be made again.

[lightlylight]

Why have we given up on each other so easily like we were starving for a chance to end things without having to put blame on ourselves, find the perfect setting, distance apparently  is what does it for us why are you so scared that, when the cold creeps in, you might not want to feel my skin  under your skin anymore, was there ever a time when love by itself was enough?

[lightlylight]

I love sour candy and loving people more than they deserve. I love looking into your brown eyes and seeing nothing but hunger for my body. I love the color purple and handing over parts of myself like it is a good bargain. Most of all, I love the way you love watching me go up in smoke and sink into your lungs.  The way I cling to your shedding skin, expecting to stick. What is love if not just another form of disappearance?

[lightlylight]

There is a fine line between freedom and permission.  The former is necessary. The latter is dangerous. While freedom gives rise to growth and enlightenment,  permission allows evil to flourish in a light of day that would otherwise destroy it. A self-important dictator gives permission for his subjects to blame the world’s ills on those least able to defend themselves.  A haughty queen gives permission to slaughter in the name of God.  An arrogant head of state gives permission to all nature of hate as long as it feeds his ambition.  And the unfortunate truth is,  people devour it.  Society gorges itself, and rots.  Permission is the bloated corpse of freedom.

Thunderhead - Shusterman, Neil

[lightlylight]

there is a chance her name floats around the deepest parts of your brain when you kiss me do you see her in me? we don’t look anything alike and I am losing I am losing something inside me please tell me I should not stay there is nothing I want more than to leave

[lightlylight]

when anger spills out of me like fireworks set aflame by an accidental spark it leaves no room for escape  leaves no room for warnings sometimes i do not wish to stop most of the time i am not sorry before the smoke has settled into the debris and all the blood has turned brown maybe I am not sorry at all

[lightlylight]

dig out the rotten parts of me i am still festering what are you hoping to find? spilling bile out on the floor i am not god nor am i your redemption you will find no home in me and i refuse to make myself a home for you.

[feral-ballad]

“Some of us love badly. Sometimes the love is the type of love that implodes. Folds in on itself. Eats its insides. Turns wine to poison. Behaves poorly in restaurants. Drinks. Kisses other people. Comes back to your bed at four a.m. smelling like everything outside. Asks about your ex. Is jealous of your ex. Thinks everyone a rival. Some of us love others badly, love ourselves worse. Some of us love horrid, love beastly, love sick, love anti light. Sometimes the love can’t go home at night, can’t sleep with itself, cannot contain itself, catches fire, destroys the belly, strips buildings, goes missing. Punches. Smashes heirlooms. Tells lies. The best lies. Fucks around. Writes poems, impresses people. Chases lovers into corners. Leaves them longing. Seasick. Says yes. Means anything but. Tricks the body. Kills the body. Dances wild and walks away, smiling.”

— Yrsa Daley-Ward, from bone; “when it is but it ain’t”

[lightlylight]

the sun sets and so do I into a vague sadness that stays until I see the sun again not in a “the dark makes me unhappy” type of way but in a “I'm not going to see you for another week” in a “you are the sun and I wish to burn” type of way like Icarus for Apollo like every tragedy ever written I go up in flames and it is never enough

[lightlylight]

I packed all my things and I'm running from everything left behind; including you, including me.

[lightlylight]

you love being loved so much you lunge at the slightest hint of it red rimmed eyes expanding at the taste of it love that is too big to be limited to a simple “it” or so you think none of it has ever been love but possession that pulled love’s hand enough for it to look like love came first