PoemGirl22

I like to write. A lot.

[poemgirl22]

I Hate Me

I hate my body.

I don’t want to go out in public

And see everyone’s eyes on me

I’m sure they’re thinking “what a train wreck”

I don’t know when I hit bottom

It kind of feels like a bottomless pit

Seems like I’ve forgotten

How to love myself enough to give a shit

To go and find a treadmill

Or go on a nice walk

I could lose the weight if I had the will

I hear what they say when they all talk

She’s fat, she’s so damn lazy

While I’m crying when I can’t fit my clothes

I’m going fucking crazy

In ways that no one knows

[drunkmindspeakstruewords]

Written somewhere in the embrace of denial:

Bottle-Born

I wake up

face-down in a truth I didn’t ask for —

tongue dry,

soul pickled,

memory torn at the edges like old bar napkins

you tried to write poems on

but only managed blood and bad spelling.

The sun barges in

like an ex who knows where the spare key is,

and my liver’s in the corner

sobbing like a dog

that knows it’s gonna get kicked again.

I sit up,

and the room spins

like it’s still drunk from the night before —

hell, maybe it is.

Maybe I built it like that,

walls soaked in whiskey whispers,

floorboards made of broken glass

and blurred apologies.

This body?

It’s not a temple.

It’s a dive bar.

Stained with stories I don’t remember living,

but somehow I’m still paying the tab.

I’ve loved

more bottles than people.

I’ve kissed more necks with labels

than with heartbeats.

And yeah, I’ve whispered sweet nothings

into brown glass mouths

just to hear something whisper back.

Because silence is loud

when it knows your name.

Because being sober feels like walking naked

through your own burned-down house,

and every mirror screams,

“This is who you are without the blur.”

And I hate that.

So I pour.

It starts with,

“I just need to take the edge off.”

But the edge

is all there is.

The edge is where I live.

Perched.

Flinching.

One more sip from the fall.

And don’t get me wrong —

I’m not the sad drunk

who cries into a beer.

I’m the real kind.

The kind who jokes too hard,

laughs too loud,

grins like a cracked mask

so no one asks

why I haven’t looked myself in the eyes since I was 14.

I drink

because somewhere in the bottle

I lose the parts of me

that always show up sober —

the guilt,

the gut-rot honesty,

the sharp reminder

that my hands only shake

when they’re empty.

And yeah, I know.

I know this shit kills.

I know what they say —

about pickling your liver,

about the people I push away,

about the way I keep calling it “just a phase”

as if rock bottom had a season pass.

But here’s the kicker:

I love it.

I love the ritual.

The click of the cap.

The smell that hugs you like a lie

you want to believe.

I love how human it makes me feel —

flawed, cracked,

impossibly tender in all the wrong places.

Because when I drink,

I am real.

Not filtered.

Not fixed.

Not pretending.

I am the bruised fruit

at the bottom of the basket,

still sweet in spots

if you dare to taste.

So no,

I’m asking for pity.

This isn’t confession.

This is declaration.

I am not in recovery.

I am in existence.

Day by day.

Sip by sip.

Mistake by beautiful, grotesque,

human-ass mistake.

And if that ain’t love —

raw,

ugly,

aching —

then pour me another lie,

and let me drown in the truth of it.

[drunkmindspeakstruewords]

“A letter to someone”

I don’t know who I’m writing this to.

I really don’t.

God?

The universe?

Myself?

I don’t even know if I believe in any of those things.

But I need to say this.

Because it’s sitting in my chest like a scream that never got out.

I’m tired.

And I know everyone says that,

but I mean it in that way that makes it hard to move.

Like even breathing feels expensive.

I’m 20.

Twenty.

People say I’m young,

say I have time,

say I’ve got my whole life ahead of me—

but what they don’t know is

how hard it was just to make it this far.

I’ve already fought things

most people pray they never have to face.

I’ve lived inside a brain that turned against me—

saw things that weren’t there,

heard voices that didn’t belong to anyone.

And for a while,

I wasn’t sure I did either.

And then the drinking.

God.

I drank because I didn’t want to feel

and then drank because I couldn’t stop

and then drank because what’s the point anymore?

People saw me smiling.

No one saw me shaking.

No one saw me begging a bottle to feel like a hug

instead of a noose.

But I fought.

And I won.

At least, I think I did.

Or maybe I’m still fighting and just too numb to tell.

But now that it’s quieter—

now that the worst seems behind me—

I’m scared again.

Because peace feels like a setup.

Like something is coming,

waiting around the corner with my name in its mouth.

And I’m just here,

praying to something I don’t know if I believe in,

“Please. No more.”

No more war inside my head.

No more addictions wrapped in comfort.

No more nights staring at the ceiling wondering

how the hell am I still alive?

But I know that’s not how life works.

I know pain doesn’t need permission to show up.

And I’m scared,

because I don’t know if I’ve got another fight in me.

Not like the last ones.

Some days I still want to disappear.

Not die.

Just… vanish.

Turn to mist.

Float above all of this

and finally rest.

But I don’t.

I stay.

Somehow.

Even when it hurts.

Even when it feels pointless.

Even when I don’t know who I’m writing this to.

Maybe it’s just proof.

That I’m here.

That I made it through hell

and now I’m standing in the middle of nothing,

asking whatever is out there—

Please.

Don’t make me do it again.

Or if you do…

at least let me survive it.

[drunkmindspeakstruewords]

“The Ache of Almost”

I woke up choking on a dream

I didn’t ask for.

Half-born, half-dead,

with a mouth full of someone else’s name

and teeth grinding against a truth

I never had the guts to speak.

They say the soul lives in the breath—

but I’ve been exhaling apologies since I was twelve

and haven’t felt holy since.

I still flinch

when someone loves me too gently.

Like I’m waiting for the catch,

the clause,

the shove back into whatever sharp corner

I learned to call “home.”

I confuse adrenaline with affection.

Mistake tension for truth.

And God,

I’ve prayed to every ceiling

I’ve ever collapsed beneath

and still can’t tell if silence

is mercy or neglect.

I am a pile of almosts.

Almost good enough.

Almost stable.

Almost free.

There’s a graveyard inside my chest

where all my unspoken selves

sit cross-legged,

mocking every time I said

“I’m fine”

with a straight face

and shaking hands.

I want to scream into the mouth of the void,

ask it why it never answers,

why it echoes back in the same voice

that told me I’d never be enough

unless I bled for it.

But still, I laugh.

Loud.

Ugly.

Like I know joy personally,

even if she never calls me back.

I touch strangers like I’m trying to borrow

whatever magic keeps them intact.

I say “I love you” like a dare,

like I want someone to prove me wrong.

Because being human?

It’s a sickness.

A beautiful, blistering illness

where you know

you’re going to die

and still get out of bed

just to taste the sky again.

Even when it hurts.

Even when you’re hollow.

Even when you are nothing

but bruise and bone

and borrowed time.

[poemgirl22]

Ugly Soul (to Diaper Don)

You have an ugly soul

You’re rotten to the core

Hey orange man, you’re too old

To act so immature

You have an ugly heart

Were you not hugged enough?

Our country’s torn apart

Because of mom and daddys lack of love

All that money and fame

Can’t buy you integrity

Your common sense is wrecked

You’re filled to the brim with hate

The leader of your pack

The cult of the brain dead

You claim you’re getting America back

Are you fucked in the head?

You steal from the poor

Handcuff those with lesser crimes than you do

What is all this for?

Oh yeah, more dollars for you come on spit the truth

While you gut our health

And FEMAs funds are stripped

Our lives are a living hell

And there’s blood on the hands that aren’t equipped

to be running the show

You bought your way in

Because you couldn’t have anybody talking about

How you lost to a woman.

Now you’re dead set on getting revenge.

Trying to silence us all.

But I’m not a MAGA idiot

And I’ll never fall

For your lies.

Your hate.

Your bribes.

You’re fake.

Your bibles.

Your coins.

You’re not an idol.

You’re a little boy

Trapped in an old man’s body.

A little boy desperate to be loved and admired.

But aren’t you fucking tired

Of being the biggest prick in the world?

Of being so filthy from all the dirt?

I hope this hits you where it fucking hurts.

You inflated ego, shit talking

Golf obsessed, Mar a lago,

Tiny dicked, spray taned faced

Fat fingered fuck that’s Cheeto laced

Garbage can of a human being

I hope you visit alligator Alcatraz

And you’re the first one they eat.

I’d frame your obituary.

And I’d visit your grave just to spit on it every week.

You’ll never make a follower out of me, Porky.

[thecursedhorcrux]

What Love Left Behind

I could have hated you. The silence, the distance, the way you let go while I was still holding on.

But I didn’t.

Because loving you rewrote the way my heart works. It taught me patience in place of pride, softness where anger used to rise.

With you, I forgot how to hate.

Even when you left, even when the echoes of what we were hurt more than words ever could I searched my chest for resentment and found only warmth. Still flickering. Still yours.

You gave me something too beautiful to ever turn bitter.

And maybe you’ll never come back. Maybe you’ll never know how deeply I loved still love. But know this:

If the world taught me to protect, you taught me to unlearn. If life taught me to harden, you taught me to stay open.

And now, even in your absence, my heart remembers one thing how to love you.

And nothing else.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Lingering

You were laughter in the middle of a quiet day, a wild rhythm in the middle of my calm.

I still say it sometimes, like a song stuck on my tongue, like a prayer wrapped in old perfume.

You danced into my life like you didn’t even know you were changing everything. And I? I followed. Gladly. Like a fool chasing music no one else could hear.

You called me crazy, and maybe I was the kind of crazy that loves with its whole chest, even when the hands come back empty.

Now, the days are quieter. The rides are slower. But you still show up in headlights, in songs, in the way the wind brushes my face exactly like you used to.

I smile at strangers thinking they might carry a piece of your scent. I write your name on fogged-up glass just to see it again.

Because no matter where you go, no matter who holds your hand now you were once mine in the purest way. And that kind of love doesn’t beg to stay. It just… lingers.

if you ever wonder who still sings your name it’s me. Still foolish, still faithful, still yours in the songs I don’t skip.

[nandawrites]

Fool's Errand

There are plains under the moon

That don't shine as bright as you

There are songs that mermaids sing

That don't sound as lovely as you

There are stars in distant galaxies

That don't burn as fiercely as you

I could search the whole nature

And not find a single gem

I could search the whole universe

And not find a single sun

I could search the whole sea

And not find a single pearl

I could search forever

And never find something

So precious and rare

So sweet and kind

So powerful and lovely

As the one that owns my heart

[poemgirl22]

you chose HER

When you left me last summer,

You really did a number

On my heart.

I trusted you more than the others.

You were my best friend, not just my lover.

But you tore us apart.

I haven’t quite recovered from it.

The wound still feels open.

I never thought you’d do it.

Pulling the gun out left me frozen.

And when you took your shot our love died with me too.

I’ve been trying to be okay since you came back but it’s hard to

Fake it when all I want is to remind you every day how much it hurt.

When you chose her.

[remanence-of-love]

[beautyfromagony]

It wasn’t your fault.

…. It wasn’t your fault.

…. It wasn’t your fault.

…. It wasn’t your fault.

[poemgirl22]

Emotionally Drained

A part of me has died

For the 99th time

Seems like all I do is cry

And try to breathe through the hard times

Seems like just when I find my place

Life hits me like a grenade

All the good things get taken away

Like ripping off a band aid

And I’m left in the silence

There’s danger in the quiet

My tears are ultraviolet

But my heart holds 1,000 knives in it

I’m emotionally drained

I’m tired of the sadness and pain

I want out of whatever game is being played

Life is a joke anyway

[poemgirl22]

What Do You Know at 22 Years Old?

What do you really know

At 22 years old?

I clearly wasn’t thinking when I moved in

As quickly as I did.

What can I even say?

The past I can’t erase.

But I try all the time, in my mind

In hopes that one day I’ll wake up and be alright.

You get off on causing me to suffer.

Even though I found a new lover.

It’s been 10 years and you still

Find new ways to go in for the kill.

And the knife you lodged in my back

Won’t budge, it’s permanent and I know that.

I guess I just learned to survive with the hurt.

So much of it I did not deserve.

But what do you really know

At 22 years old?

Clearly I wasn’t think of the repercussions

Of my actions.

Loving you did more damage to my psyche than one can ever imagine.

You turned what should have been beautiful into chaos, so tragic.

And I should have had more pride.

I should have walked away after the first time.

I caught you messaging so many other girls that day.

But the fixer in me decided to stay.

I thought I could change you.

I thought I could love you out of the blue.

I thought having a baby would turn you into a man.

But it only made you more of a villain.

But what do you really know

At 22 years old?

You were 31

You never better, that’s what’s fucked up.

You took my innocence away.

You hurt me with the words you’d say.

You told everyone I was insane.

Flipped the script so you didn’t have to take any of the blame.

I still get messages to this day.

From people who call me horrible names.

I still have to defend my name.

Against your lies and accusations and fingers pointed my way.

You won’t stop til you see me

6 feet deep.

You won’t let up until you know

That I am a rotting corpse down below.

And what hurts the most

Is once upon a time I loved you so.

I would have done anything

Because you were my everything.

But what do you really know

At 22 years old?

Nothing at all.

You think you do but you know nothing at all.

[poemgirl22]

Cause of Death

Putting these tissues into the trash.

I’ve done cried enough for you and I’m finished with that.

Took me ten years but I’ve come to find

You can’t trust a snake for shit so don’t turn a blind eye.

Put your venom in me and left me out for dead.

For the longest time I wished I really was 6 feet deep down instead.

All you know how to do is put me at my lowest.

Can’t believe I loved someone so cruel and so frozen.

You’re a monster that I’m finally no longer afraid of.

I sleep in the dark just fine now with no night light on.

And you think your tricks will fool me this time but no way.

Turns out I’m better in the way that I play.

And I’m out to kill you in the most psychological way.

You shot and you missed now it’s time to throw you in your grave.

And spit on it then throw the dirt.

For all the times you made me hurt.

All the moments you made me question my worth.

You piece of shit I hope you burn.

In the flames of hell.

With the devil himself.

I bet it kills you now.

Seeing me so happy now that you’re not around.

I bet it cuts you to the core.

Knowing that I don’t give a fuck about you anymore.

I’m having a baby with someone that is kind.

And you will never lay your hands on this son of mine.

You will never again have the ability.

To take everything imaginable away from me.

You will never poison his mind

The way you did with hers and mine.

And I hope it’s eating you alive.

I hope your cause of death is you choked on all your lies.

And I hope you’re all alone like you should be.

And the very last vision you ever see is me.

[poemgirl22]

You Are My Calm

Your voice is like hearing

Waves crash into the shore.

Soothing, unlike anything I have heard before.

Your touch alone puts my mind at ease.

My anxiety disappears as I am finally able to breathe.

You are my calm.

In this chaotic world we live in.

I’m so glad you exist.

I’m glad we found each other when we did.

The love you give is incomparable.

To anything I’ve ever known.

You are a walking angel.

That much I know to be true.

You’ll never know just how much love my heart holds for you.

[poemgirl22]

None of This Matters

We are on a rock in space.

What really matters anyway?

The clothes we wear? The cars we drive?

Or basking in the fact that we’re alive?

This earth is floating in the galaxy.

And how that is is a mystery to me.

I sit and wonder staring at the sky.

Thanking whoever is up there that I’m alive.

I’m not the money I make.

I’m not the house that I live in.

I am more than what’s in my bank.

I am more than just bones and skin.

I’m not who everyone thinks that I am.

I know me better than they ever will.

I’m not the scars on my skin.

I’m more than my antidepressant pills.

I care and love deeply.

I know the true meaning.

Of existence.

It’s just that.

Love is all we really have.

And nothing else matters.

[poemgirl22]

Axe Down

You took the axe out of my hand and set it down.

Told me you are not like them and that I’m safe now.

You kissed my scars and my heart started to beat again.

I came alive the day we became more than friends.

You tell me I’m beautiful every single day.

You lift me up in so many different ways.

I’ve never met a living angel until you came around.

You saw my demons and said you love me even more now.

The men before you weren’t very kind.

I’d become accustomed to cheating, drama and lies.

My child’s father nearly took me out with all his shit.

Told myself I would never let anyone else in.

But as fate would have it, I saw your face.

And knew I wanted to keep you for the rest of my days.

You’re my home. Your arms are where I’m safe.

And I’ll never again have to be treated that way.

Thank you for loving me when it was hard.

When my brokenness took over my heart.

Thank you for staying and trying for us.

Thank you for giving me unconditional real love.

[poemgirl22]

Dance When You Die

Nobody will miss you.

Trust me when I say that.

No tears to cry not even a few.

Just simply stating facts.

You lived life so selfishly.

You were a snake in the weeds.

So remember my honesty.

I’ll show up to your funeral just to make sure you’re 6 feet deep.

And I’m gonna dance when you die.

I’ll throw the biggest celebration for the ending of your life.

“The wicked narcissist of the northeast is dead.

So grab your favorite whiskey and go tell all your friends.”

I’ll be excited to never have to ever deal with you again.

And no woman will ever have to deal with your cheating, abuse and lies.

So believe me babe, I’ll take it to the grave, that on your dying day I’ll be dancing away.

I’ll get the fireworks and throw a hell of a parade.

I’ll spit on your tombstone while thanking God for your demise.

“It’s about damn time.”

You better believe I’ll be dancing on the day that you die.