She Poetry

I find so much solace venting under the alias "She" because it is so non-restrictive. In real life, my name is Sydney. "Sydney" has to be a lot of things for a lot of different people. "She" does not. So, I open up "She" to all who fear their voice may be lost in the ambiguous persona of their daily lives. She has emerged, and She is omnipotent. Established 10-28-2015.

[shepoetry]

doc, I’m delirious

doc, I’m being serious!

doc, I love every man that’s nice.

what’s your advice???

I mean it, doc, it’s undeniable.

my condition is certifiable.

inside, I’m delusional and mad.

doc, this is very, very bad!

I’m sick in the head, doc, it’s twisted.

I simply must be assisted.

all it takes is a little kindness,

and I’m struck with rose colored blindness.

what will it take to be less afflicted?

I’m concerned I might be addicted.

I can’t act on it, but I can imbibe.

please, doc, what do you prescribe?

[shepoetry]

She #8

[shepoetry]

She #7

[shepoetry]

She Poetry (Entry #6)

She shouldn’t have told him about that spot on her neck --and she knew that but 4am has a way of revealing what you want stronger than any Sirens’ song, and GODDAMNIT-- She didn’t want to be so fucking alone anymore.

This thought (interesting… the power of a thought. Such force and effort and energy and motion and-- maybe it’s just a thought) With one fell swoop Knocked down several layers of brick and cement. She loved being alone. She loved it so much it hurt. The idea of dropping pieces of her life like ashes into someone else’s ashtray Hurt more than the first time she ever coughed up smoke. But his kiss relieved her even more than the last time she smoked which was probably only five minutes ago. If you find her, If you could find her (she’s always on the go), You might find that She might even be smoking now.

She shouldn’t have told him about the pills and he certainly shouldn’t have told her about the pills because one person should not have to work so hard to be happy and two unhappy people can’t work that hard to be happy. Why was she telling him all of this when he she knew he lived for convenience? She wanted him to be loved  Because… Because he was like her. And she wanted to be loved.

Was he as scared as she thought, Or was she just projecting? Humanizing, humanizing, humanizing, maybe he’s just another monster. She let him in She let him in She let him in And now it’s too late.

She shouldn’t have told him about that spot on her neck.

[shepoetry]

She (Entry #5)

She. She swore you could tell everything about a person based on the corners of their mouths. They were the most beautiful (and most ugly) Parts of people- Cracked, wrinkled, flawed, used. Sometimes overused. She wondered if hers were overused.

She. One lock of her hair always seemed to be too long for the rest (out of place). She felt out of place.

She. She had been waking up happy lately and that terrified her. For one, she had not realized she had been waking up unhappy. For two, she wondered how long it could possibly last.

She. She was always told that being “thoughtful” was a good thing, but what about at 5am when her thoughts were a mob //cock-eyed and pitch-fork pissed// and she was just a- She was just a scared little girl?

She. She pushed too hard. Life was a vending machine, and she was an old dollar bill. Rejected. Rejected. ALMOST– Rejected. Cracked, wrinkled, flawed, used. She never did get it to work.

[shepoetry]

She (Entry #4)

She had good days and bad days. She was an optimist by nature, But life was a raging beast– Screaming and storming up the stairs, Making her sweat behind her closed door. Knocks, no matter how gentle, always threatened her comfort (she could never relax). She made her bed every night, So that it would always look nice, In case one day she never woke up.

She had sweet tastes and bitter tastes. Not that she had tasted it all for herself. If an enzyme could dissolve it, She immediately gave it away (wishing she could give herself away). I’ll bet, if you gave her a measuring cup And asked her to spoon out the hopes And dreams from her limbs, She wouldn’t hesitate (Were they ever even hers to keep?) She lived for the happiness of others. Sometimes even her own, but not usually.

She had a warm heart and a cold heart. She loved with all the love she had, But all the love she had, Was an eighth of the love she started out with. She lost six toes, half a finger, both ears, and a kneecap, But never without her discretion (She practically gave them away). The rest of her limbs were okay. Sometimes, she was okay too.

She had good days and bad days.

[shepoetry]

He (Entry #1)

when he spotted the abandoned clothesline he knew it would be

a safe place to hang his drenched fabrics to dry

(safety was always his priority; practical thinkers are

vigilant thinkers, yet his spontaneity, truly atypical for someone

so thoughtful, enabled this abrupt stop)

 he (thoughtfully) unloaded his loot (really… he was always

cautious and [guarded]; the sort of Gentleman 

who would never think of you highly

and would likely even chastise you for driving recklessly on the highway,

despite your nagging yearning for rapidness)

 this clothesline has been

    There for a while  

           and it remains

          There still.  

 he pinned you up, along with his various articles of fabric

(cotton [and yourself] left to dangle on a braid of cotton, would-have-beens

[and yourself] left to dangle between wooden shafts) and scanned the stars

above

his head for nothing in particular (after all,

 you always were the one who said you wanted

“nothing in particular” to exist between you two)

he knew fully that mo(u)rning would come eventually;

he was not eager to stay around to watch its Rise

 upon the task’s completion (yes, yes he was vigilant, but he bored easily of tedious tasks;

you were likely only a task to him nonetheless)

he promptly started his car and drove            away                a little too

recklessly and a little too rapidly

 he left you

    There,

to dry or to not.

you knew he had solidified your abandonment thoughtfully, in the same way that

he knew (but did not earnestly anticipate) that you might eternally remain

dangling

There,

drenched.

you watch him depart and

feel as frightened as he would have been had

he stayed that morning and seen the Rise

 you dangle

     There for a while

and you dangle

    There still.

(what other choice do you have?)

[shepoetry]

She (Entry #3)

..

Balance.

She liked to sit in the backseat on buses, on trains, and in taxi cabs.

Balance. She liked the– Balance.

She liked the passenger seat on road trips and long car-rides with friends or family. Balance.

Balance. Balance. She loved to drive alone. She loved to drive fast.

… .. .Breathe.

She– She exited as she entered, Checked out as she checked in, She’d SCREAM “I’M HERE” hoping no one would notice. BALANCE.

BREATHE.

BALANCE.

BREATHE.

Please, honey.

.

.

Balance.

She meditated on laughter, She choked on–Breathe. She choked on–Breathe. She choked on…tears.

Fine.

She hadn’t… She couldn’t…

…

.. .Breathe.

Breathe deeper, honey. Please?

.

.

.

Fine.

Balance.

..

[shepoetry]

She (entry #2)

She.

She is dehydrated.

The words.

They used to pour.

And

The clouds were her soul

And

The rain was her thoughts

And

They used to pour.

But they told her she needed sunshine.

They didn’t care that it dried her out.

                                                                                                           She.

                                                                                                 She is still.

Her face is prettier when it doesn’t move.

     It crinkles and crunches.

             Her teeth are bulky.

                                                                     Her smile is uneven.

                                                          Her nose droops and flairs.

                                                               They want her to smile.

                                                                              She wants to smile.

                          But she knows it will never look right.

                                     She.

        She is dark.

                      It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

                                       Her life was full of

                                       Sunshine and smiles

                                         Rain and reactions,

                                       But it wasn’t ever enough.

                                     It was no one’s fault.

                                     She just couldn’t lighten up.

She.

She is sorry.

Sorry that sunshine made her burn

And

Her smile was a cringe

And

Her cringe burned but never brightened

And

She liked it this way.

But she hated herself.

She.

[shepoetry]

She (entry #1)

She. She keeps her pills next to her gum. She clasps her lover’s hand,  (She is not satisfied holding his hand until she can feel his pulse). She carves “I want to live forever” into wet cement; She carves “I can’t live like this” into wet sand. She. She swears like a sailor but won’t dare utter the word “l-o-v-e.” When she’s happy, she has to pop a pill to make sure she’s not “too” happy. When she’s sad, she to pop a pill to make sure she’s not “too” sad. She chases the absurd like a child, (She knows if she can’t catch it, she can always just quit the game). She. Was she born cold or is she just flame-retardant? She. She is tired. She. …She is so tired. She.