Drowning
You told me that this
would all be water
under the bridge someday,
but this water is too high
and I can’t touch the bottom.
My arms are tired and
I’m swallowing water
as I tell you
that I really do love you.
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
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Drowning
You told me that this
would all be water
under the bridge someday,
but this water is too high
and I can’t touch the bottom.
My arms are tired and
I’m swallowing water
as I tell you
that I really do love you.
Sun Poisoned Sunday
When I think back to the last time
that the sun kissed me like you did,
I dread the day
where I kiss her back again.
I didn’t realize
that I got burnt
and went running
from both of you.
At least when winter comes around,
we are prepared for shedding.
But how do I stop crying
when you turn my teardrops
into gemstones through the sunlight.
At least find me some rain
during these summer nights
so that she can weep with me;
showering me in her tears.
I was asked to feed our family cat,
which isn’t something I do often.
My mom walked in
right as I plopped
a scoop of wet food into
the cat bowl and started
absentmindedly pushing
the spoon against the food
and moving it around.
My mom laughed,
“That’s cute of you to mash it
up for her, her teeth are
getting old.”
I froze.
Suddenly I’m back in Florida,
calling out
“HONEYYYY”
and watching our cat come running.
You trail behind her,
laughing as she meows
at me in anticipation.
You lean against the doorway.
“Remember that she won’t eat it
unless you mash it up.”
I laugh and show you my technique.
You flash me a smile
and the flashback is gone.
My mom chuckled as she
left the room.
“Maybe I’ll start mashing
the cat’s food, too.”
- I Wish I Could Tell You // Part II
✨🧡🌙 SEND THIS TO TEN OTHER BLOGGERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL. KEEP THE GAME GOING ✨🧡🌙
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OMG HI!!! This is so lovely Im doing well how are you??
I’m hungover in a thrift store
and I cannot even look over
at the womens’ section.
I picture you giggling in delight
at every dress and shoe in this place.
You’d wear all of it,
so I go to the mens’ section
and pretend like I’ll wear
anything other than my heart
on the sleeve of this t-shirt
that you hated so goddamn much.
I miss you the most
the day after drinking.
I feel the most vulnerable,
and you were the only person
who has ever made me feel safe.
So I’ll continue sifting through
these old button downs and jeans,
fighting the urge to turn around,
scan the room,
and instinctually go grab
the floral top I saw
right when I walked in
and bring it home to you.
- I Wish I Could Tell You // Part I
something I very much needed to read today
Tell me that it’s okay to feel this way.
that I can miss nightly slow dances
and giggling glances through the
veil of our smoke-filled days.
Tell me that I can question this,
the feeling of lingering memory
replaying its version of bliss.
Tell me how I could break your heart twice,
and still feel like a victim,
like I’m paying the price.
Tell me that pain can be good,
that it has to be necessary
like a fire needs it’s burning wood.
Tell me that you’re still broken, too.
I’ll bring my bruises,
so maybe I can bond with you.
I always thought you were my mirror.
we felt unstoppable,
making it impossible
to say we didn’t work well.
but every time someone asked
how we were doing,
you looked at me
and eventually I realized
you weren’t a mirror at all,
you were a portal;
A place that felt far away
from the life I was yearning to live.
You were a picture frame.
Holding memories wrapped up
in a photo of us smiling,
but I felt like I was posing too hard.
And now you’re just a stranger,
and when I look in the mirror,
all I see are fragments of me.
Hopefully I’ll watch myself grow,
eventually feeling unstoppable,
impossible to recognize,
from the person in that picture.
Spring dances in the kitchen
with flowered sunsets
through the window.
Wildflowers can waltz
better in real life
if you ask them to.
I never had time
to ask myself if
I would grow old with you.
I was too busy being a child,
and I took your for granted
as you raised me.
I thought I could do better.
I ran off in rebellion,
but nostalgia runs deepest now
as I decide where to go next.
My friends still live near you,
still talk to you,
and visit you.
I wage war between
your familiarity
and your time stamp.
Do I miss you or
do I miss your comfort?
Oh Chicago,
I hope you still think of me.
I wake up and do yoga.
Downward dog feels like homicide today,
faking mental stability
one morning at a time.
I warrior my way through
the guilt and lower myself down.
Breathe.
Standing again feels like an earthquake.
I imagine there’s a rope
wrapped around the arches of my feet,
plunging down through the dirt
and tying itself to the core of this planet.
Be still.
I close my eyes to hear birds outside.
I suddenly realize that the sky
can also be the ground.
Presence is not a place.
Do I Stop Smoking?
Asked under the kitchen glow;
couch laiden for three hours.
She cleans the dishes as I listen.
The water sounds menacing.
Angry.
At me?
Of course.
The couch chuckles.
I look up,
watch the ceiling light wink at me.
Do they know what I’m thinking?
Have they been watching me?
Brush in paint.
Paint on canvas.
Repeat.
I wish I could talk to you.
Brush in oil.
I was twenty one
and in love with myself.
I was a coward.
Oil in paint.
Do your friends all hate me still?
Do you think I’m still….
Paint on canvas.
Just like your dad?
Brush on rag.
I think we’d be friends now.
Brush in paint.
I think you’d like the new me.
Paint on canvas.
I wish I could talk to you.
Repeat.
She’s possessed me for a year.
My thoughts have been poisoned
by her presence in my mind.
Yet you’ve been here this whole time,
so desperate for me to look at you
without her standing between us.
You always see glazed eyes stare back at you
as I replay a different memory with her.
She reminds me that you
don’t look like her,
talk like her,
or love like her.
And dammit she’s right.
You’re soft around the edges.
You’re gentle when you speak to me.
And you see value in the unconditional.
So tonight you looked up at me,
searching for an answer
behind my wandering eyes.
I gazed back at you,
studying your face
under the kitchen light.
I saw you,
every inch of you.
And this time, it was just us.
how does it feel?
It feels like static radio.
My eyes glossed over
and rain outside the window.
It feels like a sinking ship.
Drowning with no life vest
and my own flesh to grip.
It feels like a popped balloon.
A party with no guests
and decor in an empty room.
I think I hear angels.
They whisper to me at night
when your face hides
in the melodrama of
my secret tears.
I feel them when I
wake up and pat
the empty space
where your body once slept.
Angels speak to me
about what has been lost
but has yet to be
discovered through my
holy proclamation of
shameful heartache.
Come closer, still
and let me read to you
through my tones of
tremulous poem blues.
You love to sit with me
and hear me whisper now
stories of love and lust
that our relationship bow.
But I fear so far that we
never imitate these tales
so I choke on words
of other loves prevail.