[x]

smudgeI'm just a sketch of a person,
charcoal lines and finger prints all over the corners.
Ideas crashing together like
continental drifts, creating
mountains;
crusts of thought
I haven't even found yet.

solar flaresyou are a bramble bush with berry bright eyes
you are smiles like pebbles spashing into ponds
eyes shaded with curls that spiral like crashing fireworks

when i was a kid
when it wasn't yet summer and all i had was a closed door
and a box of pens and i coated the walls in scribbles
drawing out intricate shelves
bending under books and bottles and magic
my mother would come up every week with a bowl of soapy water
and a piece of iron wool and i'd wash off that week's whimsy
i'd scrape my knuckles raw on the metal tangles
my hands bent at right and at wrong angles so
each swish was another layer of skin off

i wear my scars like knu

oh darling, oh darling, oh darlingThey say take a long hot bath and open your wrists
- yes, this is going to be one of
those
poems-
but isn't it easier to take a quick shower
and bite your nails until the edges bleed?

They say three boxes of painkillers
and a bottle of vodka, but isn't it easier
crying in the kitchen with your feet bare
to take two more pills than you would for a headache
and knock it back with a fizzy drink -

they told me practice made perfect
long before they told me the rules of wanting to lay down
and die. So you stand in the doorway,
hair wet and curling water down your back,
always two more pills in your fist than last time,
always a

we will live longer than i will(it's winter and that means that
all the trees are hard and sharp
like flint, like spears growing up at the sky,
ready for war, built to shatter.
it's winter and i cut the fingers
off of my gloves to make room for you.
it's winter and
i already wish it was over.)

(it's winter and i'm burning my fingers
on cardbord coffee cups,
shuffling foot to foot in the show
with my bus money in my hand,
pulling the curtains closed and
sleeping with shoes on. it's winter
here and it's winter where you are and
i don't know how i feel about that.)

(i want to be warm beside you.)

(i want to see you shivering first.
i want to see if t

don't fly awayYou say I love like a stamp collector,
and you may be right
just not in the way you hoped for.

I wish I could gather up our memories like clouds in my arms
one for the sky and the grass and the river
one for the jokes and the quiet sadness
one for giggling like idiots and fuck what the clocks say

I would keep them pressed between the sheets of my bed
like butterflies.

I surround myself with recovered addicts,
and I don't know why
in the same way the windowsill surrounds herself
in dead flies.

I can't help it, they just
fall for me.

Sometimes, when,
the sun has come up and my head has yet to go down
and the pillow is hard and

undoneDandelions make me sad.
Sorry, I know I should tell you my name or my eye colour,
but I don't care. Dandelions will make me sad if my name is
Jess or Joss or Ross or Rose,
if my eyes are blue or green or grey.
Dandelions will make me sad for as long as they exist.

It's the yellow, see. They grow so bright like little
lionheads peeking out at you, they dapple and dimple and layer
like a bad haircut. Like there wasn't enough money
for a real hairdresser so they all lined up in the kitchen and
mother took some old scissors from the sewing kit and hacked
until their blonde hair rippled in the sun.

Dandelions remind me of poor childr

you're crumblingyou are a writer and you want to tell me a story but you
are the worst kind of writer because you're too busy
scribing as you go to feel your heels catch the air.
you are a tailor walking down the street
and unpicking seams just to prove you know how.

i thought you were writing a romance,
until i noticed that you were writing a tragedy.
or maybe just a horror.

i thought i was the vampire in your
universe, i thought you'd take your inky fingers
and put me down as interesting and sharp
carve me out of cobwebs and silently
fall in love with me

i thought you were writing about me. well,
it's too late now. i'm writing about me, and

like the golden fleeceI want to cup your face
in my hands,
but you colour in my palm with worries.

The things I need to promise you
don't exist.

Someone has wrapped the sun in foil,
these shadows spell out the thoughts I avoid

you will never come back.

so there was this girland she fell in love and shit
but she was stupid and she cheated
or maybe she was just a fuck-up

well anyway
who cares how she felt?
if she regretted it or whatever,
she's not important.

she hurt her boyfriend
and she can't take that back.

so fuck her.

hallucinogenic heartbreakoh boy
oh boy
oh boy

you sure fucked things up this time, didn't you, sweetie?
playing with your heart like love was an arcade game
pretending that if you lost all you had to do was pick your pocket
grab another coin and press play again.

but honey you can't play again, love isn't fucking
pacman
is it? you can't just keep on running away from these things.

he's like a ghost, for all you see of him, and now everything's moving too fast,
you can't tell if he wants you all to himself,
or just away from everyone else, and you don't care,
stupid girl. you think you can handle this,
you think that when you sunk your teeth into his n

day oneyou love me so much,
somehow i always forget.
you bruise like dropped fruit.

My mistake.I am
so sorry.
I love you, you see? I love you so very, very much.
And I will love you inside and out, through every hole and break and
hastily-patched addiction, and through every triumph and every
single
hurt.

I will hurt you. I will love you and so to me, I will think
that I want you to love me back. That pretty smiles and
laughter and words well spoken are not enough, that I must tear myself down
for you to really see me. For you to love me.

I will put my hands in my hands, peel back the skin and pluck the nerves
and sever each touch. You will say
look at me, see how it hurts
and I will tear out my eyes and will not see you

pentopapertopHlevelit's like we're playing dominoes and you're
clean and white and
perfect in every way and then
there's me. i'm like a jigsaw piece,
and not even a useful one, like a corner,
i'm just a mish-mash-paddy-wack
of curves and confusing shades of blue

you're telling me
"i'm putting down a two.
do you have a two?"
and i'm looking for a two, but
all i have are these damn pieces of sky,
and when has sky ever been useful?

there aren't even two skies,
there's just one sky, one me and you're
looking at me with such sweet sweet eyes,
and you're asking me why this matters
and i don't know why but it does.

i'm thinking is there anything

little match girlsometimes you look up at the sky and you wonder
why god even gets up in the morning

3am feels like looking through the wrong end of a
kaleidoscope, and tastes like noting you'd ever want to eat

i'm holding this match under my arm because fat burns like wax
and i need a candle to light my way home

i'm not pointing the finger at you, probably because i
had to set it on fire, but really, it's all my fault

it's a million billion times too easy to stop sleeping
or forget why you loved that one and not this one until

well, until your eyelashes roll their end credits across your lids
and you remember what that one always said

and this

snowbonesholding my hands over the kettle
the skin on my fingertips peels back,
like dated wallpaper,
like flowers blooming.

they're burning from the inside out,
nails turning to varnish, turning to steam,
bones click-clacking their way out;
spreading like wildfire.

the whistling stops, and
blink
and my fingers are just fingers,
ink stained, bitten nails.

sunlight streams across the kitchen,
my fingers warm and
slightly damp, i trace patterns on
steamed-up windows.

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day nineeasy. mishap-free.
i'll live by his side, of course.
i'll learn how to love.

you can hide but you can't runand all we were holding on for were memories
i think that we
ended that night, and the rest was make-belive
i think that when your wristband broke
it signified the end of this dream
the watch stopped ticking and our times was up

i have a PhD in judging your relationship, and
in my professional opinion she's a whore and you
should love me instead

and this is where the sun sets in
the part where you realise you made a mistake
in loving her instead of me,
and your eyes sink into my skin like bright light
in a basement, and you hold me and

i wake up, stuck to dirty sheets
heralded by the mating call of the cop car
when in the corn

sunberriessummer reminds me of you.
cold grass and blue skies help,
but it's the warmth, i think
that brings this smile bubbling up.

this sun is the third person
in our relationship, she sits behind me
and she's twirling her fingers in my hair.
can you feel her hands on your shoulders?

fallen trees in cold streams,
and you are there behind my eyelids.
red coat, and our memories are dozing off.
this warmth is our love

these light kisses are for you.

day eightwrist bone connected
pregnant with paint, the brush moves
you are alive; paper

ignore the clocksThe sun is setting on our precious day,
and your kisses have been fading with it.
It's the thought that counts. I can hear you say,
I have failed at romance, am unfit
to hold your hand on sun-setting beaches,
to die by your side. Valentine forgot,
but love is not for purchase, time teaches.
How dare I say what love is, and is not -
The magazines, the false friends cry. But you
and you alone, can see inside your heart.
If our joys and sorrows the day can undo
because with money, or gifts I would not part?

Then let this day-late sonnet take your hand,
and show you my heart, before we disband.

day sevenwater carrier
but really air, yes i am
unpredictable

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am i still me?

by ~wish-sticks, Apr 11, 2011, 1:48:24 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

I will line the walls with pictures
of who I used to be and pretend they are mirrors.

The girl I see in the glass is not the one
sitting behind these tired lids.

am i still me?by ~wish-sticks

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

©2011-2013 ~wish-sticks

“I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, because I'm not myself, you see”

~kaelamae Mar 24, 2012 Student Writer

story of my life. It shouldn't be,
but it is.

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~wish-sticks Mar 25, 2012

/hugs?

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~kaelamae Apr 1, 2012 Student Writer

(:

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~scripturiency Jul 2, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

i agree with ~MissTsukiHikari
this one!

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~MissTsukiHikari Jun 30, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

This one and two others are the poems I think of when I think of you. But they were also the first three I read and the three I clicked with, so there could bias. <3

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!Whythinkjustdream May 31, 2011 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

My GOD! Excellent!

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~wish-sticks Jun 1, 2011

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!Whythinkjustdream Jun 1, 2011 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

HA!

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*AlecBell May 17, 2011

One of many strategies. None of the others work either.

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~wish-sticks May 17, 2011

It's scary to think that one day I'll feel this way about the person I am now.

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