there are the moments when i see you that i begin to hate myself again. usually when you smile at me, the pauses between the conversation when i stop awkwardly, unsure of how to continue. and you never seem to notice.
i should be over you. you have made it clear, in the one small conversation that we've had, that you do not want me, not like that. so i took the axe and the hammer, smashed whatever feelings i had felt for you, gutted the rest with a knife and when it was over i was left with the sensation of being hollow every time i am near you.
i cannot handle being near you.
not without feeling like i am 17 again, with the scent of fear and uncertainty imprinted along my skin, the face in the mirror expressionless and alien, my need for some one to touch me a shameful secret. you were the first time i was not afraid.
and i refuse to go back to that. and now that i have killed everything i felt about you in the past two years, i find myself wondering if there is anything left to salvage.
i don't believe there is, but i can't bring myself to tell you this. so we keep going in circles, me pretending that we are the same and you, ever oblivious to it all.
Showing posts with label the lines of your body. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the lines of your body. Show all posts
Friday, 27 September 2013
Monday, 16 September 2013
cologne
i can still feel his arm around my shoulder, his hand in mine, the feeling of my body next to his on the couch and i am fucking empty without it. yesterday's sweater was the first thing i put back on, then the red skirt without any shorts underneath, for his scent is still clinging to my body.
and when i inhale i'll remember him, his scent and the sensation that i should be climbing into him, my hands in his hair, my mouth on his neck. the restraint of being in the car with him, the casual movements he makes with his hands as he talks, his cologne faint in the space between us as i lick my lips, my mouth dry and wanting.
it takes all i have not to jump him.
and when i inhale i'll remember him, his scent and the sensation that i should be climbing into him, my hands in his hair, my mouth on his neck. the restraint of being in the car with him, the casual movements he makes with his hands as he talks, his cologne faint in the space between us as i lick my lips, my mouth dry and wanting.
it takes all i have not to jump him.
Wednesday, 28 August 2013
only girl in the world
there are the times when i am left with the memory of my feelings for you. the pale yellow sheen of the lights in the night, the red of passing vehicles on the way home in the dark, the faint echo of rihanna from the basement stereo as i dance, lay myself back along the guest bed in the middle of the rec room, feel the slide of my jeans against my hips, the press of my breasts against my bra as my stomach collapses in with each breath and the imagined sensation that you are with me.
i can hear the creak of the bed as you approach me, the rustle as i open my legs and the press of your weight as you pin me down, my legs around your hips, my arms wrapped around your back, my teeth in your neck as you begin to overpower everything i have in me.
take me for a ride. bite me, kiss me gently, slide your hands under my shirt, pin my wrists to either side of my head, force your crotch against mine without removing my jeans so i whimper when i feel your erection against my body and can do nothing about it.
i want you to fuck me, i want you to kiss me, i want you to smile, laugh, hold my hand in the daytime, hold my body in the night. i want you to want me and am willing to make compromises i had never considered before. i'll do anything to be your girl, your lover, your fuck buddy, your sweetheart. i'll give you a terrifying control over the whole situation.
and i had never considered that it would come to this. the silence wrapped around my heart as i smile when you talk, breathing shallow as i try to build my momentum for a move. any move at this point. i tell myself that you know, that this will work, should work, i want to make it work, for the first time ever i am not afraid of myself. i can make it work.
i want to be the only girl in the world. i want you to make me feel, bite my heart softly, gently pry my ribs open with a crack, kiss me slowly between smiles as you give me my false impression of your love.
for unfortunately, you never wanted me the way i wanted you, the way i thought you did before it was all over.
i want you to fuck me, i want you to kiss me, i want you to smile, laugh, hold my hand in the daytime, hold my body in the night. i want you to want me and am willing to make compromises i had never considered before. i'll do anything to be your girl, your lover, your fuck buddy, your sweetheart. i'll give you a terrifying control over the whole situation.
and i had never considered that it would come to this. the silence wrapped around my heart as i smile when you talk, breathing shallow as i try to build my momentum for a move. any move at this point. i tell myself that you know, that this will work, should work, i want to make it work, for the first time ever i am not afraid of myself. i can make it work.
i want to be the only girl in the world. i want you to make me feel, bite my heart softly, gently pry my ribs open with a crack, kiss me slowly between smiles as you give me my false impression of your love.
for unfortunately, you never wanted me the way i wanted you, the way i thought you did before it was all over.
Friday, 23 August 2013
Once Upon a Time
I run my eyes across the letters on the page, trace my nails over the edges of the envelope that contains each and every line of poetry I wrote for you, and I have this sensation that I am reading some one else's love story.
For by now I can barely remember the ache for you spreading through out my bones, and echo that's barely a whisper in the night. And I feel as if I should almost apologize, as if these feelings were something short of wrong now that they exist no longer.
But even in the deepest pockets of the night, the facts that once upon a time in college I loved you will not be erased. Nor do I want them to be, as if by doing so I could still move forward as a complete person. As if I could grow beyond anything I am now without this.
And I know I would have hurt you, without meaning to, on purpose when that would be the only way for you to care for me. And in the end I would have killed all the parts I love about you in an attempt to have that love returned.
And now that it's over, I can say, once upon a time in college I loved you. And am thankful that I did.
For by now I can barely remember the ache for you spreading through out my bones, and echo that's barely a whisper in the night. And I feel as if I should almost apologize, as if these feelings were something short of wrong now that they exist no longer.
But even in the deepest pockets of the night, the facts that once upon a time in college I loved you will not be erased. Nor do I want them to be, as if by doing so I could still move forward as a complete person. As if I could grow beyond anything I am now without this.
And I know I would have hurt you, without meaning to, on purpose when that would be the only way for you to care for me. And in the end I would have killed all the parts I love about you in an attempt to have that love returned.
And now that it's over, I can say, once upon a time in college I loved you. And am thankful that I did.
Monday, 12 August 2013
My Body is Ripe
This is Saturday morning before work. The growing pulse of the sun bleeding out from under the curtains, the curve of my body as I curl deeper into myself and the blankets surrounding me. My hand is curved around my breast, my fingers curled between my legs as I press my face deep into my pillow.
I am ready and waiting and only just beginning to understand the implications of it all.
1
My body does not seem to know if it wants to faint, throw up, or eat more. I’ll settle for the latter as I dig my fingers into the muffin, tearing the soft flesh of baked goods apart in some kind of empty satisfaction, chewing and swallowing with a deliberate purpose. I’ll keep eating until the pain goes away.
I will not talk about the pain, partially because I know I will embellish it. This is nothing until I have drawn the comparison of being hit by a bus, slowly having the insides of my body scrapped out inch by inch with a rusty spoon. Never mind the fact that I have never broken a bone and cannot remember the last time I threw up. Pain has little reference within words. It is in the open space between them, the screech of the brakes on the bus as the driver attempts to swerve at the last second, the bump on the handle of the spoon that digs into my knuckles as I grip it too tightly, in the clumps of blood slowly draining out from my body for the next five days that my discomfort is characterized. I stumble to the bathroom, wanting to curse but not to use the excuse of menstruation to become psycho, digging through the drawers to find the midol or ibeproufen, or anything that I can take in hope of pretending that the drugs will make it better. They generally don’t.
I will keep eating in an effort to staunch the pain with chocolate.
2
You ask me from across the table if I’d like to go home, your brow creased with empathetic concern. I smile weakly, the lights of the restaurant slightly too bright to allow me to conduct my thoughts in a timely manner. I’m fine, I tell you. We’ve already ordered our food and at this point it would be too much on a hassle to leave and have our meal refunded.
I still can’t quite manage to look you in the eyes when we’re alone, I’m still in the habit of observation as I rub my fingers along the edge of my jeans, glance up towards the counter to see if the server is on their way yet. It probably doesn’t help that I am acutely aware of how badly I want to kiss you.
You know nothing of this, not the ache in the pit of my stomach, the stretch of pain along the edge of my thighs as I shiver with the desire to collapse. I will not do so, for this would accentuate my feelings like a weakness, my need for you to touch me. This desire is worse on days like this, as the red of my body spills open, my skin crawling and the gradual relaxation of my muscles while I try to fall back into myself. I am acutely aware that I am empty and cannot hold back my desire for you to fill me. And I know you would not be able to handle the weight of this so I smile, laugh, pop pills in hope they will work or even offer an effect as a placebo.
For I will live through this, long enough to hate myself the next time both of these cycles start themselves over.
3
The blood on my thighs is sticky and matted within the hair between my legs. And every step I make leaves a red trail behind me as I stumble my way across the house to reach the bathroom in the early, early morning. I will have to remember to clean up when I make my way back, find a change of sheets, possibly a towel, anything.
I still watch the blood with fascination each time I remove the cup from my body and slowly pour it down the drain, so red it’s almost black against the white of the sink. For I have done this before, splattered it all across the walls of the shower, traced my name, drawn pictures, stared in contemplation before I licked my fingers clean.
This is mine, my body, my blood, the confusion and delight in the process when I can barely understand the basics of what is happening to me, whether I like it, would I change it, or even stop it if i was offered the chance to. Even though I have read the books my parents gave me, searched the internet in boredom and fear, I still carry an amount of awe each time this happens. For each time I am confronted with the fact that I’m alive, with each beat, pulse and twitch of my body, red blood a swirl down the drain as I wash my hands clean after replacing the cup inside of me.
I am almost sad by the time it is all over.
4
The calendar tells me I should be starting soon. Normally there are no warning signs, no cramps, no aches, nothing but the red dots on last month’s page in the calendar to inform me of the arrival.
This time I am still caught in the need to be fucked, my body opened along an axis in the dark that I do not understand. As if by the feel of some one’s hands along the side of my ribs, his lips against my neck, a bite along the length of my heart and his weight locking me against the bed I could attempt to fill myself with whatever I am missing.
Because the weight of this moment is still heavy, black beneath my covers at night, red along my thighs in the morning, breath heavy each time I fumble between my legs. I am open along a rift I do not understand, caught in cycles as I move in rings around my body. For there is nothing wrong about this, despite what we are told, and in the end I will commit many more sins than this before I die.
So each time the blood comes I stop questioning it all.
I am ready and waiting and only just beginning to understand the implications of it all.
1
My body does not seem to know if it wants to faint, throw up, or eat more. I’ll settle for the latter as I dig my fingers into the muffin, tearing the soft flesh of baked goods apart in some kind of empty satisfaction, chewing and swallowing with a deliberate purpose. I’ll keep eating until the pain goes away.
I will not talk about the pain, partially because I know I will embellish it. This is nothing until I have drawn the comparison of being hit by a bus, slowly having the insides of my body scrapped out inch by inch with a rusty spoon. Never mind the fact that I have never broken a bone and cannot remember the last time I threw up. Pain has little reference within words. It is in the open space between them, the screech of the brakes on the bus as the driver attempts to swerve at the last second, the bump on the handle of the spoon that digs into my knuckles as I grip it too tightly, in the clumps of blood slowly draining out from my body for the next five days that my discomfort is characterized. I stumble to the bathroom, wanting to curse but not to use the excuse of menstruation to become psycho, digging through the drawers to find the midol or ibeproufen, or anything that I can take in hope of pretending that the drugs will make it better. They generally don’t.
I will keep eating in an effort to staunch the pain with chocolate.
2
You ask me from across the table if I’d like to go home, your brow creased with empathetic concern. I smile weakly, the lights of the restaurant slightly too bright to allow me to conduct my thoughts in a timely manner. I’m fine, I tell you. We’ve already ordered our food and at this point it would be too much on a hassle to leave and have our meal refunded.
I still can’t quite manage to look you in the eyes when we’re alone, I’m still in the habit of observation as I rub my fingers along the edge of my jeans, glance up towards the counter to see if the server is on their way yet. It probably doesn’t help that I am acutely aware of how badly I want to kiss you.
You know nothing of this, not the ache in the pit of my stomach, the stretch of pain along the edge of my thighs as I shiver with the desire to collapse. I will not do so, for this would accentuate my feelings like a weakness, my need for you to touch me. This desire is worse on days like this, as the red of my body spills open, my skin crawling and the gradual relaxation of my muscles while I try to fall back into myself. I am acutely aware that I am empty and cannot hold back my desire for you to fill me. And I know you would not be able to handle the weight of this so I smile, laugh, pop pills in hope they will work or even offer an effect as a placebo.
For I will live through this, long enough to hate myself the next time both of these cycles start themselves over.
3
The blood on my thighs is sticky and matted within the hair between my legs. And every step I make leaves a red trail behind me as I stumble my way across the house to reach the bathroom in the early, early morning. I will have to remember to clean up when I make my way back, find a change of sheets, possibly a towel, anything.
I still watch the blood with fascination each time I remove the cup from my body and slowly pour it down the drain, so red it’s almost black against the white of the sink. For I have done this before, splattered it all across the walls of the shower, traced my name, drawn pictures, stared in contemplation before I licked my fingers clean.
This is mine, my body, my blood, the confusion and delight in the process when I can barely understand the basics of what is happening to me, whether I like it, would I change it, or even stop it if i was offered the chance to. Even though I have read the books my parents gave me, searched the internet in boredom and fear, I still carry an amount of awe each time this happens. For each time I am confronted with the fact that I’m alive, with each beat, pulse and twitch of my body, red blood a swirl down the drain as I wash my hands clean after replacing the cup inside of me.
I am almost sad by the time it is all over.
4
The calendar tells me I should be starting soon. Normally there are no warning signs, no cramps, no aches, nothing but the red dots on last month’s page in the calendar to inform me of the arrival.
This time I am still caught in the need to be fucked, my body opened along an axis in the dark that I do not understand. As if by the feel of some one’s hands along the side of my ribs, his lips against my neck, a bite along the length of my heart and his weight locking me against the bed I could attempt to fill myself with whatever I am missing.
Because the weight of this moment is still heavy, black beneath my covers at night, red along my thighs in the morning, breath heavy each time I fumble between my legs. I am open along a rift I do not understand, caught in cycles as I move in rings around my body. For there is nothing wrong about this, despite what we are told, and in the end I will commit many more sins than this before I die.
So each time the blood comes I stop questioning it all.
Thursday, 1 August 2013
Find You
I have come back to you
and I am sorry it came to this
before I returned,
his name still a bruise upon my lips,
my smile weak and wavering, my fingers
stained red with shame
as the blood oozes out from under
the corners of my nails.
I have turned to you and your desire,
my body open as I spread myself wide,
heart thudding
as you turn off the ignition of the car,
lean over the console and kiss
me hard back into my seat,
the combined heat of our breath
leaving a delicate fog that spreads
across the panes of the car windows,
as I finally allow you to take me over
the edge and swallow me whole
beneath you.
I find you in the back roads,
leaning against the stop sign
of an empty four-way stop,
arms bare beneath the pale sun and boots
muddied by the rain of late November,
grinning with a promise of a secret
and a bite, something more
each and every time I come to you.
Now, as the days peel back slowly,
I find nothing else matters but this,
my body and soul unraveling, limp
and saturated with your scent,
your mark wrapped around the angles
of my skin, the kisses trailing
up under the fabric of my sleeves,
the bite of your teeth imprinted beneath the collar
of my shirt, your ownership of me hidden
from the public's eyes.
I have finally given myself to you
in hopes that you can fix me
now that he is gone.
and I am sorry it came to this
before I returned,
his name still a bruise upon my lips,
my smile weak and wavering, my fingers
stained red with shame
as the blood oozes out from under
the corners of my nails.
I have turned to you and your desire,
my body open as I spread myself wide,
heart thudding
as you turn off the ignition of the car,
lean over the console and kiss
me hard back into my seat,
the combined heat of our breath
leaving a delicate fog that spreads
across the panes of the car windows,
as I finally allow you to take me over
the edge and swallow me whole
beneath you.
I find you in the back roads,
leaning against the stop sign
of an empty four-way stop,
arms bare beneath the pale sun and boots
muddied by the rain of late November,
grinning with a promise of a secret
and a bite, something more
each and every time I come to you.
Now, as the days peel back slowly,
I find nothing else matters but this,
my body and soul unraveling, limp
and saturated with your scent,
your mark wrapped around the angles
of my skin, the kisses trailing
up under the fabric of my sleeves,
the bite of your teeth imprinted beneath the collar
of my shirt, your ownership of me hidden
from the public's eyes.
I have finally given myself to you
in hopes that you can fix me
now that he is gone.
Friday, 30 November 2012
want me
11/27/12
funny.
i am used to these feelings,
built on the axis of my heart
tipping forward every time you smile,
the itch in my hands to touch you,
run my fingers through your hair
and kiss you softly.
only now i don't know what
to do with myself.
i have been left here,
unable to run towards you
as i start to shut everything down.
i will end these feelings quickly,
for there is no hope
since you do not want them.
funny.
i am used to these feelings,
built on the axis of my heart
tipping forward every time you smile,
the itch in my hands to touch you,
run my fingers through your hair
and kiss you softly.
only now i don't know what
to do with myself.
i have been left here,
unable to run towards you
as i start to shut everything down.
i will end these feelings quickly,
for there is no hope
since you do not want them.
Monday, 12 November 2012
implications of this moment
11/06/12
god this is embarrassing.
god this is embarrassing.
i want you to touch me,
link your fingers through mine,
trace your thumb along my skin,
wrap your arm around my shoulder
and pull me close.
i have been left with my memories,
the trace of your scent on my clothes,
the heat of your body
and the weight of this moment
descending upon me
as i realize the implications
of it all.
i want to see you so badly.
Friday, 19 October 2012
Make it Happen
07/13/12
I wish for you to bind
me clean,
peel back the layers of my clothing,
trace the underside
of my breasts and kiss
me slowly
before you pry me open.
Because I'll dream of your hands
branded against the bones
of my hips, fingers locked,
breath shaking,
mind reeling as I let myself
fall forwards into you.
I hope that I can make this happen.
I wish for you to bind
me clean,
peel back the layers of my clothing,
trace the underside
of my breasts and kiss
me slowly
before you pry me open.
Because I'll dream of your hands
branded against the bones
of my hips, fingers locked,
breath shaking,
mind reeling as I let myself
fall forwards into you.
I hope that I can make this happen.
Tuesday, 16 October 2012
Aim to Find You
10/15/12
This is not good for my heart.
I am watching,
openly, out of the corner
of my eye when I least
expect it, scanning
my surroundings,
my memories overlapping
unconsciously with the present.
I am trying to find you
even when I know that
you are not here.
I aim to find you,
no matter how small the resemblance,
the hoodie of the man walking past me,
the flash of blond hair
from across the room,
each moment building until
it all comes crashing down
with the realization of
this strange emptiness
of when you are not near me.
And I am afraid
to tell you this.
This is not good for my heart.
I am watching,
openly, out of the corner
of my eye when I least
expect it, scanning
my surroundings,
my memories overlapping
unconsciously with the present.
I am trying to find you
even when I know that
you are not here.
I aim to find you,
no matter how small the resemblance,
the hoodie of the man walking past me,
the flash of blond hair
from across the room,
each moment building until
it all comes crashing down
with the realization of
this strange emptiness
of when you are not near me.
And I am afraid
to tell you this.
Sunday, 7 October 2012
Nothing as Stupid as a Love Poem
09/15/12
-for my version of the scientist
This is a fantasy.
Kiss me, teeth scraping
along the curve of my lips,
blood beating deep
within my ears, flush
staining out across my cheeks
as I fist my fingers through
your hair
and pull you to me.
Grind me, hips locked together,
limbs sprawled out across the bed,
breath heaving as I claw my body open
in an attempt to reach you.
Taste me, tongue kissed behind my ear,
the sweat of your skin imprinted
along the fabric on my shirt,
chest heaving,
heart strangled as I slowly allow
you to start stripping me bare.
I need you to fill me, break
me down, bones locked to
the mattress,
heart slowing from your weight
stretched along me.
This is a fantasy.
Because when I wake,
you're no where closer to being
in my arms.
-for my version of the scientist
This is a fantasy.
Kiss me, teeth scraping
along the curve of my lips,
blood beating deep
within my ears, flush
staining out across my cheeks
as I fist my fingers through
your hair
and pull you to me.
Grind me, hips locked together,
limbs sprawled out across the bed,
breath heaving as I claw my body open
in an attempt to reach you.
Taste me, tongue kissed behind my ear,
the sweat of your skin imprinted
along the fabric on my shirt,
chest heaving,
heart strangled as I slowly allow
you to start stripping me bare.
I need you to fill me, break
me down, bones locked to
the mattress,
heart slowing from your weight
stretched along me.
This is a fantasy.
Because when I wake,
you're no where closer to being
in my arms.
Saturday, 6 October 2012
Begging You
09/20/12
I am begging you
to kiss me. I can imagine
the trace of your fingers down
the side of my jaw, gently hooking
under my chin and the soft tug
as you tilt my head upwards
to meet your eyes.
I will take you in, the embellishments
of my memories of you, the curve
of your smile, the short length
of your hair as I raise
my hands to thread my fingers
through it and pull
you down towards me.
I am still fantasizing
as I raise my legs to lock
them around your hips, trace my fingers
up the length of your spine,
your body heavy, stretched
along the length of my centre,
the beat of your heart aching
through your skin onto mine.
I am willing you to break
me, strip my body open
piece by piece, clothes discarded
on the floor, the heat
of your breath in my ear,
the bite of your teeth on my neck
as I am falling,
falling headfirst into confusion
with you.
I am begging you
to kiss me. I can imagine
the trace of your fingers down
the side of my jaw, gently hooking
under my chin and the soft tug
as you tilt my head upwards
to meet your eyes.
I will take you in, the embellishments
of my memories of you, the curve
of your smile, the short length
of your hair as I raise
my hands to thread my fingers
through it and pull
you down towards me.
I am still fantasizing
as I raise my legs to lock
them around your hips, trace my fingers
up the length of your spine,
your body heavy, stretched
along the length of my centre,
the beat of your heart aching
through your skin onto mine.
I am willing you to break
me, strip my body open
piece by piece, clothes discarded
on the floor, the heat
of your breath in my ear,
the bite of your teeth on my neck
as I am falling,
falling headfirst into confusion
with you.
Friday, 20 July 2012
unfortunately
07/19/12
unfortunately,
this is not how i would have it.
i want your hands
on my body, teeth snapping,
ribs creaking as you pry
me open in a form
of benediction
against my sins.
i want no whispers of love,
only your arms open
to catch me, to punish me,
to mold me into someone different
from who i really am.
remake me.
for i cannot handle myself
this way any longer.
unfortunately,
this is not how i would have it.
i want your hands
on my body, teeth snapping,
ribs creaking as you pry
me open in a form
of benediction
against my sins.
i want no whispers of love,
only your arms open
to catch me, to punish me,
to mold me into someone different
from who i really am.
remake me.
for i cannot handle myself
this way any longer.
Sunday, 1 July 2012
Writing For You
06/20/12
I am writing for you,
about you,
the beat of my heart on the line,
the collapse of my lungs
as I breathe these words
over and over.
I find I don't know how
to deal with it anymore.
I am writing for you,
about you,
the beat of my heart on the line,
the collapse of my lungs
as I breathe these words
over and over.
I find I don't know how
to deal with it anymore.
Wednesday, 20 June 2012
Watching You
06/03/12
I can remember the way
I watch you,
eyes darting away to not get caught
as I check you out,
scrape the lines of your body clean
before rising up to meet your eyes
in a panic,
for I want to touch you,
kiss you clean,
straddle your lap, lace your fingers
through mine and allow myself
to fall forward into you.
I can remember the way
I watch you,
eyes darting away to not get caught
as I check you out,
scrape the lines of your body clean
before rising up to meet your eyes
in a panic,
for I want to touch you,
kiss you clean,
straddle your lap, lace your fingers
through mine and allow myself
to fall forward into you.
Monday, 18 June 2012
Confession
06/17/12
There's the gap in my chest
as my ribs are slowly pried apart,
my lungs gasping for air,
my mouth dry as I try to swallow
my heart down deep into my chest
before it bursts.
I can't believe I said that
to you.
There's the gap in my chest
as my ribs are slowly pried apart,
my lungs gasping for air,
my mouth dry as I try to swallow
my heart down deep into my chest
before it bursts.
I can't believe I said that
to you.
Friday, 15 June 2012
Fall
06/09/12
I want to fall,
unbuckle my arms,
stretch out my fingers,
and feel my bones snap against the wind
as I become elastic, sinking
downwards beneath the bruised
undersides of my eyelids,
heavy with the tears I haven't managed
to shed yet.
But I'm scared to saying this,
spreading voice to these desires,
afraid that if you get in the way
I'll grab hold
and I can't ask you, I can't
ask you the burden
of catching me.
Not when I don't know how far
I have to fall.
I want to fall,
unbuckle my arms,
stretch out my fingers,
and feel my bones snap against the wind
as I become elastic, sinking
downwards beneath the bruised
undersides of my eyelids,
heavy with the tears I haven't managed
to shed yet.
But I'm scared to saying this,
spreading voice to these desires,
afraid that if you get in the way
I'll grab hold
and I can't ask you, I can't
ask you the burden
of catching me.
Not when I don't know how far
I have to fall.
Tuesday, 12 June 2012
Catching Me
06/12/12
I am not asking for anything,
not the weight of your hand
in mine, the trace
of your breath along the back of my neck
or even your smile.
Because I am content
with how it is,
this distance, the searching glances
from the corners of my eyes,
your name not even mentioned
as I run my pen along the paper,
afraid as if I could jinx myself.
I'm scared to lean against you
because I want to, need
to fall
and I can't ask you the burden
of catching me.
I am not asking for anything,
not the weight of your hand
in mine, the trace
of your breath along the back of my neck
or even your smile.
Because I am content
with how it is,
this distance, the searching glances
from the corners of my eyes,
your name not even mentioned
as I run my pen along the paper,
afraid as if I could jinx myself.
I'm scared to lean against you
because I want to, need
to fall
and I can't ask you the burden
of catching me.
Wednesday, 16 May 2012
together
05/16/12
hold through this feeling,
the beat of your hands
upon my chest, the trace
of your breath trailing up
the back of my neck, the kiss
of your lips but a shadow against mine
as my heart slowly shatters
and falls away,
layer by layer until i'm left alone
with nothing but this emptiness
to console me.
i can't ask for you to hold me
together.
hold through this feeling,
the beat of your hands
upon my chest, the trace
of your breath trailing up
the back of my neck, the kiss
of your lips but a shadow against mine
as my heart slowly shatters
and falls away,
layer by layer until i'm left alone
with nothing but this emptiness
to console me.
i can't ask for you to hold me
together.
Monday, 16 April 2012
The Lines of Your Body
04/11/12
For S.
I like the lines of your body,
the stretch of your smile echoed
in the light of your eyes,
the easy-going nature in which you move,
the curves of your skin a shadow
beneath the lines of your clothes,
and I find myself wondering
what it would be like
to touch you,
tangle my fingers in your hair,
kiss you and not let go,
the weight of your pulse a steady beat
against mine and attempt
to climb into you in order to find
a name for these feelings
that I've been afraid of for the longest time.
For S.
I like the lines of your body,
the stretch of your smile echoed
in the light of your eyes,
the easy-going nature in which you move,
the curves of your skin a shadow
beneath the lines of your clothes,
and I find myself wondering
what it would be like
to touch you,
tangle my fingers in your hair,
kiss you and not let go,
the weight of your pulse a steady beat
against mine and attempt
to climb into you in order to find
a name for these feelings
that I've been afraid of for the longest time.
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