3 A.M

 

3 A.M. and I’m wondering if you’re up;

if you’re alive,

holding on by a thread,

like I am,

and the hours dwindle by slowly.

 

I’m talking to my ceiling,

and thinking it’s you,

yet the ceiling doesn’t

have your warmth

but it has the same blank stare

and pasty coloring.

 

So, I keep telling it how I miss

the way we would

scribble our names on each other’s hands

and how you’d kiss my cheek softly

or we we’d sit on the roof and

you’d tell me I was prettier than the night sky.

 

and, I tell it I wish you wouldn’t

have seen me hit rock bottom

I wish I would’ve let you hold me that one night

I told you to go away and never come back

and how you listened…

and I haven’t seen you since.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You See Me Differently

 

You say I’m crazy, untrustworthy, and sensitive.

You say I have too many trust issues, low-self esteem, and bad judgement.

I wish you were wrong, but you’re right…I’m all of those things.

Do you know how many people I’ve let in? Not many. This girl without makeup, that tries not to cry because she’s lonely and trying to not give into the anger that swells inside her soul.

You don’t see the same girl I see in the mirror. You hold my hand, and don’t look at my wrist slashed with scars. You hold me, and don’t see me shudder because intimacy scares me. Your naivety reminds me of the girl I used to be. Before, I remembered things and I let my past hold me down.

Yet–your naiviety frustrates me. You expect too much of me. I try to explain it to you, and you don’t grasp the concept.

Somehow, I’ll get over it, I promise myself on some abandoned road and you’re a thousand miles not even thinking about me.

But, your eyes are the only thing that are constantly are on my mind.

 

 

 

I Don’t Know…

I know you don’t understand me,

how I tell you Grecian myths relating to the constellations,

how the smell of books and coffee is somewhat of a drug to me,

how I drift into a eerie silence and I lose myself in a daydream,

how I strive for perfection, but never ask it of anyone else.

I worry too much about everything under the sun.

You tell me to relax, but it’s hard to tell myself everything will be alright.

And, I don’t know if this will work out, but–I’d like to hope it will.

 

 

 

 

okay.

there is good worth fighting for in life,

because it tells you everything will be okay

it’s found in the toothless grin of a child,

the glint in someone’s eyes as they tell you their dreams,

in presents that say, I thought of you today

 

I let you tell me everything was going to be, ‘okay.’

because, you were my okay

a slight reminder, that the life wasn’t always

long monologues ending in crying

and murky days, dressed with forlorn people

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i stopped.

i stopped finding

soft, meaningful poetry

in your footsteps

and the cracked driveways

 

i stopped looking

for you

in crowded rooms

and my coffee’s reflection

 

i stopped asking my friends

if they were happy

they wear dark circles for makeup

and coffee stained t-shirts

 

i stopped living when i was sixteen

i’m looking for reason

no one can tell me where it is

or if it even exists