Addicted

Do you love me

Or are you addicted again?

Can you tell the difference?

I am not your new drug,

And I won’t be the one to save you from yourself.

I don’t want the burden,

The sole responsibility of giving your life meaning.

Obsession is not a form of flattery,

So you should figure out what it is you’re really feeling.

Do you care

Or am I something to give you the attention you’ve been craving?

Can you tell the difference?

Let me breathe alone,

Let me go if your heart isn’t true.

I am not an endless supply of emotions for your selfish taking,

But a person who needs something tangible.

I don’t have the patience,

Or the capacity to fall for an empty heart.

You are seeking a filler for the void growing in you,

And I think you need a higher power to fix the imminent emptiness you’re facing.

Do you want me

Or are you seeking an affirming love to claim as your own?

Can you tell the difference?


 

Song: Medicine – The 1975

Advertisements

Wildfire

A spark,

Just a minuscule spark,

And that was all it took as I went up in flames.

Suddenly,

My lungs filled with heavy smoke,

But I kept breathing you in.

I couldn’t stop,

No matter how hard I tried to put you out,

You filled every empty space.

Fully enveloped,

Nearly suffocating,

There was nothing to do but give in.

Just as I did,

Right when I stood tall among the flames encasing my body,

There was nothing left.

No fire,

No trees where I waited for you,

Only a collection of burns littering my collapsing body.


 

Song: Used To Love You Sober – Kane Brown and That Don’t Sound Like You – Lee Brice …depending on how you interpret this one. For some reason, this just felt like it called for a country song.


 

I’ve been trying to use more imagery in my poetry. Also, I think  I have over-used the water/ocean analogy by now, so fire is pretty much as far from that as I can get.

What do you think? This feels a bit different from my usual poetry, and I think I’m liking it so far.

To Love A Writer, Part 3/3

I don’t know how long it has been since he decided he no longer wanted to be a part of me,

Maybe it’s been years but there’s a nagging voice in my head simultaneously telling me that it happened just yesterday.

Regardless of how long it has been,

I am breathing normally once and for all.

My lungs have finally freed themselves from the man who wanted to tell them how to operate,

And I’m not blinded by his try-hard beauty anymore.

He left a disastrous mess in his wake,

One that I believed so strongly was too massive to take on alone.

I knew I had to try anyway because there was no whole part of me left to keep me alive,

And I taught myself how to pick up every piece without him.

He didn’t half-love me because half-loved is still loved,

But instead he only paid attention to me when it was most convenient.

That’s what got me through the process of transforming back into a person I can recognize,

The idea that he never really loved me at all because I know that the intent of the heart is best exposed when it’s inconvenienced.

It took having my heart broken,

To become whole for the first time in my life.

With every day that I am given,

I am an ever-improved version of the person I know I really am.

And with my newfound perspective,

Comes a brand new kind of living as well.

He makes words out of me too,

But this one immortalizes me in the beautiful poetry he writes.

I know I am safe with him but never bored,

Full of laughter and home-coming every single day.

He is not an enigma or an over-complicated mystery that I can only figure out right as he’s changing the plot again,

But instead a book of memories and secrets and compassion that he can’t wait to let me read every day.

To love a writer,

Is to be loved by someone who will turn your best parts into their masterpieces.

 

 

New Video!

Hi! I just posted a new poetry video that you can watch here:

Also yes, I was editing a video 2 a.m. instead of sleeping. Oops. Waking up for work tomorrow will be so fun.

To Love A Writer, Part 2/3

The bitter truth was foretold by his eyes as they progressively grew darker everyday,

Soon no longer a charming quirk but a tantalizing reality.

He stopped smiling at me,

Instead choosing to save his joy for the hearts of people he hadn’t grown tired of yet.

His worn and calloused hands belong somewhere else now,

Though they kept their distance long before the rest of him withdrew.

Suddenly I am staying awake every night,

Petrified of shutting my eyes in case I won’t be able to stop him from showing up and then disappearing again in the morning.

This isn’t healthy,

As I obsess over every detail and wonder where in the world I could have gone wrong.

Forgetting him is not as easy as I thought it would be,

Because part of me knew he was never going to stay.

He would give me some ill-conceived nonsense if he were here now,

“It had to be this way because I…”

I don’t even know what his excuse would be,

But I know he will always say anything to avoid owning up to the simple fact that he was tired of loving me.

Half-loved,

I was never going to be anything more than half-loved by him.

I am figuring out that writers love selfishly,

Taking and taking and using what comes of it for their personal benefit until they are too bored to continue.

I was only a fleeting flurry of emotions in his mind,

Only something to write about when it was all over.

No warning,

No consideration for anyone but himself.

I am not a story,

Or a character in one of his books.

This is not a fairy tale,

Even if it felt like one in the sweetest parts.

Leaving me behind was not poetic,

It just hurt.

Life can imitate art and the opposite is always true,

But reality and fiction cannot rightfully coexist.

My emotions and his actions,

They are composed of so much more than the biased words of his choosing.

He only writes about fear and regret,

Because he has a habit of running away when his life starts to become too real.

But I Won’t

I can leave too.

I can push you away when it gets too hard.

I can think of myself first.

I can leave you guessing.

I can make you feel unwanted, insecure, unable to be loved.

I can drive you to insanity as you wonder what in the world you did wrong.

I can make you think it was all your fault.

I can come back only when you start to give up.

I can give you false hope.

I can take the easy way out.

I can turn away and never look back.

I can leave too.

 


 

For the folks who feel like they are constantly being left behind; for the ones who have nearly given up hope but still can’t bring themselves to admit it fully; for the ones who are angry about it; for the ones who can’t seem to get it right; here’s a poem for you.

A Non-Love Letter

We were both so young when you came into my life.

Actually, I would describe it as gliding or floating into my life because there was no defining moment.

There was no whirlwind or thunderstorm when you appeared.

Suddenly you were there and I knew I didn’t want you to leave.

We were still made up of chubby bellies, high-pitched voices, and wide eyes full of hope.

We would slyly watch each other from opposite ends of the playground:

You were the class clown and I was the shy girl with her nose in a book.

I wanted to hate you for being so loud and outgoing, but you had a certain charm that I couldn’t bring myself to dislike.

We grew up and suddenly you wore braces and my hair had gone from perfect curls to an untamed mess.

You cut your long blonde hair so it wouldn’t hang in front of your eyes like it used to.

I think even when I’m eighty years old in my rocking chair, I’ll still be able to see those evergreen eyes in my mind like it was yesterday that they were looking at me.

Sometimes, briefly, I wish they were.

You were a knight in shining armor and I wasn’t ready to be saved.

I had nothing to be saved from yet.

I broke your heart on that hot summer night so many years ago.

You kept apologizing all night because you wore jeans while I was in a dress.

You bought me dinner and held my hand from across the table.

You wanted to kiss me and all I did was what I’m best at:

I ran.

Not physically of course, but I left you behind as if you meant nothing to me at all.

You weren’t mean to me like I deserved.

You didn’t yell or tell me I was just like the other girls who never loved you back.

I kind of hoped you would make me hate you somehow.

Instead, all you could say was, “But I thought you were my girl.”

No one had ever said that to me.

No one had said it so willingly, so genuinely, so sweetly.

Your love was the kind I thought only existed in books.

You were just like all the boys I spent too much time reading about.

I chose not to be the main character though.

I chose not to be the girl who would treat you like you always deserved.

She came right after me.

I haven’t seen you since the day I lied and so harshly told you that I felt nothing.

“There’s just no spark,” but my God how could I deny that I felt fireworks every time I looked at you, even back in our playground days?

I think it was an easier explanation than admitting how afraid I was to be loved the right way.

I couldn’t tell you that I wasn’t ready because it didn’t seem like a good enough reason to end the good thing we shared.

We were so innocent and everything went too perfectly.

All I could think about was how I didn’t deserve it; how I would mess it all up eventually.

I couldn’t tell you that though because you seemed so mature and I thought I had to be too.

I didn’t know that I could have told you the truth, and maybe then I wouldn’t still have regrets about it now.

I hate that I left a bad taste in your mouth.

I hate that I let you believe you weren’t worthy of my love when I was the one who wasn’t worthy.

Sometimes you will cross my mind and my heart will lurch the tiniest bit.

The boy who only wanted to love me the way I dreamed of being loved had to be pushed away.

I know it couldn’t have worked out any other way.

I know that I had so much more to learn.

I know all of that, but the fact that I couldn’t appreciate how rare you are bothers me from time to time.

You deserved to know, even if nothing came of it.

My old friends show me photos of you and her, and she looks at you the way I wanted to years ago.

She looks at you the way you always deserved.

Every time I see you smiling like that, like she’s the only one who will ever hold your heart, I’m so happy.

You got what you deserved.

You found your girl.

You are loved.


 

Song: Back To December – Taylor Swift