Love’s War (Poem #165)

Do you believe in love, baby?Because I do.

I believe in blue skies, with flower crowns, and birds chirping so soft you could swoon.

I believe in soft water, with warm sand, filled with sweet wine kisses.

I believe in gentle touches, on sunny days, with breezes bringing in playful laughter.

But baby boy, love isn’t always dreams of tomorrow’s but nights filled with terrors.

Those nights when tears stain hearts more than fists break the walls.

If I could spit knives, I would lay waist to souls.

Because with love comes heartache, and heartache carries grenades.

We dream of sunshine than run when we see rain.

But baby love is also rain clouds, and muffled sobs buried in a warm embrace.

It is feeling warm tears break cold stares, holding clenched fists so tight we noticed we stopped breathing at the same time.

Baby doll your love gave me ammunition to wage war on souls!

I became stronger with love on ground weaker with fear.

I will walk through the trenches of long sleepless nights, enter no man’s land of silent nights shivering from cold shoulders across the bed, as long as the only words I ever have to fire with certainty are “I do”.

You see handsome, falling does not scare me being a lone soldier fighting for an uncertain love breaks my soul.

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Attempting to Explain Why I am Single(Poem #161)

The number one question on tinder today is: “How in the world is a girl like you single?”

Well boys and girls please sit down as I tell you why:

  1. Swearing isn’t lady like and I don’t give a damn that people fucking think it’s rude.
  2. You would look so much prettier if you just tried a little harder.
  3. My love is like a treasure chest; filled with glistening moments that bring glory, joy and wonder only to be later seen as monitary value to be barged with, tested, and sold to the highest bidder, each piece taken away from me as symbol of my lovers’ triumph over my heart.
  4. “I don’t date short girls”.
  5. May fairytales are more like Grim’s. There is no happily ever after, and I am pretty sure my “Prince Charming” got lost and is too stubborn to ask for directions.
  6. “It’s not you it’s me…”
  7. My body is more like a quest than a home; each knight gets wrapped in the excitement of saying they have slain the dragon but never knowing what to do with the princess after that; the crown didn’t fit my head right and I don’t fit into the kingdom quite right…maybe I was better off with the dragon
  8. Omg you like girls too that is so hot we should totally….ehhh stop there do not pass go do not collect two hundred dollars, that is not how this game work.
  9. I’m not the type of girl that people fall in love with. I am the paper town meant to be burned down by men with matches. I pride myself on provide warmth and love by sacrificing my heart to the hollowness of bones. Creating graveyards of memories, where all ex’s are followed by “oooohh”‘s
  10. “We’re sorry the number you have dialed is no longer in service or has been disconnected. Please hang up and try again”

A letter to my lonely lover(Poem #157)

A letter to my lonely lover,

Warning,

this is not a love letter you will grin at as you read it like a poem each night…

No this is a letter of precaution,

Because I can only lay my head on the collarbone of your broken heart,

Attempt to hear the melody behind mismatched breathing.

I can not hear the way your breaths playing against your ribs like wind-chimes echoing the emptiness that is inside you,

No I can not hear that.

I can not feel the clattering of bones beneath me shaking at their own loneliness.

Nor understand that the reason you twitch right before you fall asleep is because your body  needs to remind you that you are more than a skeleton waiting to rot.

Laying here I don’t see any of that…

I understand what it feels like to have every ounce of your soul ache for intimacy,

But can not seem to grasp it or find it in this world.

Because we locked our hearts away in our rib cage,

and then threw away the key….

It’s not like we don’t know where the key is,

We do,

We memorized the seconds between bounces and exactly where it landed.

But out of sight equals out of mind,

And I can finally pretend that my heart isn’t resting on the bottom of my stomach,

crying out to be fixed like a broken birds wing.

No!

I will not feel that,

and neither will you…

So we try to find comfort in moments that will only land milliseconds in our brains,

And sleep in god knows how many other people’s beds because we have forgotten why it felt right to sleep alone…

But it’s not that we don’t feel it,

We do,

But we pretend that we don’t feel it,

We want to feel like we are a whole person laying beside yet another one night stand,

and that is it!

But when we wake up in the morning,

your face won’t give me comfort,

and I will look in the mirror to see exactly who I was yesterday staring back at me,

I want to punch the glass so that I bleed,

because bleeding makes sense,

that is what happens when you are hurt,

you bleed and you scar…

But not when it’s your heart.

Instead my eyes they bleed tears…and tears dry,

And it’s hard to explain why your hurting when what your body is bleeding in misery is only visible to you…

So I will crawl back in bed with you,

I will kiss you on the lips,

Say I had a good time,

Rest my head again on your chest pretending that the heartbeat I hear is simply that…

Just a heart beat…

Because if I read too much into it then I know I will do something stupid,

like kiss you again, but this time it will be different because it will mean something,

because for that millisecond my heart will drop a feather outside my ribcage reminding me that I can still feel.

But I don’t want that.

I would rather live in the graveyard of my hollow chest,

then give you the power to send my heart back to hell!

That’s the scary thing about laying next to a broken lover…

They make you realize how broken YOU truly are…

The reality of the “perfect man”(Poem #153)

I’m tired of boys telling me I’m worth it,

When they only walk away.

Because you were the 13th boy to lay hands on me,

with little to no intention to stay.

I guess I should be used to it,

hearing those ringing words,

“You deserve the world!”

Yet the world fell at your hands

Because even though you say I am worth it,

I still feel second hand.

like the canvas you laid paint on,

but you wish you never had,

because the picture that we painted,

though it truly wasn’t bad,

didn’t quite breath perfection to your life.

No the image was all too real,

not like the fairytales that I had waited so long for.

No my canvas has been broken, and ripped, and torn.

My edges are all rough, no longer soft and smooth.

So stop telling me I’m worth it,

that the perfect man exists…

Because the perfect man wants a new canvas,

not one he has to fix…

What do you call it (Poem #133)

We seem to get wrapped up in this concept of titles,

Everything has to have a label…

But why?

Why do we have to complicate this?

Why does it matter what I call you?

You could call it anything…

I don’t care,

I just want you!