I know you feel as though you are an ugly wreckage, broken beyond all repair but I’m here to tell you that you’re not. You are beautiful, you are brave… and you will heal."
Ranata Suzuki (via wnq-writers)
writingsbyan (via wnq-writers)
She had wide eyes so I thought she would see me standing there with my arms open promising heaven
She had this perfect smile that made me doubt if I truly had ever seen one
She had this heart that would echo outside her chest and beat into me
She had this way about her that was everything and nothing
She knew the world was not something she could control and even then she would try and fail
This life blessed her and blessed me with her scent
I would sit and stare at her forever, marveling at how we were meant to be
I would trace the outline of her body and memorize it all
But, then, just like a shooting star or a bad poet crossing out lines
I watched it fade
I haven’t brushed my hair in weeks so tonight
my mother sat me down and ran a comb through the knows
honey, she sighs you have to get better at taking care of yourself
I’ve heard that keeping flowers after they’ve died is bad luck
but they never tell you what to do with the heart rotting in your chest
the smell is starting to alarm the neighbors they stand outside my window chanting
something must be done something must be done
I pull the flowers out of my closet and shove them to the bottom of the dumpster
my hand comes out with bits of trash clinging to it
but this is just my way of showing I’m trying to get better.
I still drink more wine than water
but I’ve started to look at my veins without wondering what they would look like split open
and I think that’s what my shrink calls progress
my sister gave me a stuffed animal of my greatest fear as a joke
but I don’t think it’s funny that I sleep with it every night
hold it to my chest like it’s salvation instead of damnation
I welcome monsters into my bed and set a place for them at breakfast
leave sugar out for their coffee
goddamn
I’ve always been so good at loving monsters.
The last boy I kissed meant nothing to me but the last one in my bed is haunting me
I threw out the shirt I was wearing when I first met him even though it was my father’s
and any coffee mugs his lips touched are cracked in my trash
The last time I talked to him I said I just want to be the one you love best
and he cried because I wasn’t.
I wish the pictures on my wall could talk, that girl looks so happy
speak to me speak to me the night is so quiet
I’m too fucking sentimental these poems are getting me nowhere
how many pens have met their end while I try to explain this
how many notebooks have been destroyed while I try to bury this-
I wallpaper my room with my efforts and swallow the fragments
they glitter like crystal and scrape my throat the whole way down and still,
the only way I can fall asleep is underneath a world map
dreaming of places far enough away
that my heart forgets yours is beating too.
