[x]

starsi pray that someday soon, in a lonesome winter, your bones will cease to ache.
regrets will no longer break your morals like glass figurines,
you will not ask God to pardon your sins.
you will forgive yourself.

i hope, for your sake, that your butterfly-flutter eyes
will only be dampened with tears worthy of shedding.
your glory will shine out of those 2 crystal windows
and you will finally know what freedom feels like.

one day, in the midst of a dreary december, i wish for your wings to open wide
and carry you to heights far past any you have ever experienced.
your lungs will become blooming forests
with snippets of poetry carved into

Storybook EndingHer ink-stained lips have kissed too many a forgotten page,

[dragon's blood
and phoenix down]

And her Prince Charming has yet to come,

[glass slippers
shattering like stars]

So all she can do is gaze out her tower window,

[enchanted forests
concealing poisoned apples]

Clutch that corroded and timeworn blade,

[cursed beasts
tearing down castle walls]

Toss her childhood fables to the waltzing of the moon,

wastelandthe difference between alone & lonely
was one of them needed me.

i recluded back into the embrace
of someone who didn't deserve to
trace the wings in my lungs into
butterflies, all because of my
selfish desire for solace.

see, i am not practiced
in the art of loneliness.
or maybe i've wrecked enough
solitary canvases to stretch
me all the way back to the
fallen leaves of last october
when his arms constricted my mid-
section; a noose for my stomach.

i wanted to forget
how it felt
to be left.

so i let him stroke my shoulders
in an attempt to rebirth necessity.

september's winds brought
whiplash & slick hands.
he snaked in between

confessionalthey say sad girls change their hair color
and forgive their monsters.

i change my morals
and become one.

i would say my father is a wari would say my father is a war horse but that is a failed symbol
because he has been dragged through the dirt as many times as this metaphor

i want to write in abstract like in a book of
contemporary poetry i bought over the summer;
it was all syllables and lines of 'talk talk talk' repeated over and over
i want to write something that describes how i feel without saying a word that describes it -
like:
dust and ache and tired and bone and overflowing and lonely and fuck and .

i want to write poems that have meaning without being cliche i want poems
that defy grammar and space and time because when someone reads them, they become me

truthsi.

there are 2 things that not even the most
forceful of rains can cleanse me of:

-memories
-mistakes

ii.

sometimes, i feel like a caged lion.
only with a lot more impatience
and a lot less resilience.

iii.

i have yet to discover what it means to be content.
i am either too stagnant or too fluid.
no middle ground.

iv.

i have mastered the art of leaving.
it's the idea of moving on that still haunts me.

v.

i fear that the light in my eyes is so dim that it will burn out
before even i have a chance to see the world with it.

vi.

i am not as clever as i pretend to be.

vii.

someone needs to teach me that
i don't need reassurance; i

blood typethere is something haunting about the way blood flows.
just think - all that crimson coursing through you,
scribing calligraphy inside your gut.

through your arms, through your heart.

it paints promises across the canvas of your innards, saying:

i promise to take time, to give you as much as you need.
i promise to stay warm even when chills tickle your spinal cord.
when blades threaten to sharpen themselves like buffers across your skin,
i will flow slowly, giving them a chance to see the light in your bones.

i promise to stay powerful.
i promise to stay abundant.
i promise to stay holy.

i will weave through your veins,
craft myself

Untitledsorry, ma'am, but you're carrying too much luggage
that's not possible. its only 5kg and the limit is 20kg.
emotional luggage, ma'am.
huh?
you're allowed two ghosts per flight
and you have at least five.
oh. sorry. i'll work on that.

medicinegrowing older is a big word for medicating my youth

because i was once wild-eyed

i was once foot-loose

i was once alive with gaps between each tooth

i was once sea dust & cusps of mountains

i was once drinking pennies from fountains

i was alive alive

i was alive

i was alive

i was

& my fingers are dropping

my skin is growing pale

pushing around a child until painfully thin

it's just medicine

each year is just medicine

You're Not?You're anorexic if you're thin
You're not? Then you're obese.

If you're different, you're insane
You're not? Then you're a fake.

If you're happy, you're hiding something.
You're not? You must be emo.

If you're dating, you're a slut.
You're not? You must have no friends.

If you're popular, you're a jerk.
You're not? You're a nobody.

If you're quiet, you must be disabled.
You're not? You obnoxious freak.

If you're you, you're wrong.
You're not?
Then you must be perfect.

wasting time.already,
i have spent too many nights with metal kissing flesh,
too many nights just one step above empty air.
there are too many unwritten suicide notes in my head,
too many hours spent praying to a toilet that will never answer back 'thin enough'.
i have wasted my 18th year curled around too much sadness,
spending it in texts sent like stones i never should have thrown.
words i never should have let fall out of the unhinged socket of my mouth.
i am all helium and no balloon.
i have spent my problems lavishly,
i was a whore with my secrets.
i forgot how to fall apart quietly.
i fell asleep in depression loud as the thoughts in your head.
i let it settle in my bones but tried to dig it out by cutting deeper.
i learned healing is a meal i haven't learned to swallow yet,
and i am grieving something i haven't found.
my innocence is a book i never got to read,
a book he burned before i was old enough to say no.
i can feel my scars raised like white flags,
each valley a war won.
maybe they

swimming in spacelet's ask the stars to build us a castle so we can rest our shoulders
like royalty - put the weight of all these words down for a few millennia
and just breathe.
our lungs could use a few hits of truth to open themselves up
to the calming hymns of the heavens; breaking ourselves apart
shouldn't be too difficult.

(our wrists mean war - forests of insecurities & impatience)

wait a few more months for distance to build itself
a bridge between our arms,
ache like saturn is stretching its rings across your chest,
deeming you responsible for all the black holes and stray planets
enveloped in the universe.

i went swimming in your blood str

Crayon SoulmatesDear Stars,

I have a bone to pick with you. You see, when I was six, I called myself the nowhere girl... and I coloured myself a soulmate. I made him on crumpled sheets, with broken pieces of crayon, on a playground that was too busy wondering whether growing up entailed stealing your mother's cigarettes and your father's dirty magazines (I suppose I was already wise enough to know that growing up meant choosing one of the many ways of breaking yourself in two.)

I hope you remember him, stars...he was important to me (My mother threw that drawing away on my seventh birthday and told me that girls are not supposed to have such dreams.).

He

Missing Pieces.I am a missing piece. Something that someone needs.
But at the same time, I feel so incomplete.
I’ve wandered way too far, wondered for far too long
Am I a missing piece? Or a piece that won’t belong?

Is it possible I’m damaged and not missing at all?
That I’m just as dysfunctional as everybody else?
Pretending to be perfect never softened a single fall.
But neither did admitting that you’re broken and flawed.

A broken missing piece. Is that all I’m meant to be?
There is no master plan that includes the likes of me.
Being all alone, it’s a hurt that will not cease.
A hundred thousand years from now

How are you?"Hey! How are you?"

I'm bad,
Tired,
Hurt,
Depressed,
Alone,
Stressed,
Regretful,
Disconcerting,
Frozen to the core,
Broken,
Ready to cry some more,
Lonely,
Crushed,
Cold,
Life is just rushed...
Defeated,
In so much pain,
Feeling cheated,
Life has no gain,
Not good enough,
Worthless,
Life is just so rough,
A failure,
No one could care less,
Sorry for complaining so much,
Sorry for being selfish and such,

"I'm fine, thanks for asking! And how are you?"

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More from ~learningtobefree

melancholy milesi.

i wish i could put your wonders into words.
your breath, hot and heavy on my face, melts away my skin
until you are evaporating my cheekbones into a beautiful cracked sculpture of vogue.

ii.

my insides are pressurized with you but somehow, my will power
leaked its way out of my ear, out of my lips
onto the floor
but we don't mind because we are young and a little bit battered,
and free will is overrated anyway.

iii.

i lift the thin fabric to my nose and inhale, deep
as if there is nothing between us -

you are the blanket
and you are holding me.

iv.

the sincerity in your arms forces the past out of me until i'm not a c

absentthere is a difference between
being alone & being lonely;
you have shown me both.

my fingers grew 2 sizes over the span of
4 winters; you proved that the only thing
lonelier than the number 1 is me
in my 17 years of glory & pride
and being stubborn.

we are long walks and pain marks
and it aches me to think that i am
nothing but breath to you while you
are my whole fucking oxygen supply.
i rested my head on a cloud bed for
4 years, coloring myself outside
the lines to get your attention -

i should've known you've always been organized.

prim and proper and ready to break the bones
out of any passerby daring enough to call

enslave yourselfi am not radical enough to own my body.
the universal soul watches me spit on soil
and martyr my morals for ignorance's sake.

my ribs don't curve into a smile in my chest;
no, my insides are grimaced and my spine isn't
straight like Spanish language.

i am a z.

z like too sharp to be an s - s like my dulled senses
on spirituality - z like a paint smear the artist won't
work with like a white scratch on a purple canvas,
i am purple too; our childhood like a haze of orange
and sticky fingers and the blood rush of advice we
might actually take to heart.

(my heart is nonexistent)

my kneecaps kneel on salt granules until my skin

royal mistakeyour bones speak a language my tongue hasn't learned yet.
they are bitter, from crown to toe-curls; you are bitter and
bent out of shape. you are no royalty, just a common man
building his wall of bricks but you pedestalize yourself
amongst the highest of crowds; the dieties and Gods watch
as you adorn yourself in ill-gotten robes of shimmering gold.

the angels observe in understandable offense as you remove
the cloak of vulnerability and the past, replace it with diamond
studs and p(r)etty fluff as if your children are an audience.

you have become a skeleton in your 50 years, you have become
a skeleton. a dismantled pile of fle

aquaticsi am trying not to let you flood my insides; no such luck.
we are 2 separate rafts on opposite sides of the sea that
share the same fleet and no matter how hard we try to
find each other in the depths of these waters, the waves
just drift us apart.

(you are in everything you belong with me everywhere you
are my everything you have my everything - i gave you it all -
you are everything)

my fingers are numb,
my God they are fucking numb with(out) you

and they ache.

i am aching all over, my fingers are pains, i am aching all over.
i am an a-c-h-e. my head, it pounds with memories and fantasies
and replays the time you laced y

bluntyou breathe me like a blunt; sharp and easy to identify like her perfume.
my tender cheekbones are smoke encircling your hairline like there really
is no tomorrow. we will learn soon that our shoulders are too heavy & my
words ramble and i am nothing.

in the calm reality of it all, i am nothing in the shape of a triangle meant to
be indecision; not quite a square yet but too scared to be a circle because
the echo of forever is the fucking scariest silence i've ever heard.

not now, maybe yesterday i was meant to hit & pass the way germany taught me.
we are not different we are not special we are not worthy. not not worthy like
unwo

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[x]

boys who love their grandmothers

by ~learningtobefree, Feb 15, 2013, 7:46:03 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he will be too gentle with your lips,
too sincere when he whispers blessings into your ears
pleading that he doesn't deserve you.

his tongue will not slither between your teeth.
instead, the heat of his mouth will melt your scar tissue
until there is no trace of your travels.

never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he knows patience.
you will try to convince him
that it is one of the many virtues
you don't yet possess,
but he will dig through the flesh in your ribcage
until he finds it lodged beneath everything
you're too scared to confess.

he will teach you forgiveness, remind you that you are not a mistake.
he will wipe the trails of tears that always seem to decorate your cheeks
and replace them with rose petals, saying that he chose the color red
to match the passion he knows flows through your veins.

never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he will trace the freckles on your skin
into constellations
and tell you that
you are greater than the most divine heavens.

he will not break you into pieces of everything you thought to be true.
he will hold you when you are being unreasonable.
he will hold you when your mother dies.
he will hold you from sunset to sunset, for the depth of an ocean.
he will hold you as you watch embers form at the base of a campfire.
he will hold you until your heartache disintegrates.
he will hold you just because he feels like it.

never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he might find dead butterflies in your insides
and spend his time nursing them back to life
because he will think your goodness is worth it.

he will carve stars into the creases of your elbows
with his fingernails and say:

if you want to make a wish, whisper it right here
and i will come running back to you,
even though i never even left in the first place.

never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother
because once you do, you can't go back.