An odd sort of Poetry · eating disorders are not cool · vice and all her ailments

Flinch

2.20.18

I just want someone to hold me

tell me that I’m beautiful

that I am enough

everything will be okay

-but-

the slightest touch makes me flinch

I’m afraid for you to feel

the fat left on my hips

and the brittleness of my bones

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An odd sort of Poetry · vice and all her ailments

red puzzles

2.20.18

the puzzle was finished years ago

hung up without much thought:

the exposure cracked the glue,

and water stained the pieces.

dust stole all the color,

and one day,

years later,

you found the puzzle

in pieces on the ground.

 

when you tried to put it back together,

you couldn’t.

some pieces were just bent

others ripped to shreds

some were altogether missing.

but you still see them in your head

the color was washed out all that’s left

is red.

An odd sort of Poetry · I Just Might Be OKAY Without YOU

maybe you’ll call

Maybe you’ll wake up Sunday with a tired mind and nowhere to be,

but then you’ll glance at the calendar and remember me.

You’ll remember that there was something you were meant to do;

there was someone you were meant to see.

 

Every broken piece of me is hoping you’ll call

Hoping you’ll explain why you made a mess of it all.

but you won’t.

 

You’ll see my name with that ‘happy birthday’

and you’ll briefly remember your own,

and how I was there.

I’ll be missing you,

but you won’t really care.

 

You’ll walk around all day

a little agitated

because there will be a loud weight on your shoulder:

(it’s usually quiet, but today it’s all you can do to stop the ringing in your ears).

You’ll see the snow falling and shiver

~the thought of me~

You’ll put your playlist on shuffle and hear that one song

~the sound of me~

You’ll follow the curly blonde hair rounding the corner

~the wish for me~

all day.

every little thing

will make you think of me,

but you won’t do anything.

 

You won’t do anything until you’re four shots deep

scrolling through my photos.

until you’re stumbling home to your dorm late at night

and the familiar scene makes you forget

that you never loved me.

and your phone is pressed against your cheek,

just as mine rings,

but for the first time,

I don’t pick up.

 

and all you can manage to say to the answering machine

is ‘happy birthday.’

but I’ll never hear it;

my voicemail is full

and my heart grew tired of waiting for you to call

a long time ago.

 

An odd sort of Poetry · I Just Might Be OKAY Without YOU

thank you.

It hurt.

It still hurts,

More than I care to admit.

There’s a heaviness in my chest,

And an aching in my soul.

Some part of me is missing,

A part that you took from me when you left.

I still don’t know which hurt the most:

Losing you,

Or

Loving you.

It hurt.

It hurt so bad.

There was always a lump in my throat,

And a longing in my heart.

Some part of me was missing,

I part that I thought you could fill.

When we were together,

That hurt like hell.

I never wanted this to end,

But at least now,

I can thank you for setting me free.

Because I would’ve stayed forever,

If only you had asked me to.

An odd sort of Poetry · words for the boy who broke my heart

Artwork

I had painted a perfect life for us:

The sky was orange.

The grass was blue.

You loved me,

And I loved you.

The sea was gold.

The mountains red.

I closed my eyes each night

And woke with you in my bed.

Our little house was yellow.

The car was green.

My hand in yours,

We took the scene.

 

I showed you the canvas when I thought it was time.

You let it fall to the floor,

And called it a crime:

You said the sky was grey,

And the grass was brown.

We were never meant to be in the same town.

The sea was green,

And the mountains were white.

Now I think that maybe you were right.