An odd sort of Poetry · vice and all her ailments

hold me



I don’t want you to love me

I don’t even love me

just hold me


I’m falling apart

and I need you

to help me keep the pieces in one place

so one day

I can try to put them back together

wrap your arms around me

convince me

that my heart is still beating.

An odd sort of Poetry · I still miss you · words for the boy who broke my heart

bone by bone


when I think about you

it still hurts me

in a physical way.

you broke me

bone by bone.

now each breath

and every beat of my heart

has a little sting to it.


my bones healed

but not quite right:

some are still slivered,

some bent,

some are there

just to pierce my lungs

whenever my mind wanders

towards yours.


An odd sort of Poetry · nature is important

every worried footprint

the ocean has no thoughts,

none of her own at least.

her mind is forever burdened

by all the words written in the sand,

and the racing narratives forced upon the shores

with every worried footprint.


the ocean has no thoughts.

she is too busy washing yours away.

every hurting remembrance,

all the times you fell too hard on the concrete.

now you only walk on padded floors,

instead, my friend,

sink into her sandy shores.



because your footsteps are heavy

too heavy;

with every broken heart weighing in…

every ‘I love you’ that wasn’t true,

everything you were never good enough to do.

every moment you can’t replace,

every moment the light did lack.

all that pain shows on your face.

all the time that you can’t get back.

you carry that.

the weight of lifetimes resting on your shoulders

burning your back.


fall into the ocean,

and let her crush you.

let the waves break your bones,

and feel the tide pull you in

and put you back together.

let her fix you.


the ocean has no thoughts

only every heartache written on her shores

washed away

over and over by the knowing waves

incessantly cleansing

the soul of the sea.


~the soul of you and me~


An odd sort of Poetry · I still miss you

memories of a stranger

I feel the memory of you slipping away:

I can still hear your raspy morning voice,

But your laugh has faded completely.

I can still see your curly hair,

But your pretty eyes have gone black;

I can hardly remember their color.


You’re only a stranger to me now.

A boy that I used to love.

I know that soon, someday,

Your memory will be gone.


And I can’t decide if I want that or not.

An odd sort of Poetry · I still miss you

That Little Bit of Everything.

For the most part, 

Everything is the same. 

Nothing has changed,

Except for that little bit

of everything

That will never be the same:


My phone doesn’t ring

quite the same way,

None of my messages are green,

I don’t take nearly as many baths,


I can’t listen to music

Without mouthing your name.


I still sit outside

In the sun,

In the wind,

In the rain,

But instead of hearing your voice

In my ear,

The air is filled with a cruel,

Cruel silence.