An odd sort of Poetry · vice and all her ailments

not foolish enough

She told me that I should stop
Self-medicating
As she wrote me another prescription
Another pill on top of
All the other
– No worries, she has a degree-

I told her that
I would work on it,
But I think we both knew that was a lie.
Ironic.

What does it matter if it’s legal
Or not?
From your pen or mine?
What does it matter,
The goal is the same

I only take what I need
I always only take what I need
But it is never enough
I always need more
Because I need too much to begin with.
Ironic.

I’m not foolish enough to see past my own faults,
But I’m not foolish enough to stop myself either.

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.

 

Sink

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,

and

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.

An odd sort of Poetry · death is a good friend · vice and all her ailments

tell you everything

4.23.18

I told everyone once:
“If your life is the only life you ever save, that will be enough.”
Darling,
I can tell you everything.
I could will my words to
Save your soul
~and I do~
But I could never
Say those things to myself.
Those things I so badly need to hear.
And I want to apologize
To myself for that,
But as soon as the words
Slip through my lips
They lose their sweet flavor
And I spit them out
Every damn time.