The Absence of You

Sometimes
it hurts so much.
I never knew
missing someone
could create a real
physical pain.
The ache in
my chest
just won't go
away.
I've tried and tried,
begged my heart,
tried to make it
(and probably
myself)
believe
that it's not
that bad.
That I can live
for a little while
without you.

But it knows
a lie
when it hearts one.
It knows how
it hurts.
It knows that
every day
I smiled a little
less.
I hurt a little
worse.
I cry a little
harder.
I die a little
more.

Breaking down
in this
absence of you.

Memorial Day

Lawn chairs sprawl
across the yard.
I sit cross-legged,
listening to my
iPod, enjoying the
company of my
dysfunctional, yet strangely
lovable family members,
not noticing my
Bermudas slipping up
above my knee.
"Gave yourself a
little homemade tattoo,
huh, Nanna?" my
aunt Jenny laughs,
pointing to the
jagged red lines.
"Oh. Yeah. Tattooo."
I mutter, pulling
the leg of
my pants down
to hid the
cuts. Already distracted,
my aunt turns
away, leaving me
to my thoughts.
Her ignorance must
be such bliss.

Kiss the flame.

Heheh, it's so disjointed and weird xD
It's not really a coherent thought, it's just kinda... there xD

Mommy always told me
not to play with fire
"Don't do it,"
she'd say
"It'll only hurt you."

But what do
grown-ups know?

"Mommy knows best"
always seemed
like a joke.

At least to me.

And the lure
of the flame,
so bright,
so wild,
so free.

But it always burns out
so fast.

So go ahead,
lean in,
seize the day
kiss the flame.

It won't bite back
if you don't let it.

It's not playing
if you've tamed it.

Forever and Always ^_^

Running outside
as the rain pounds down
the world slowly churns
all around me
and just as it all
begins to fall away
two arms lock
around my waist.

I should turn around
to face him
but it's just so comfortable here.
So safe and warm and
protected.

Eventually I turn
greeted by a rare
smile
playing on his lips.

"I love you,
baby,"
he leans down
to kiss my forehead.

"Forever and Always."

Society has a few unwritten laws-
if it's not beautiful,
if it's not perfect,
it's no acceptable.

So you put on
your pretty plastic smile,
and you walk through
your pretty plastic world,
pretending nothing's wrong
and everything's just fine.

If you don't look at it,
maybe it will go
away.

Raindrops.

The rain poured down, bouncing off the sidewalk. Each droplet shimmered in the air for a split second as it rebounded, a beautiful jewel hung in midair, then came crashine back down and melted away into a puddle. In a way it was like the human existance. Millions of people were hurtling toward the ground, glorified and beautiful for a brief time, and then they melt back away into the rest. A little while later the sun would dry them, and they'd be sent on their way through the precipitation process once more.
Human life was lived in much the same way. We spend every day- every second- dying; hurtling toward out death. The ground, if you will. For a time in everyone's life they feel invincible, like they're on top of the world, and then all too soon they hit the floor and it's all over. They melt away, forgotten by those around them, and fade back into the background with everyone else, in order to make room for the new crowd. Then once the sun dries them... who knows? They could be anywhere, and we'll never know. Until we hit the ground.
Until we melt away with the rain drops.

Here I stand.

The world works against me,
those who would seek to destroy me
try their best.
They tear at me
at my very being.
Trying to pull me down.
But I will never break.
I will never be submissive.

Here I stand,

ready to challenge the world.

Is it really so crazy?

Is it really so crazy
To think two kids could fall in love?

Is it really so crazy
To think two kids are smart enough
To not screw up?

Is it really so crazy
To think two kids can find each other
And stay together the rest of their lives?

Everyone seems to think so.

But I don't.

So together we stand, holding each other
As the rest of the world crashes down on us.

Not out of a need for defiance;
But because we know they're wrong.

We'll wait out this storm
And if we can't, well then
We'll survive until we can drive away,
Start a new life.

We'll show them they're wrong,
Someday.

Is that really so crazy?

Savanna might be writing this

Savanna might be writing this.
But probably not.

Savanna might be trying to pour her heart out.
But probably not.

Savanna might have fifty thousand thoughts
Whirling around her head.
But probably not.

Savanna might be surprised her head hasn't exploded
From all the pressure.
But probably not.

Savanna might be hurting.
But probably not.

(she is.)

SHIT

People, places,
These words
I'm writing
the
Hell they
play
with
my already
so fucked up
mind.

Feeling like
my whole
Goddamn
life is all falling
apart and no one
in the world
gives a flying
fuck.

Feeling so helpless,
like there's nothing
I can do. Feeling
so out
of control.
Feeling
like there's no one
to go to anymore.

Breaking down to
tears because it's
all
just
too
fucking
much.

Hating
myself
more
every
day.
Every
thing.
It's
all
shit.

The Trophy

You're so full of shit,
it's almost enough to make me laugh.
You saw me lying on the floor,
bleeding and broken and writhing in agony,
so you pranced in, reached out a hand,
and I grabbed it.
You picked me up and pretended to dress my wounds.

But you didn't, did you?
No, and I think we both knew that.

You cleaned me off,
even as the blood continued to flow,
and handed me a new skin.

A costume.

"This will fix it.
Everything."
you said, knowing smile spreading
from one ear to the other.

And I believed you.

For how could you lie to me?

My savior.

He who took me under his wing
when everyone else beat me and turned me away.

How could you, of all people,
be false?

And so I went with you.
I never left your side.
You held me up, like a new toy.
Like a shiny new trophy.

But you know what I've discovered
the problem is with trophies?

Eventually they win another one.

So when that day came,
when you found another trophy-
shinier, prettier-
who was expendable?

Who did you beat bloody?

Who did you leave laying on the floor,
bleeding and broken and writhing in agony?

Oh, look-
here comes someone.

He's...
he's holding out his hand.

Maybe if I...
if I just reach out and grab it...

Edit.

Poem version of the prose piece located here.

The image in the mirror
is unclear,
distorted by tears.

A face,
so familiar,
but not mine.
Not anymore.

The girl who once
lived behind that face
died. Not so long
ago-
but long enough.

The steel frame
of the mirror
swings out under
my shaking hand.

Bottles fill the shelves,
covered
with various labels.

I grab a few bottles
and spread their contents
on the table.
How many will I need?

I’m so sick of this-
I just want it to be over.
I’ve waited long enough.
I scoop them all up
and pop them into my mouth
one by one.

I don’t know how long this
will take.
I hope there’s no pain.

I crawl into my bed
and pull up the covers.
“Goodnight.”
I whisper, as I drift
into my eternal sleep.

Walk.

It’s so quiet now
Silence fills the air,
Settles between us
So dividing
It might as well be solid

It sits on my chest,
Weighing me down until
Oh God, I can’t breathe

We’ve been through
All this before.

It’s just the same old
Song and dance
And we both know how this ends.

We’ve played this game
one too many times

I can’t take it any more
You’ve finally
Taken your toll.

So I’ll get down
On my knees
This one last time
And beg you
Not to leave

But I’m telling you now
Not again.

Next time you want
to walk away
The door’s right there-
It’s all yours.

Don’t expect me
To hold you here
Again.

Walk.
I don’t care anymore.

Yeah, it hurt.

I said it hurt, and it did- but not enough to matter. A lot of things hurt; that doesn't make them relevant. Really, though, it doesn't matter; it's not relevant to anything anymore.
It hurt. Pretty badly, too.
But not enough to make me care.
So I'll just pick up these tattered pieces, and I'll put myself back together. No need to help with sweetened half-truths. I mean, you're not the first to hurt me. It's not the first time I've had to clean up someone else's mess.
And I still love you, so much.
I'll never understand how I could love you this much... but I do.
And nothing will change that.
Not ever.
I said it hurt, and it did- but not enough to matter.

Who are you?

Who are you
to tell me how I feel?

Who are you
to tell me who I am?

Who are you
to tell me you have any concept
of what love is?

Who are you
to tell me you know more about myself
than I do?

Who are you
to tell me where I'm going
and who I'm going to be?

No one.
That's who you are.
And you will never be anyone
to me.

Midnight Theology

Street down by where I live.

Cool glass
slides away
so easily
opening
the path
for me
to slip away
into the night.

A glance back
the door is locked
the house is silent.
A moment's hesitation
before I reach up,
and swing easily
up
and out.

Cold air
whips around me,
shivering,
I pull my jacket closer
to me,
push the gate
open, and
escape.

The street
is wide.
Nearly empty
but for a few cars,
and myself.
Mostly likely
summer travelers,
I like to make up stories for them.

Walking along
the road, I catch
a few strange looks
through windshields.
All is silent
but for tires on pavement
my padded bare footsteps
and my slow, rhythmic breathing.

Eventually
it occurs to me
that I'm breaking
the law
so, laughing
I shield my face
from the few cars
that pass.

It's a joke, really
I don't know them
nor they, me.
We're just strangers-
nobodies.
Passing by each other
in a midnight moment
suspended in time.

So I walk.
Past the road
out into fields
over fences
beneath buzzing
electrical
towers.
I walk.

I walk
until I am gone
there is no me.
There is no one.
There is only
the grass
and the sky,
and a nobody.

Lying, back down,
looking up through
the tall grass
it soon becomes apparent
the stars
are shy
tonight.

Covered in clouds
the come and go.
Never really there
but
never
really
gone.

The only constant
is the moon
shining,
luminescent,
lights
my path
back
home.

As I cross
the road
once more
I greet
my fellow
nobodies,
before slipping back
through the gate.

As I run,
giggling
all the way,
across the yard
trying not
to be seen
I smile
and wave.

"Goodnight,"
my silent whisper
to the stars,
"'Adieu,
parting is such
sweet sorrow'."
I smile and climb
back into bed.

Beauty in the Breakdown.

Wait.
Don't speak.
These words are churning,
crashing in my head.

Help,
I can't breathe-
walls are closing in,
just piling up
on top of
everything else
this weight is
breaking me,
crushing me,
pulling me down.

I'm spiraling
out of control.

They say there's beauty
in the breakdown.
If that's true
I must be fucking gorgeous.

We are not.

So you say
you know
exactly
how I think.

You don't.

We are not
on the same
page.

So you say
it all
works
in a cycle.

It doesn't.

We are not
in a false
agreement

So you say
I will
make
the same mistakes.

I won't.

We are not
the same
person.