Sugared words drip from
sultry lips, making his threshold
glow with the red heat of
inner fire as he opens the door
to the jasmine scent in the evening chill.
She is the one from before.
May I come in?
He thinks it’s better she didn’t.
Jezebel in a cashmere sweater
pouts. I thought you left her.
The fire winks out.
Bitch, you wanna see me sweat?
You shoulda seen me on top of him.
When you heard the news did you
think you’d won? I hate to break
it to you, but hon, even without my
touch he still thinks I’m good in bed.
And that’s when he’s thinking with
both heads. At least he was the
only one I shed my clothes for. I’m
sorry, I’m sure you needed the ego
boost when you realized he was too
good for you. Sweetheart,
green is not your color.
Low beats pound deep beneath our
skin so close under wrinkled sheets.
Sweat as heat penetrates our bodies,
pressed against each other, gripping,
unrelenting. Keep the rhythm of what
you’re giving to me. Please. Release the
hate you make me feel. Least of all
I love you. Most of all I love you.
Shades of gray but I’m seeing red.
Your touch is more forgiving than any priest.
Kiss me until it’s cliché and
I’ll tell you I hate you. Drugs
will kill me. Too bad I’m addicted.
You are the lemon in my tea.
Squeeze into my wounds.
The sting makes me love you more.
Our warmth chills me to the bone.
A yarn sweater unraveling
as you pull mine off in the
backseat of your car,
idling in my empty driveway
when I get home.
This end is a beginning
for better and for worse.
Lover, I cannot stand you.
I will run from this bi-polar
love affair. Run into your arms.
Give me a kiss. Push me away.
Even the unending waves must
come and go with the tide,
pulsing steam on frozen windows.
The church is cold as I perch on my pew.
The heater is broken again, third time
this winter. The preacher has begun his
sermon, but all I hear is the silence of your
absence.
My phone rings. It should turn it off,
especially since it’s playing our song.
I know it’s you. I shouldn’t answer.
I stand and duck out to the lobby.
I know judgmental looks are following me.
Your hesitant hello send heat coursing
through my frozen veins, awakening
my stifled senses. Brother Phillip’s
voice echoes over the loud speaker,
but his words are as distant as God.
All I hear is your heavy breathing.
It hits me as I see your face
smiling bright from the photograph,
green eyes shining, blond hair
brushed perfectly to the side.
I resent you for giving up on me.
I always thought things
you would come back.
You and me, together, for better
or worse.
This is worse, but we are not together.
Did you forget that you are the love of my life?
I meant it when I said it then. I mean it now.
I see your smile and I feel
the love and I resent you
for giving up so soon.
I wanted so badly to be yours.
I thought you wanted me badly too.
I guess our want was not enough.
His heart took a swan dive,
spelunking into his stomach with
a sickening splash. He could see
the hate in her eyes,
the hurt he’d brought her.
He had to look away.
He sees his stark reflection in the
glass of the door before it
slides silently away, welcoming him
into the forgiving warmth of the store,
warmth he knows he doesn’t deserve.
I said I never want to see you again
(with anyone but me). The jazz
from the record player challenges
you to leave. Your words break my
bones (but your kisses are a splint).
Believe me, I can live without you
(if I’m already dead). I swear I’ll
go on if you leave (everyone else
behind). Push and sway in time,
give away your heart (it’s mine).
Forgive and forget is so cliché.
I say never give away the past.
I’ll make everything up to you, love.
Hands grasping hers, knee against the steering wheel.
The shadow of the steeple blankets them
through the windshield, crossing his heart.
He is Judas, throwing back the silver.
He is not who he was. Neither is she.
And yet they’ve been here before.
I’d never do anything to hurt you
On the phone
at 3 AM. The line goes dead
as I wonder if I took hold of you
The way you took hold of me.
You sank into my mind
And made it your home.
You still captivate me.
My mind is full of you
and all your empty promises.
It’s not fair that you were
Able to grab me so quickly.
You swept me up
Before I had a chance to
See what was happening.
Why do I love you?
Why don’t I hate you?
I wish I could read your mind
Just to know what you think
When I see you walk in
at 3:47, tears in my eyes,
because I know from the
scent of that jasmine perfume
just where you’ve been.
You ask why I always
Assume the worst
And I tell you that
If I assume the worst
I can’t be disappointed.
But the truth is, I always
Assume the worst
Because all I want
Is for you to tell me
Just how wrong I am.
You don’t think I love you enough? How the hell
can I love you when I hardly know how to love
me? Who even am I? Why am I asking you,
if you bothered to know you wouldn’t tell me
to love you more when you know I love you
more than anything. Oh, but I guess that’s not
enough for the man who takes everything except
a chance to put someone else first.
Love, your friend:
Sweetie, the roses are all dying now,
They’ve withered and faded beyond repair.
And though you water them I can see how
They still have gone, despite your watchful stare.
Sweetie, the roses have all bowed their heads,
A sign of goodbye in this cold, dark room.
The stems have gone black and their bodies shed
Their petals and leaves far into the gloom.
Sweetie, sometimes I think you are a rose
He’s drying you up petal by petal.
I watch you lie down and as your eyes close,
I see your heart is now withered, brittle.
Sweetie, you know deep inside this is wrong.
Inside your heart is not where he belongs.
Is that love in your eyes, or are you just happy to
see me? Me, naked above you, beneath you,
around you. My bible lies open in the backseat,
Samson and Delilah. My legs clench your waist,
pulling you closer, deeper, further into this
stark truth: there’s no hiding from you now.
Every inch of me bare, my ugly flaws and
rosy lies, sketched across my inner thighs.
Am I good for a game? Love and sex are not
the same. There’s nothing to see here past
the hills and valleys of dimples and curves.
Christmas eve past found the family on powdered hills,
toboggans dragged behind by stiff fingers.
I was the brave one, the first on my sled. The one who
never held the rope, even when my parents scolded,
told me it’s better to be safe than sorry.
I thought they were silly until I took a tumble,
my face slammed by the packed snow that had
seemed so soft just a moment ago.
I wish I knew how to listen.
The second part of the collection, To Save A Wretch Like Me, continues the story of the two lovers once the honeymoon phase has ended. Trust is lost, hurt is gained, and as the lovers turn on each other the path that was once so tempting turns sharply into a dead end.
The vanilla-cinnamon scent of your sweat lingers
as your lips taste the salty-sweet strawberry of my thighs,
pale pink against the dark upholstery of your car.
The shadow of the church steeple looms outside,
casting fiery judgment as your hot breath finds the place
it is needed most. Gasps drown out the crickets chirping
in the warm spring night among the dandelions and
wildflowers. We are lost together, happy to wander
hand in hand. You catch my breath and I lose your mind.
Intertwined and indistinguishable, finding our way
through unfamiliar territory. Skin against
skin, heart to heart, I grasp you tight.
You take me there.
I worry that I do not live up to your past, but you tell me the practice is as much fun as the goal. This is not the awkward introduction, but the elusive intimacy that comes with connection. You guide me as a ship captain who loves his boat enough to go down with it. Feel you, feel me, feel we as if no me could exist without you. Lead me, love me. Touch like lightning electrifies my skin. In this moment freeze. Breathe. Release. You make me weak. I wish to hold on and never be free.
Friend, Don’t tell me how to run my race.
Just because you can’t reach
the finish line doesn’t mean
I have to stall in second place,
slinking in your shadow
since you “know what’s best
for me.”
I stand on my own feet,
I run to who I choose.
I will dance, I will fly, even
if I pass you by. Keep up
or I’ll leave you in the dust.
One, an unfamiliar smile
I don’t know how to understand.
Fingertips brush my waist, hem
of shirt, pale skin untouched
by sun. Hot breath on my ear,
body to body. Hand resting
in the small of my back. I want to
not want you as much as I do.
Two, palm runs down my side
breast to thigh. Breathe your sharp
scent. Gasp for forgiveness. Push
away, pull me close, make me
melt into seductive warmth.
Mold to match your form.
I am in over my head, and I
like not being able to breathe.
Three, tempo moves too fast,
past the barrier that was your
car door. Pressed to you,
horizontal, clothing optional.
I can’t keep up with four/four time.
Wonder if Eve knew what she
was getting into. Did she know
fear before the fruit?
Four, I can’t understand myself.
Fear, frustration, desire, despair,
give me room to breathe, I’m not
ready to go without air, not ready
to take that bite, not ready to
want you. My skin aches as you
pull away, disappointed. I guess
I don’t know how to dance.
Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Thou shalt not worship idols. Thou shalt not take the name of thy lord in vain. Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Honor your father and your mother. Thou shalt not murder. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not give false testimony. Thou shalt not covet.
Visitors! Welcome to our humble church.
This is Brother Sam, be nice to him,
he’s only happy if he’s the center of attention.
And this is one of our Elders, Tom. That’s
his new BMW in the parking lot. I swear, he
loves that thing more than his wife! And oh my
God, there’s Sister Tina, hard at work preparing
lunch! I swear that woman never takes a day off.
Oh dear, here comes the pastor’s son - don’t
make eye contact, his father kicked him out
last weekend for telling him to “fudge” off,
pardon my language. I heard they had a fight
over Pastor Phillip backstabbing his brother
over an old grudge, but I could be mistaken.
Look, it’s his wife! She and the associate pastor
have been rather close lately. His suits have also
been getting nicer. Funny, I’d think his salary
would shrink with how the weekly collections
been dropping. Oh well. Oops, time to take
our seats! The youth minister is preparing to
testify before the congregation that he didn’t
pull a Clinton with our little miss Monica.
Feel free to find me after service - I’ll just be
here, coveting a life away from “Christians.”
Mother, I will not ask if you think
he is good for me. Did you know
that before I met him I was, in fact,
unhappy? Shall I listen to Polaris
to find my way north, find my way home?
The scent of rain wafts so sweet, wafts
so gentle wafts so cold. I will
not even mention how your mate
has devoured you, drowned you in lust.
Are you truly loved? Are you lonely?
Have your prayers been answered?
I have been upset by passing time and
pain and heartbreak and ceaseless rain.
I too have been devoured by false loves.
But now he sings softly in my ear
“I feel that when I’m old I’ll look at you
and know the world was beautiful.”
Mother, whatever you may say,
today the lovely sky is blue, the lovely clouds
are white, and the lovely breeze is cool.
A little conversation is all it takes on
the beach at day break. Kiss me gently
as quiet notes waft across the sand
out of the open door of your car idling
in the background. The only sound is
you and me and the pristine waves as
your lips sear your name on my
tongue and the soft guitar serenades
the silence. Hold me closer, feel me warm
against you. The water is beautiful.
Church buildings and dropped bibles and water fountains, small talk about Jesus and Kit-Kats and you stuttered over each simple word. Such a rush, between joking and fear and excitement and fear. Knots in your stomach, hope to Heaven that things happen, terrified that they won’t. Fear you can’t help but be happy in spite of, because of. You wind up on a couch with a warm arm encircling you stiff as a board because you’re so afraid of messing up you can barely dare to breathe because oh God he’s touching you and it’s just so unbelievable but then suddenly, you relax, because it feels right. Perhaps that was when I loved you, your leg against mine, sock soft against bare toes. Shared secret under the table, innocent.
What do you get when you
erase the chalkboard, sweep up
the dust, and clap out the erasers?
The board gets a fresh start
while what was chalk becomes
dust, separated and scattered,
lost and alone.
I want to be the board.
I feel like the chalk.
My life fits in the trunk of a civic
as i slide down this highway
miles pass with minutes
the separation of past and present
a stark reminder of reality
of time space and missed
opportunities it seems that
plans fall through and who’s
to say what comes but may today
be the way to tomorrow
yesterday says hello to memory
and so it goes as we toast to the old
and bring in the new it’s
true i am scared of the future
and you can’t pretend that you don’t
feel the same we all have our
boxes inside our trunks
no one can comprehend but us
so i drive my civic and
take my life from point a to point b
trying to tell myself that somehow
i’ll see where i’m going.
The first part of the collection, To Save A Wretch Like Me, tells the story of the two lovers meeting and getting to know each other. It is during this section that the narrator, the girl, begins to question what she's been raised to believe, and pulls away from the familiar to join the boy on a path towards uncertain self-discovery.
In an attempt to inspire myself to start writing again, I have decided to gradually post the poetry collection I wrote during my last semester of college. It tells the story of two young lovers caught in an unhealthy relationship, confused by the values they've been brought up with, struggling to figure out what directions they're meant to take in life. A lot of the poems are still rather rough and I welcome feedback, but as a whole I hope you enjoy the collection.
Without further ado, I shall present poems from the collection, To Save a Wretch Like Me. To begin, part one: Temptation
Hii! i’d love to read some TWD carol x reader! what about after loss r starts distancing herself. doing what needs to be done but quietly and away from everyone. carol tries to step in and talk to her but r snaps “you’re not my mother. just leave me alone” maybe daryl goes to talk to r and then r confides in carol. angsty and fluff pls and thank yooou
Hello, I'd be happy to write this out! Just please know that it might take a hot minute bc I have some school to attend to, but other than that it will be on its way <33
As someone who had to deal with grief at an early age, I’ve found that it never truly dissipates. Grief doesn’t end. It simply builds. After the flood of “caring” neighbors and forgotten friends stop coming, you’re stuck with the quiet. Forced to think of the big life moments your lost will never see and the absence of new memories. Then, the old memories make their way. That one song that reminds you of that one fishing trip. The smell of their favorite dish. The bluebirds that they told you to never trust, despite their beauty. The bitter sweetness of the remembrance of when that person was still present is the hardest form of grief to feel. It is never ending.