a-writers-misery-blog

[a-writers-misery-blog]

you weren’t just a chapter

you were a whole book in my library

filled with stories of laughter and tears

love and hatred

friends and enemies

that is now on the highest of shelves

and the last chapter has been written

but i do not cry

i smile

because i can always go back and reread

the tale of two people

with hearts aglow and childlike faith

who were too alike for their own good

no need to burn this book

it’s already burned into my mind

and the soil of the world

[a-writers-misery-blog]

and with a few words,

every bit of heartbreak i felt

because of what you and i both did

turned into joy

joy, because i knew you

joy, because i loved you

joy, because you shaped me

into the person i am

and though you’re physically gone

i will always carry you with me

you are forever in my heart

our memories are permanent in my mind

i have no regrets

thank you.

[a-writers-misery-blog]

How did your delicate, artistic hands managed to rip me into shreds? How did your eloquent phrases rob me of any other words? How did your warm smile make my soul so cold? How did our memories make me forget everything I know?

[a-writers-misery-blog]

This isn’t a movie. I don’t miss you when the daytime is gloomy and gray. My tears don’t pitter patter with the rain. You don’t make my anxious heart beat ten times louder only in the silence, when it could be most clearly heard.

I miss you when I’m with other friends, trying to laugh, trying to forget. When I’m in the middle of writing, I think about how excited I would have been to show this to you. The joyous, kindred souls on the holiday commercials rub in my face how we would have spent this season together.

This isn’t a movie, but can it end like one? Can you come back to me now? Make it better? Please?

[a-writers-misery-blog]

I tried so hard to be angry at you, but I just can’t. I know that I pushed you away, and now, I’m trying to pull you back in. All of our memories still live in little boxes, scattered all over the floor of my mind. I’m too tired to pick them up. Please come back.

I cry almost every hour on the hour. The makeup I wore to mask my worn face has faded from the moisture of my salty tears. My eyes grow redder, along with my wrists and knuckles. My throat is so sore, and I’m grateful for it; I don’t want to talk to anybody other than you right now. Please come back.

My heart snaps and crackles like the fire did on the cold weekend when we first became friends. The air is almost as crisp now as it was then. We both love that air, too. In fact, if it hadn’t been for my regret, we’d be beaming about it at this very moment. I didn’t know how much I loved you until you left me. Please come back.

[a-writers-misery-blog]

i’m not a hypocrite.

i didn’t think i was any different,

i just thought you were

[a-writers-misery-blog]

if you loved me,

why was it so easy to leave?

you said i would always

have a place in your heart

then are you content living with a

bullet hole in your chest?

i don’t understand.

i still hope

that i take up space in your mind

tell me: does your mind race

like mine does, at lightning speed?

i hope that my place in your heart

is now filled with regret

i don’t understand.

-heartbreak

[a-writers-misery-blog]

i threw stones not realizing they were boomerangs

[a-writers-misery-blog]

I'm a poet with pointed toes.

When my emotions soar too high for words to express, I jump; I leap and spin. My arms reach up to the sky. My legs follow.

When my emotions sink too low for motion, I pick up a pen. Words flow across the page as the pen bleeds. My mind works too fast, but my pen keeps up.

[a-writers-misery-blog]

Have you ever experienced the brightness, the over-exposure, of light when it returns after its absence?

Once I was in the light. The sun shone brightly; the birds chirped. The grass: green and moist beaneath me. In the distance, faintly, colors stacked upon each other to form a rainbow. I was innocent, joyful, carefree...

Once I was in the dark. The sun had tucked itself away; the birds hibernated to escape the bitter cold. The only source of color was the yellow, dead grass that had dried out. There was no rainbow. The rain hadn't ceased for long enough to allow a formation. I was exposed, empty, insecure...

Have you ever experienced how the light almost blinds you when it returns?

Twice I was in the light. The sun's flames consumed it ever so slowly, but it would never burn out; the birds did not merely chirp, they sang melodious tunes of rebirth and renewal. The grass was tall, alive, and bright green. But the green in the rainbow was brighter, as were all of its colors. I was not innocent, I was not exposed. I was wise.

I am wise. I am overjoyed. I am strong.

[a-writers-misery-blog]

I was aware that my body had been in contact with the earth when the damp sand pressed itself into the crevices of my skin. Yet, every twinkling body of light that there ever was seemed to be present in the sky that night so that there was no total twilight. And suddenly, in their presence, I was floating. I was a mere speck among the stars; a flea compared to the great mass of creatures in the universe. Though the celestial beings formed a dome around me, I was not trapped, but still not as free as could be. For I yearned to be among the adventurous who boat this late in the night, guided by the buoys which shone along with the moon that glistened upon the water. The water - how I wished it would intertwine with my fingers and fill my ears with roaring, splashing; fill my mouth with freshness. Where was the crisp air overwhelming my nostrils? The wind toying with each strand of my hair, tossing and turning them with each tilt of the boat? My hair was intact; my nose was only faintly occupied by the aroma of a fire that died too soon. Then, I was back on the ground.

—a night on the beach

[a-writers-misery-blog]

boots, flannel clothing, warm scarves fashion peaks at this time of year sleeves and pants grow longer patterns get darker it is too cold outside for exposed skin grass starts to die leaves crunch with every step the winds get stronger the air becomes cold the skies turn gray and they weep special treats lie in bakery windows pumpkin spiced goods in every cafe get them before they are gone they will be replaced eventually when this spirit dies the sun is almost completely hidden it is early in the evening but the sun is tired of shining there is still light outside from lit bulbs that wrap around trees families travel to farms pumpkins get picked, painted, and carved they decorate porches and patios a feeling of togetherness surfaces as children and adults feel a spirit alike how could I love fall? how could I not? breathe in the air and look around what a joy it is to be alive right now

—fall

[a-writers-misery-blog]

past lives, past people the same mistakes in a different time period where we walk now, they once did history was made here where you stand, a war was fought freedom was sought and eventually bought where you stand, sacrifices were made games were played and the fallen paid up on that podium, an address was recited a loyal man made a pledge to his country down on the ground, the people were listening their hearts were filled with awe and patriotism after the war, burst creativity though people of nativity did not enjoy liberty after the war, a new fight started the broken-hearted mourned the dark-skinned martyred during the fight, a promise was spoken the tall man with the hat gave closure to the mourning after the fight, he promised equality and this time, not just for the white man men were freed, then there was rebuilding wives and children, their spines were chilling men were freed, but still not respected injustices reflected til they were protected in that house, progressives made laws their decisions passed through the branches out in the country, the people were affected their lives had been changed by decisions the first world war, brother against brother turned against each other, son without mother the second world war, people ripped from their homes no contact through phones, so people wrote poems people rebuilt an era of peace after three wars, the country was dazed then came dancing and music and life technology slowly began to boom now here we are in an age of vulgarity where people do charity for public clarity turn back the time, and solve the mystery of why we've lost simplicity throughout our history

[a-writers-misery-blog]

as humans, we worship the sun when it shines, we feel pleasure even though we know that it will always be there in the daytime but what about the moon? because even on a day without the sun there is light and warmth. yes, even in the rain but what guided ancient men who journeyed afar at night? what shines upon the sea and gives boaters light when the sun is long gone? what fills the atmosphere with romance for young lovers sitting upon hills and in valleys? that was and is the moon: to which mankind has traveled, to which we look for light on the darkest of nights we bask in the warmth of the sun, but we linger in the moon's mystery

—the moon

[a-writers-misery-blog]

i've shattered all of my mirrors

but it still isn't enough

for I can still see myself in the shards

this time, as I truly am:

broken.

— "broken"

[a-writers-misery-blog]

your heart was on fire

and i flew too close

— "icarus"

[a-writers-misery-blog]

you might not see it right here, right now but I promise you: as time goes on, if you are patient, the colors will start to show; the picture will appear; and it will be beautiful

— "polaroid love"