the-sun--does-not-melt-ink

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

CPTSD

An angry man is in my house

I feel his presence here

But just like when you see a mouse

He always disappears

He slams doors and stomps and rages

He guilts and manipulates 

When things are going poorly 

he even runs away

I hear him Monday morning

I see him Friday night

I can feel him in the air 

and in the way I say goodnight

He lives inside my house

He lives inside my bones

He lives inside my past

But calls my mind his home

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

I don't want space

But you keep giving me it anyway

So it might as well be on my terms

I know it'd still hurt

But at least I wouldn't be kept waiting

Maybe you would for a change

Or maybe you'd be one obligation lighter

One fewer person to text Goodnight to

One fewer person to make sure you reply to

One fewer friendship to pretend to fight for

The universe keeps telling me to "sit tight baby girl"

But I don't want to sit still anymore

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

This Poem No Longer Shares Its Title With an Olivia Rodrigo Song

I just keep imagining you happier

I hate that that's the basis of the fear

But I'm rarely happier than when I'm with you

And it hurts you might not feel that too

I know you didn't mean it as a comparison

When you told me about the museum

But when I imagine you and her

I can only imagine you happier

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

You Used a Semi-Colon in a Run-On Sentence

I do wish I could say "it's okay"

Your apology is genuine

You didn't do anything wrong

And you've done everything you can

(At this time)

But my feelings are still hurting

And I trust you with a lot of my feelings

I typically keep those guys locked away

I keep them all tucked in safe

(I can imagine I'm totally fine)

So with all that trust

And all that love

When you hurt me

I bleed and I weep

(You've seen me cry)

I wish I didn't need repair

I wish I could just recover on my own

But I do so much all alone

I need help through my despair

(Sorry that puts you in a bind)

I can't even say "it'll be okay"

I'm not sure I believe that

It's easy to say "things will get better"

But they're never better the way we planned

(The best laid plans of men and mice)

I can't imagine us as friends

And both happy, right now

It feels like we're coming to an end

But I'm not ready to take a bow

(I think I've forgotten my lines)

It feels like you're outgrowing me

Like I'm stuck the same way I'll always be

And while you're out becoming real

I'm just barely managing to heal

(Like you're an orange and I'm all rind)

I love you

And I accept your apology

But I can't say it's okay

And I'm not sure it'll ever be

(I don't want to say goodbye)

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

Rejection Sensitive

It'd be neat to have upset feelings about things other than you

We could talk about them and everything would be fine

(Because you make everything better)

Instead, I frame my fears to be about school

And pretend I haven't cried

(Cried in my car every other week)

(Cried everytime you say you're hanging out without me)

(Cried driving home cause I couldn't stay

in the parking lot all day)

I come across as cold and annoyed,

when I throw my hurt feelings into the void

But how can I show them

How can I tell you

Without being dependent

Or keeping you from something new

I get why you're always leaving me

Cause I'll never leave first

Or if I do

It's only cause I'm hurt

But I don't know how to want to leave

It's no wonder you get sick of me

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

It is May and I am angry

I know this is a fleeting emotion for me

and soon I'll just feel sorry

but it is May and I am angry

(I wrote this in early May and saved it as a draft and forgot to post)

It is March and I am in love with Arizona.

I know this feeling will fade in a couple of months

as temperatures rise into the hundreds

but it is March and I am in love with Arizona.

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

It is April and I feel like I can't breathe

I know my lungs still function

and I'll feel better once finals are done

but it is April and I feel like I can't breathe

It is March and I am in love with Arizona.

I know this feeling will fade in a couple of months

as temperatures rise into the hundreds

but it is March and I am in love with Arizona.

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

It is March and I am in love with Arizona.

I know this feeling will fade in a couple of months

as temperatures rise into the hundreds

but it is March and I am in love with Arizona.

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

Anyway, not just art

An act of art

taking someone, heart and soul

c a r ing, everything relevant

imagine loving u

just to be clear: I love

im here, I am poetic

Thoughts about art being u

anyway blackout poetry not just as an art form, but as an act of violence against other works of art

taking a piece of text that someone probably put their heart and soul into creating and using it as your raw material, cutting out everything that you deem irrelevant to the point you want to make

i mean imagine cutting up a painting and using it to make a collage, or taking a marble sculpture and carving pieces out of it to make a different sculpture

just to be clear: i love blackout poetry, im not criticizing it here. i am just waxing poetic about it. i dont really know where im going with this i just have Thoughts about art being destructive

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

Touch me

But not too hard, it hurts

Touch me

But tell me first so I'm not spooked

Touch me

But not there

Touch me

But not now

Touch me

Touch me

Touch me

I know I'm picky but I'm starving

And I've been waiting for someone to take my order

But they keep walking past

Or hear my first request

And decide that I'm too picky

And I know I'm picky but I'm starving

And there's no food in the house

No food that doesn't make me sick

No food that doesn't pinch

No food that's truly satisfying when I've been like this for weeks

I know I'm picky, but I'm starving

So please

Please

Please

Touch me

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

I would like to carve out my heart.

I would like to place it on your dining table.

I would like you to see it palpitate and know that I am alive.

But if I show you my beating heart...

Will you not gasp as I extricate it from my ribcage?

Will you not turn away at the sight of my blood?

Will you not see the pulsing muscle and think it grotesque?

I shun my knife for fear that such a sight would frighten you

But should you wish to see it i would have it out in seconds

Cast your gaze upon that centermost piece of me and I shall bask in the glory of being known

The choice is yours

To leave me to bleed alone, weeping from my chest

Or join me in my violent joy and delight in crimson awe.

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

You Need to listen to Alice Isn't Dead

We Need to go on a road trip Together

I Need You to take care of Yourself

I Need You to do things that make You happy

I Need You

I Want You to Need Me

"You Can't Always Get What You Want"

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

some blackout poems of the ex girlfriend of my ex girlfriend is my girlfriend (I plan on doing the whole book) (I'll probably add image IDs later, but I'm sleepy rn)

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

anyway blackout poetry not just as an art form, but as an act of violence against other works of art

taking a piece of text that someone probably put their heart and soul into creating and using it as your raw material, cutting out everything that you deem irrelevant to the point you want to make

i mean imagine cutting up a painting and using it to make a collage, or taking a marble sculpture and carving pieces out of it to make a different sculpture

just to be clear: i love blackout poetry, im not criticizing it here. i am just waxing poetic about it. i dont really know where im going with this i just have Thoughts about art being destructive

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

I've always been a student, a good one at that.

When I was little they taught us how to type without looking. We spent hours upon hours on their softwares. We would keep our hands in the positions they taught us We weren't supposed to look at our hands, or even the screen we were typing on. I was the best typer in my class, hands positioned just so.

Now I type more than I ever did then. I'm better typer, my hands no longer rigid My fingers glide and fly and flicker I took some of the things they taught me but I left a lot behind

I've always been a good student, but it's time for me to be a person

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

Shitty Haiku #4

I am choking hard

You ask if I am breathing

I am breathing out