words-for-my-life

[words-for-my-life]

Air

If you where the air I would breath deep and never exhale. Dying grateful with the pleasure of you filling my chest.

[words-for-my-life]

Mug

I still have your coffee mug in my kitchen. you can’t come to my kitchen anymore. Every morning when when I reach for my own mug it reminds me of how it got the chip on its side. you can’t use your own mug any more. We had been dancing in the living room in our fluffy socks. you can’t wear your fluffy socks anymore. I was so caught up in your eyes that I didn’t notice when I slid into the coffee table and knocked it over. you can’t look at me anymore. The chip has been there since that day. you can’t be here anymore.

I don’t know why I still have it. I’ve packed all of your other stuff. I’ve given your mother yours old Polaroid photos and your brother has your shirts. They told me to keep more. They told me to keep the ring you had in the bottom drawer of your dresser. I can’t. I can’t because it kills me. Just this one mug tears me apart. What am I supposed to do with favorite book series that you used to read to me with our bedroom window open? How am I supposed to keep your favorite blanket without remembering how you held me? How can I smell your shampoo without falling to the bathroom floor? So I gave it all away. So I don’t rip myself apart in your memory. But I keep your mug because it never left your side except in the end. I keep hoping that you’ll remember that its here and you’ll comeback for it. For me.

[words-for-my-life]

My love for you was like a tangerine. There was a layer of protection that begged to keep the inside safe. But you broke past it and found the all sweetness I could give you. There where seeds of rough times that I let you swallow away. You devoured me all I had to give until the juice was leaking from your lying lips.

Your love you me was like a peach. Deceivingly soft and welcoming. I could seep into it with almost no resistance. You let me find comfort in your flavors. But as I kept going trying to find the root of your love I found nothing but a hard cold pit. I tried to break through but it left my teeth chipped.

When we our love ended I was left with nothing but the crumpled parts of my peel. The only use being to be thrown into the ground as fertilizer for the peach you grow. The tree grown from the pit I reveal for you. I am not but something you used to make yourself grow, leaving my dry and hollow.

[words-for-my-life]

I have always been my mothers makeshift solution to the cuts in her life. She begs me not to leave. Not even for a second. Every step that I take away from her causes her to tighten her love until I can feel the tears in me she refuses to see. I was an accident but one she used as a bandage to cover each cut in her. She closes her eyes and pretends not to see that she is stretching the bandage. Her blood seeps through the tears in it. Not matter how much love she is give she claims she is empty and still bleeds. She tells me that if I leave she will bleed out and die. Slow I am breaking apart under the pressure to keep her together. My own wounds are opening and she still won’t let go. Even as we both continue to bleed.

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@groceries-with-me I hope you don’t mind me doing a sort of remake of my own version of your poem. Your gave me a lot of inspiration but I felt it was to much like your to truly claim as my own. If it bothers please let me know and I’ll remove it.

when i was born, my mom put a piece of the sun inside of my chest. she never wanted me to be cold. her whole life, she'd been trapped in a snow storm, begging for a scrap of warmth. she didn't want that for me. i keep trying to tell her about the aching burn the sun is giving me. but she can't hear me. not over the icy wind. and not over her desire to keep me warm. do you understand? my mom has always been so desperate for love that she drowns me in it. do you understand? my mother's love is killing me.

[words-for-my-life]

I find myself counting all the time. The steps I take. The tiles on the floor. The windows in a room.

I’m afraid the if stop counting the small things the endless amount of worries and pain in my life will fill the spacers left behind. My shoulders will be weighed down by all the pounds of  expectations. My feet will be chained to the ground by my trauma and my hands tied by ropes and doubt.

So I count. If only so I can survive one more sunrise.

One more meal.

One more breath.

[words-for-my-life]

You drained my thoughts and dreams and filled me with yours.

Then claimed that you have to purpose.

[words-for-my-life]

I want to be a child.

I want to be an adult.

I want to be free.

I want to be someone with curiosity and wonder without the rules that control them.

I want to be someone with the ability and knowledge to do what I want without the expectations of society.

Isn’t it a tragedy how we gain the right to do as we please right after we lose the dreams we always wished for.