You tried to change me.
You tried to make me better,
but you molded me into a wax sculpture
that melted under your touch.
I had a dream that you and your new girlfriend
tried to kill me.
You did not succeed,
but I woke up remembering the way your lips felt on my forehead -
and I could not breathe properly for an hour and fourteen minutes.
I wanted to be loved so badly,
I would have let anyone do it.
“I have loved you more fiercely
than I have
ever loved anyone
and it frightens me
it breaks me
it drains me
to know I can only say these things to
poems that will never love me
and can no longer say them to you.”—Amanda Helm (via amandaspoetry)
when we were lonely,
we quilted our sadness together
and we buried ourselves underneath it.
we told each other we were in love
we told each other this could last forever
we were honest
but we were young and
when you’re nineteen, forever always runs
we had to take the stitches out
and separate what we had once loved
our love was a wishbone, broken in two,
representing everything that ends
and everything that could never come true.
do you know we never said one word directly
to one another alone in our bedrooms?
we only looked at each other through
our wireless routers and we waited
until one of us cried so we could end the call.
we were talking in circles,
we were forgetting what it meant to be alone
we were trying to warm our hands by the fire
but we forgot the fire went out long ago
i love(d) you
i love(d) you
i love(d) you
and you aren’t really past tense
but you have to be paste tense now, don’t you?
i don’t know if im a coward
of if the night i left i was just cowardly
but i love(d) you
but love stopped being enough when I saw the tunnel
caving in on me
and I saw my lungs giving out when giving you cpr
and i knew i could never love you like you deserved
i love(d) you
this is the first time you said hello and the time I ignored you on the elevator because I did not know yet that I loved you. these are the sheets that went untouched the first night you kissed me — you did not want more. This is the moment we romanticized my unshaved, prickly personality and made it something that could break.
Here it is -
all the moments you picked apart when you said goodbye,
strewn across the bathroom floor.
I ate your words like breath mints,
Tried to savor them, make them last forever,
so I never had to forget how you tasted,
but they burned a hole in my tongue.
explosive words are not meant to be consumed.
love was never meant to be toxic.
I have written three hundred and sixty seven poems
about our departure and my readers
tell me that I am unoriginal now.
I am still writing to heal my ache.
I am still writing to get it right.
if I am being honest, we tried too hard in the end.
I knew you were leaving when you put the toilet seat
back down and you did the laundry.
you cleaned the whole house and I knew you were
scrubbing every inch of yourself out of our home.
Whether this was for me or for you, I do not know.
I stare at these words you left me - these moments
we used to love.
I set them on fire
and wonder if I’ll catch, too.
“this is it, isn’t it?
this is where our love rusts and chips away
as new lovers dare to touch our skin.
this is where our love grows cobwebs and
only the spiders’ prey remember the way
only dying creatures know who we were now.
the dead bury the dead
and I swear our love was the most beautiful corpse
I ever had to bury.”—Amanda Helm, Our Love (via amandaspoetry)
“Look, in my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person is still going to think the sun shines out your ass. That’s the kind of person that’s worth sticking with.”—Juno
Theodore Roosevelt was a shooting star — 5’8” of barely controlled frenzy. An energetic workaholic, familyaholic, and lifeaholic who lived every day of his relatively short life to its fullest and savored each and every battle throughout 60 busy years on Earth. As Thomas Riley Marshall,…
“Vincent Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would get the happiness inside him. Many people thought he was mad and stupid for doing so because the paint was toxic, never mind that it was obvious that eating paint couldn’t possibly have any direct correlation to one’s happiness, but I never saw that. If you were so unhappy that even the maddest ideas could possibly work, like painting the walls of your internal organs yellow, then you are going to do it. It’s really no different than falling in love or taking drugs. There is a greater risk of getting your heart broken or overdosing, but people still do it everyday because there was always that chance it could make things better. Everyone has their yellow paint.”—(via immort4lity)
“Falling for you
wasn’t by choice,
but I did anyway.
And I told myself
that it was
That loving you
even on my own
So I gave you my heart
without expecting you
to give me yours back.
I loved you,
I stayed for you,
and to show you
that there are people
that will do anything
to make you happy
to make you smile
to make sure,
that you are given
all you deserve
even if the person you grow
to love in the end,
is much different
from mine.”—Keen Malasarte, "This Is My Way Of Loving You" (via acupofkeen)