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 Apr 2014 Scatts
blankpoems
this is a poem about the summer you dropped acid.
this is a poem about the summer you called me and said you loved me.
this is an insecurity.
a sweaty-palmed handshake.
a speech on something you only half believe in.
I am nothing to worship, I want you to know that I am nothing
and still want to come blow smoke in each other's mouths.
this is a poem about the girl that said she wanted to kiss you but didn't.
this is: lonely nights, big sweaters, my blurry vision, your pale face.
this is a hallucination.
I want to say-
If she kisses your lips before I do, whisper into hers that she is not the first, the last or the only.
I want to say-
If she says she doesn't understand you, show her the photograph that laughs with your mother.
I want to say-
*everyone you love will leave for California.
everyone who loves you will stay.
 Apr 2014 Scatts
Wednesday
The truth of it is-

he's not going to fix you

she's not going to make you forget
the way your father would hit you

He is not going to make your collarbones sprout roses
He will not make you forget how to need

The truth of it is-

She is not a savior
She is not able to fight off the demons in your dreams

He will not make you forget the way your mother left
The bloodstains in the bathtub will still be there

The truth of it is-
This is your life
This is not a movie

No one is going to swoop in and save you

You will have to grow your own wings if you want to fly away
 Apr 2014 Scatts
Andrew Durst
Your life is on
center stage.

and we all know
you hate the
curtain call.
We all know someone.
Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f
 Apr 2014 Scatts
aphrodite
"I wish you well."
                                                          ­                    



                                         ­                                     (but not too well without me)
I like 10 word poems because it forces you to summarize your thoughts  to the point where you're really only saying what you mean.
Maybe I should try using that same theory in my own life, haha.
**
 Apr 2014 Scatts
Wednesday
I wonder if you’d want to know
I named all of my demons after you and
they haunt me in my sleep

when I was 14 I fell asleep in April and dreamed of bones and
I’m not sure I’ve really ever woken up since

when I lost 5 pounds I never saw a difference

when I lost 10 my mother said I was looking good

when I lost 20 she told me to stop and handed me food
and I became anemic

when I lost 25 I stopped drinking anything because
I felt water had calories

when I lost 30 my mother held me on her lap
and held my bones together for me

when I lost 35 I started fainting every morning and
the doctors could no longer easily find my blood pressure

when I lost 40 people started to stare and food made me cry

when I lost 45 it hurt to walk and to lay down
it hurt to eat
it hurt to breathe and
I started throwing up my empty stomach

the mind plays tricks on those that decide
nourishment is not needed

Eat.
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