Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Apr 2014 svdgrl
Cade
Sometimes I am unraveling,
slowly coming apart,
at the seams,

Sometimes I am strong,
standing tall,
and acting quickly,

Sometimes I am nice,
helping the others,
being selfless,

Sometimes I am cruel,
hurtful to everyone,
and uncaring,

Sometimes I lose hope,
but that does not,
ever last,
Semi-okay poem
 Apr 2014 svdgrl
Rational Daisies
You are silent
comfort and
koala bears

Wrapping human limbs
around tree limbs

Let's both melt
into this bark
so I can

feel your warmth and
forget about
my troubles
 Apr 2014 svdgrl
peurdelavie
(18w)
 Apr 2014 svdgrl
peurdelavie
you said
"goodnight, for now"
and i was foolish enough
to believe that 'for now'
meant you'd stay.
 Apr 2014 svdgrl
Z
Sorry.

Not for the bruises inscribed in my knees at six years old,
or gravel-shaped cuts dotting my palms
after being kicked off my bike like a rodeo bull,
or even the sliver of a scar on my right index finger
from closing it in a van door when I was seven.

No, I have no remorse
for the innocent;
not a twinge of sympathy regarding the unfortunate results
of relatively harmless careless actions
and playful worth-it memories.

I’m sorry for the other things.

I don’t mean running
or swimming
or dancing
until the soreness embedded itself in my muscles, my
heart racing, pulse pounding
in my ears.
I don’t regret that.

I’m sorry
for the other things.

I’m sorry for hating you.
I’m sorry for all of the
preening and plucking and
shaving and waxing and
hair burning.

I’m sorry for the countless repulsed glances at the spot
where my stomach puffs out
and all of the daggers I stared into the place
where my thighs meet.

I am sorry for getting slashed at
by the perfectly intact glass
of the bathroom mirror, for feeling severed,
just by seeing its reflective surface.

I’m not sorry for taking up space,
but I’m sorry I ever was.

I am sorry for
switch off the light,
lock the door,
the scratch of fingers in my throat
and the starkness of the cold linoleum floor
routines
I practiced because I loathed
the way you curved
and the fatness of my pseudo-waist.

I’m sorry for falling into patterns of self-hate
that I aimed at you. Patterns
not unlike that of an alcoholic,
commencing with afternoon drinks or slightly restricted meals
and ending with wildly depressing stories to tell
and crying on stranger’s floors—
but there is no Lackers of Self-Esteem Anonymous,
no chips to collect
for every time I tell myself I’m beautiful
or, better yet, value more
than my appearance.

I am sorry for thin red lines that ran deep into my wrists
and I am sorry for the faint-inducing heat
that followed,
caused by the oversized and long-sleeved sweatshirts I hopelessly donned
to cover you up.

I’m sorry for discarding that one dress
(that you looked stellar in, by the way)
because I had degenerated into such an unhealthy
and addictively abhorrent relationship with you
that I feared
even the slightest tightness
in my attire.

I’m sorry for habitual body monitoring. I’m sorry
for using my fingers to count calories
and not positive attributes. I’m sorry
for all of the aforementioned repugnant routines
I’ve picked up over the past few years,
whether I’ve stopped them or not,
I’m sorry.

I am.

So, body, when I say
that this is an apology note,
I don’t mean I’m sorry for  the time
I skipped salad and went straight to pizza,
or even the countless dinners when
I put an extra brownie on my plate.

No, I have no remorse for that.
I don’t regret that.

I’m sorry for hating you.

But, like a sinner coming up after sinking
in a blessed lake of holy water,
I am ready to fill my lungs with new breath. I will repent
with the radical act of self-love

and I promise that I will treat you better.
 Apr 2014 svdgrl
Jazzelle Monae
Oh King of
mixed signals,
could you once,
be clear?
Your red light,
green light,
yellow light
are all on
at once.
Causing traffic
on the interstate of
my mind.
Backed up for hours,
your red light,
green light,
yellow light
are all on
at once.
Stay.
Go.
Slow.
Oh King of
mixed signals,
make up
your mind.
© 2014 by Jazzelle Monae. All rights reserved.
 Apr 2014 svdgrl
Amber K
I dreamed of a new grave,
that was now home to a boy
who tried to destroy me,
and caused so much pain.

It was not a normal graveyard,
instead it was near the woods.
There were strange graves surrounding him.
His headstone was so plain.

"You ready?"
Someone spoke to me.
But I didn't have the courage,
to complete what they asked of me.

So without hesitation,
the person approached the grave,
and with a lighter,
they burned and blackened the name.

For a second,
he didn't exist.
His body did not lie in this pit,
because he never existed.

But someone who knew him,
came to visit the grave.
They did not question why the name was gone,
they just nodded and spoke about irrelevant things.

No one would miss him.
No one would find his grave.
With the name burned,
he never even existed.

Till I got a phone call.
How is he still breathing?
He spoke kindly to me,
like he had never done wrong in his life.

I cursed at him,
and told him never to return.
Because he was supposed to be dead,
and his name was burned!

But still he haunted me.
Just in a different way.
That's when I realized,
revenge leaves a bitter taste.
This is about a dream I had last night. Like the poem says, I dreamed that an ex of mine had died, and I was pretty happy just because that meant I never had to deal with him again (he messed me up pretty badly, so I'm not surprised that I was happy in my dream), and in my dream I went to his see his grave with some of my friends. They had apparently convinced me that it would help me get over the past and that I could finally get some sort of revenge. Well while we were at the grave, my friend took out a lighter and told me I should burn the name and it would help me forget that he even existed. I told her I couldn't because it felt wrong, but she did it anyways. That's when one of his relatives showed up and was talking to me about how she understood he done a lot of bad things to me and he probably deserved what happened to him and his grave. Right after that talk, I got a phone call from him. He was telling me to help him with something and he sounded so different. His voice wasn't the same and he sounded genuinely sorry for all of the hurt he had caused so many people, but I couldn't tell him it was okay and I couldn't tell him how to fix it, because I knew that nothing could fix what he had done. He was dead and non-existent to most of the world, yet I still felt the same pain from the past as I did before his death. I think this dream helped me realize I need to stop letting what happened in the past effect me. Whether he says sorry for what he did, or changes his ways, or dies and becomes just another body in the ground, it won't change the past. The only thing I can do is forgive and move on with my life instead of remembering the things he did to me. It's the only way I can remain happy and free from the past.
 Apr 2014 svdgrl
Colin Anhut
don't make art
don't even take
that first sip of
ephemeral joy
because no one
wants it
NO ONE WANTS IT
and you know that but
never really know
until you try to sell
your soul and there
is no buyer
NO ONE WANTS IT
repeat that until you
can accept it and stream
consciousness for
no one but yourself
Next page