Sorry for all these words.

I write lots of dreadful poetry in the hopes that one day it won't be dreadful.

Writers block forever.
Suffering from extreme apathy.

Someone inspire me.

I always thought your hands were forged from steel
That the fire was still lapping up against you,
Burning away the callouses and the web of overlapping lines
Pulling at bone after bone
Stretching out your knuckles, your palm, your nails
Your fingers spindled out until they were long enough to wrap around my neck four times
Apparently fire doesn’t know when enough is enough
I have burn marks from every time I tried to put you out
Your hands are blank slates
They are unmarked and unbruised
Unnaturally smooth and sharp to the touch
They have cut mine open and sliced clean through
You are the one pretending not to see the wounds
I am the one apologizing for staining you with my blood

Time heals all wounds?
Bullshit.
Time opens up all wounds
Time brings the stringy pieces of flesh
To a pus-filled boil
Time unravels stitches with a single pull
So you can see the dots of blood dispersed through the thin black thread

Last week, I cut my leg with a razor
(I think it was an accident)
Today, the gash has turned a color even Martha Stewart couldn’t pick a frilly name for
It’s like a symphony of infection and pain and time is one hell of a conductor
Three months ago, you said goodbye
(No you didn’t, you said “screw you”)
I waited weeks for the blood to stop gushing
Before I realized that it was just opening up wider
You put the Grand Canyon between my limbs
Sutures aren’t enough for a split that big

Tequila heals some wounds
You know the burn of it sliding down the back of your throat?
That’s how you know it’s working
The fire in your gut is the antiseptic alcohol
Melting away all the bullet holes and stab wounds
The collection of unattended injuries amasses over the years

Fire heals other wounds
The arms of the black tendrils of smoke
Reach in and pulling out all the scabs
Red and orange and blue lapping at your scars
Until they melt off your skin and turn into ash

Time heals no wounds
Time is the exposure that kills faster than the infection
The sting of the air that keeps the blood flowing
And the gashes growing

I will carve my sorrows into your mouth with my tongue so every time you swallow you taste my fears.

i. He walks like he always knows where he’s headed
The way the small of his back curves with every stride
He walks tall, like he can’t be shaken up
His foundation is solid at the core
Where mine crumbles and cracks

ii. His eyes are always glistening
Even though they shine a deep mahogany
I swear that every time I throw a subtle glance his way
They glow green like sunlight hitting the treetops
I’ve never been a strong swimmer and
Oh, do those eyes make me drown

iii. His jaw is cut like a diamond
All angles and sharp turns
I dream of kissing the corners
Working my way further along
Until my lips finally meet his

iv. His hands have the roughness of a boy who’s climbed mountains for what he has
But they feel gentle to the touch
Like all those rough patches couldn’t possibly dampen
The kindness that ripples at the surface
Every time our fingers rub
I feel sparks fly off our nails

v. He always smiles as wide as his mouth goes
No close-lipped, teeth-hidden attempt at looking graceful
When he laughs I can see all the way back to his molars
He smiles with his tongue between his teeth
And all the happiness in the world pressed inside his dimples
When he smiles I forget that I am sad
The gaping hole of his mouth fills the one in my chest

vi. He looks at her like their friendship is an inside joke he never wants to share with the world
He lies down next to me and slowly inches along
Until their heads are touching
And their elbows connected
He smiles at her like she’s in on his dirty little secrets
He looks at me like I’m disposable

vii. Sometimes he looks at me like I’m someone special
The way he raises his eyebrows when I make a stupid joke
Melts my heart like it’s made of snow and I’m being hit with a heat wave
He leans in close when we show each other the things that make us laugh
And he smells just like coming home
I always find him staring at her just a bit longer
I hope to god I’m hallucinating

—seven things i hate about him

Let me tell you about my God
About the way even the moon bows in humility
And the wind howls in submission
How every mountain and every ocean bends and sways
In his pull
How even chaos conforms to order
Bowing and bowing and bowing
Always
Bowing

But first
Let me tell you about a girl
Who didn’t just carve a turkey this Thanksgiving
But also her ribcage
A swirl of blood and steel
A cut above all the rest
And let me tell you about the way she saw that God every plunge
And so she didn’t go deeper
Instead she dropped to her knees
Because the view is a lot better from the ground
And cupped her hands together
“I’m sorry” she said
The words felt familiar against her tongue

Let me tell you about my God
And the way I always know someone is listening
Just like the way the girl clutches her knife and
Before she even breathes her apology
She knows she is forgiven

Let me tell you about her God
And how she thinks the world has got her beat
But the strongest soldiers get the strongest tests
And she puts away the pills and the swords

Let me tell you about our God
And the way the guarded walls of her heart
Stop her from making a big mistake
And she cries because she thinks something is wrong with her
But she doesn’t understand that everything is right with her

Let me tell you about our God
And the way she swims in an ocean of
Fake friends and cold parents and self-hatred
But she still gets up every day
Because maybe she isn’t so alone and maybe good things are in store
And everything she’s been through is for something
And every time her knees hit the soft fabric of her prayer mat
She knows the melodies of the words escaping her mouth
Make everything okay
That every single verse is wrapping itself around her mind and body
And shielding her from harm
Because the girl who uses the sword
Needs one to protect her blind spots

Let me tell you about my God
Let me shout from the mountaintops and
Whisper in you daughter’s ear
Let me show you what a sunset looks like
When you’re hanging upside down from a treetop
Let me show you every fine granule of sand that sticks to your toes at the beach
Is a miracle in and of itself
Let me show you the world through the eyes of a believer

Let me tell you about my God
But first, let me tell you about me

—Updated version.

I don’t feel like a writer anymore
I barely feel like a person
I’ve been washed up and wrung out to dry
Shivering under slabs of cement
This concrete jungle grows just fine without me
I’m yesterday’s news, trapped in the smudged ink
Of a newspaper no one is going to read anymore
If this is what circling the drain feels like
I hope the pipes lead somewhere nasty
I deserve nothing but the slimiest of sewage.

You carved this
With broken fingernails
All the beauty in your hands
Spilled like oil on pavement, 
Muddled and unsettling.
Please,
You do not belong with the trash
There are streaks of color
In that oily mess.
Please,
Forgive yourself.

No.
There is no forgiveness for the wretched
I will forgive myself when the ink from
All the stories I was too afraid to write
Will pour itself down my throat
Hot and sticky, burning until I double over
And work itself into my veins,
Until it turns the lines under my wrist black
I will forgive myself when my faults bury me
Just like I’ve tried to bury them.

Pull the arrows from your thighs
And keep yourself from
The cemeteries you visit
For a moment, just one,
Let the the ink sink back
Into those pages that never were
Wipe your lips with your hands
It’s okay if you’re shaking
Remember the stillness that comes
When you treat the stories like
New friends,
Rather than deadly oceans.
You are not wretched for
Painting your passion
Into twisted shapes.

I don’t know what stillness you speak of
When I write, the paper ends up crumpled
In balls beneath my feet
My hands are not nearly dexterous enough
To navigate the landscape of a story
Much less stop the stark white page
From recoiling at my touch
The only shapes I can create are
The ones carved into my thighs
I can’t remove the arrows
They’re holding me together

What can I tell you?
Maybe something
Less direct… .
Eat something,
Something small.

I’m not hungry
I’ll eat when I can feel
The sharp pangs of my stomach destroying itself
Twisting and turning, sharp as a blade
I’ll put the fork to my lips
When there’s so little left inside me
That when I try to vomit
The only thing that comes out is blood

Draw smiling faces
On your wrists,
Your stomach,
Your thighs.

Maybe with a knife
So when the blood is pouring down
You won’t know if those faces
Were smiling or crying

Hold your favorite article of clothing
Like it is a newborn child.

Which one?
The red shirt that
Makes me look like a misplaced firetruck
Or the black pants that show off
Every revolting piece of flesh on my legs
I don’t know how I can make such a difficult decision

Stroke the mirror and ask it to be as unforgiving as possible
Thank it for showing you the world in reverse
Hold on to what is outside of the mirror.

Maybe I should shatter it instead
Break it into pieces
Just like it broke my confidence

Tuck yourself into a small space and become
smaller
and smaller
until you are just atoms.
Settle into motion of the universe
Remember that even the most insignificant stars
Burn along the currents of darkness.

I’m too big to be small
No matter how much of myself I chop off
Losing a bit of my heart here
Some of my muscles there
I will always be the loudest voice in the room
Shrill and piercing
I can peel off layers of myself
Until I am the size of a seed
But I will always be too large
And too ungraceful
For anything but getting stuck

Take a walk
Run your hands
Through the fog and
Rest, on the tip of your tongue,
The scars of the moon,
The night is quiet and young
Innocent, not yet cold,
Steeped in white, burning flowers
Curl against the edges of the night
Let them soften you.

My feet were not made for walking
They only know how to run
But it’s so dark I can’t tell if
I’m looking at the street or
The inside of my own eyelids
I kept tripping over shoelaces
That seem to untie themselves
So I ditched my muddy brown sneakers
For the scratch and bite of
Bare feet on gravel
Even though I have memorized
This dark landscape like it is my palm
I still keep tripping over the same rocks

Forgive yourself.

I can’t.

dreadful-poetry (unitalicized stanzas) and tldrift (italicized stanzas)

I’m not a person anymore
It happened like a vaccination
You know how you always think the needle’s going to be sharp?
How you can just feel the point pricking into your arm
The sharp twinge you grit your teeth waiting for
But it never comes
Because every time, you’re waiting for a pinch
Until it’s over and you remember
It doesn’t feel like that at all
It feels like a few seconds of intense pressure
Like part of you is concaving in for a moment
And then it’s gone, just as swiftly
And you wonder why you were afraid in the first place
That’s what it felt like, losing myself
I kept watching for the sharpness
I kept telling myself I was okay, that the pain hadn’t hit
That the hollowed out point of the needle wasn’t coming for me
‘Breathe in, breathe out, you’re going to be okay’
Became a mantra I repeated so often the words tasted foreign in my mouth
Like I was trying out a new food and didn’t quite grasp the texture
I was so tempted to spit them back out but they were my only protection from the prick
I was so busy inhaling and exhaling
I didn’t notice the dull blast of pressure until I was being suctioned out of my own body
It came when I wasn’t paying attention
The way the doctors wait until the kids have closed their eyes before they plunge
It felt like vertigo
That is, if dizziness is a result of having yourself turned inside out, so your body isn’t yours anymore
I was shaken and stirred and ground up into rubble
So I’m not a person anymore
The person inside my body got sucked into the tip of the needle
And I hang from a limp plastic tube as my body turns into a relic in front of my eyes
Step one: it starts to crack
It starts with a hairline fracture and grows from there
It spiderwebs out until I shatter as easily as porcelain
Step two: The dirt creeps in
Dirt, dust, mold, bugs
They all sneak into the little crevices that have crawled throughout my skin
They stay there, shielded from the outside
I feel like a prisoner, watching myself shut down
Step three: I become defaced
Those oily-faced, purple-haired kids run past
Spray cans in their hand, paintbrushes tucked beneath their wool hats
They graffiti me until my body reads like a signpost for their inner monologues
Some of them flash their crooked teeth, proud of their work
As if displaying their sorrows on an abandoned relic will make some sort of difference
I watch myself rot away in an unnoticed corner
I watch as I get bulldozed into pebbles to make way for something big and grand
I watch as there is nothing left but ash
Thick, grey, powdery ash, with a few sprinkles of flaked off paint mixed in for good measure
Like dried up dreams are the secret ingredient to the recipe for defeat
I’m not a person anymore
I tried so hard so keep myself whole
But I guess we’re all just a different type of dust in the end

1. I’ve run away to Italy. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I’ve been dreaming of airplanes for seven months straight and I felt my toes tugging at me to get out of bed, and I felt my fingers packing a suitcase, and before I knew it, I was booking a hotel in Florence. They lost my luggage but it’s okay because I’ve still got my notebook full of all your letters and I held on to my favorite book. The dessert here is excellent and the owner of the bakery down the street from my hotel already knows my name. The chocolate here is a lot richer than back home. It feels delicate and light, not all artificial and manufactured. I’ve taken up swimming. The water here smells like magic.

2. I’m in France now. The Italian beaches were nice but the cliffs on the coastline reminded me of a part of myself I was trying to let go. Anyway, I yelled at the airline representatives over the phone until my lips were blue and my hands had been wrapped with the cord of the hotel phone so many times I cut off circulation. They sent a check to my bank account for a lot more than some old clothes and shoes were worth, but I wasn’t complaining. What better place to shop than Paris? The people here can see right through my entry-level French, but the glimmering lights of the city don’t care about which syllables I accent. Sometimes the lights feel heavy on my eyelids, but other times the seem to be lifting me up. I love it here. I could stay forever.

3. My missing luggage has turned up in Seattle. I’ve never been to the west coast before. There are a lot of ferryboats out here and sometimes I want to ride one but then I remember how seasick I get and I imagine how easy it would be to flip over the edge and fall into the water. It rains a lot over here and the clouds seem to be hovering over me, weighing down my insides. This place is full of bad drivers. I’m leaving tomorrow.

4. I’ve ended up in Spain. My flight was delayed three hours. Airlines always seem to give me trouble, yet I always flock back to them any chance I get. The walls of airports have become my mother: overbearing and oftentimes unreasonable, but I’d be stranded without them. There is no way to describe this country and do it justice. Do me a favor and watch the sunset today. Look for the part where the sky turns a burnt orange and then imagine that color overlaid over an entire country. That’s what Spain is like. Everything looks slightly sun kissed and there are flowers in the most unexpected places. When I die, I want to be buried here, under the golden sun. 5. I’m on a plane right now. I approached an old man at the airport and asked him to take my credit card and book me a flight taking off within the hour. I told him to surprise me, that I didn’t care where the plane was headed, just that it was somewhere else. I’d tell you the flight I ended up on but by the time you get this letter I’ll be somewhere else. That’s the way it’s always going to be with me. Now that I’ve started running, I’m gaining too much momentum to ever stop and the way my lungs burn up in the air feels better than any suburban townhouse ever could. I’ve fallen in love with so many places but the thought of settling reminds me that I should stick to temporary affairs. I hope these letters remind you that I will always be leaving, but that can’t stop you from following.

—Letters to let you know I am okay

I’ve counted eighteen hours since you left me alone in the cold
But I stopped counting the bottles of Jack Daniels after an hour
There was something comforting about watching the bottles shatter on my kitchen floor
About the way the color of the blood on the bottom of my foot
From stepping through all that glass
Was the same as the color I left on your lips
Two days ago, when I thought everything would be okay
I should have known it wouldn’t by the way you turned on your side while sleeping
Your face facing the wall instead of mine
Your shirt still covering your chest
The blanket still covering your heart
You told me to be dignified
Ladies do not cause scenes in restaurants
I suspect that’s why you spent so much money to cut me out
You didn’t expect me to spill my champagne and start crying
But how could I have shown any dignity
When you spent the evening telling me
That my eyes were turning more of a mud color than a copper
And that you no longer saw patterns in my veins
Just ugly blue lines
I keep telling myself you were no good for me
That I deserve the moon and you are just some pebbles
But the empty bottles of liquor
And your sweater I secretly slept in last night
Suggest a different story
And as much as I hate what you’ve done to me
All it would take is a single knock on my door
And I would shed every drop of resentment
Just to touch you one last time
Like maybe I can suck out the poison
If I hold you long enough
I know you’ll never return
I leave the door unlocked anyway

I always feel like January 6th
Too far away from the 1st to matter
Well past the noise and explosiveness
Of the midnight kisses and long lists
But close enough to still be dazed and confused
Close enough to remember that there was vodka on your lips instead of a mouth
Still feeling that hangover lingering behind your eyes
The time that people finally start realizing
Years are just numbers and April is just as good a month as January
To make all their resolutions
And that June is just as well as December
To break them

1. You are breathtaking. The way you wrap the world around you makes me feel like I am Icarus and I am flying too close to the sun but I would let my wings burn off for you any day because I am certain you would catch me.

2. Sometimes I feel like I am cotton candy and I am all talk and no substance, that even though I look pretty and put together on the outside, it’s all just a bunch of sugar, and I’ve always dreaded the day it finally rains on me but you make me want to throw out my umbrella and see how well the glue holds.

3. I love the way you clench your jaw when you’re angry because I always know how tight to grip your hand and when to turn you around and when to let you bite. People hide emotions as if a person finding out about their ticks would make the galaxies stop moving, but I always know just how to look at your veins and your eyes and all the pages bind together in front of me.

4. I dream about that bruise on your left knee and how I could kiss it better if you would let me. I know I can’t smooth out that scar on your cheek but I can convince you it’s beautiful every time I slide the back of my hand down your face and let you feel the patch of skin where my scars match yours.

5. I think about you all the time. You are the thought that dominates my mind every time I turn up the volume on my headphones and look out the window at the blur of lights and pavement. You are the late night love poems I scrawl into thin air. You are the arrows I strike through all my doodled hearts.

6. I love you. I want to drive to your house in the pouring rain and get soaked all the way down to my fuzzy blue socks and polka dot pajama pants just so I can throw my shoe at your window in the odd hours of the morning and scream my love at the top of my lungs, even though my car will be keyed the next morning for it.

7. I love you. I would run a marathon through mountains and volcanoes and rocky pathways if it meant the finish line had you waiting there with your arms out.

8. I love you. I want you to tell me that everyone else has been a distraction, that it’s been me all along, that you have been deprived of what was under your nose the whole time.

9. I love you. I want to whisper it into your ears and have you look at me with a shocked face as I turn red and try to run away, but grab me and kiss me like you’ve been lost in the desert for a year and I am a water fountain.

10. I love you. I love you more than my heart can handle and now it’s spilling over and out and I have to tell you. I love you.

—Texts I will never send you.

I am not who you think I am
Stop pretending that there are rays of sunshine
Glistening through my fingertips
Because no matter how many times you tell me
That I am made of stardust
All those stars are dead and I am nothing but
Carbon and oxygen and calcium and
Walking representation of the periodic table
Don’t tell me you can’t live without me
Because you met me two years ago
And you managed the first sixteen just fine
I am not wielding this sword to save you
I am gripping it to hurt myself
Because even though my cells have iron
This blade can still slice through me
Just like the slap of flesh against flesh
Still stings with redness and inflammation
Do not call me pretty
Because pretty is not bright green braces
And extra flab I hide with loose dresses
Pretty is that girl who breaks necks
Just by stepping out of her car
She’s the one who walks in six inch heels like her feet were molded that way
From the wet clay of her skin
I’m the one who trips in her pink sneakers
Stop telling me I’m worth it
I know when you ignore my messages
Because you’d rather talk about video games
Than about why I’m afraid to pick up a razor
Don’t tell me that you love me
Don’t tell me that I’m wrong
Don’t tell me that I’m foolish
Because the real fool is the one
Who puts all their happiness
Into the well-being of one
Broken up, misguided
Waste of stardust

—n.a

alexandraswritingblock asked: "You Asked Me Once Why I Loved You" one of the most beautiful poems I've ever read. I hope you have a wonderful day x

tldrift:

Thank you so much! It’s actually a conversation I had with my friend (http://dreadful-poetry.tumblr.com), but I edited to poem form. 

Check out my other pieces, hope you love them too :).

-Marlon

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