Colleen Brown's Blog, page 256
October 28, 2013
I’ve been writing poems
about your skin a lot
recently. It’s a texture
that has not...
I’ve been writing poems
about your skin a lot
recently. It’s a texture
that has not yet
left the tips of my
fingers. The feeling of
your skin against mine
is a feeling that has
made its way into
my mind; too comfortable
to leave, and too secure
to change its location.
I’ve been writing a lot
of poems about your
skin recently, and
I don’t think I’m going to
stop anytime soon.
"My father doesn’t need alcohol
to become a different person.
His mind is able to do that for..."
My father doesn’t need alcohol
to become a different person.
His mind is able to do that for him.
His thoughts are shown by actions,
and his words are nowhere to be found;
lost since the day he said, I do.
My mothers hands are rough
from holding so many children
who would sooner or later
go on hating themselves
more than they hate drugs.
She failed to mention to her creations
that love is only as hard
as you make it, and that if you
tell yourself that you love yourself,
you can actually begin to believe
in that manipulative meaning.
My brothers teeth are stained;
too many midnight cigarettes
and not enough self-control.
When his wife calls for him
to come back to bed
and to stop pacing the living room
like it was a hallway of a hospital,
he tells her that he cannot rest
until his prayer of a better future
rises to the surface.
My sister thinks that she
found the truth of herself
in someone else’s body.
She thinks that she is
able to see straight
because of one-night stands
and expressing love
through thrusting.
If only someone would have
told her that passion
doesn’t come from moaning,
but from the very core
of what you desire most.
- "Family tree", Colleen Brown
October 27, 2013
I knew that someday soonyou would end up leaving.And it’s hard to be angrywhen all I want from...
I knew that someday soon
you would end up leaving.
And it’s hard to be angry
when all I want from you
is for you to be happy.
So when you are
on your way out,
don’t forget that the door
will always be unlocked
if you ever decide
that you want to come back.
Typewriter series: #20
Typewriter series: #20
I wonder what would havehappened to us if I wouldn’t havelet you go. And by that I meanif I...
I wonder what would have
happened to us if I wouldn’t have
let you go. And by that I mean
if I didn’t let you walk out that door,
would you have stayed
for the entire night?
Or would you have
caught a cab after I had finally
fallen asleep; making sure
that there were no signs
of you leaving me in a bed
that has been covered in
yesterdays mistakes, and todays
hopes. I didn’t tell you
not to go; didn’t beg on my knees
to try to make you see things
through my eyes.
We could even say
that I opened up that door,
and pushed you out myself.
But what’s the point in trying to
tell someone that you didn’t mean it?
Because once they are gone,
there is no amount
of apologetic phrases,
that could make them
want to come back in.
October 26, 2013
Typewriter series: #19
Typewriter series: #19
Instead of telling methat you miss me,tell me that youwere the onewho was wrong,all along.
Instead of telling me
that you miss me,
tell me that you
were the one
who was wrong,
all along.
‘A letter to a girl in high school who told me to kill myself:’
I bet you thought that I...
‘A letter to a girl in high school who told me to kill myself:’
I bet you thought that I wouldn’t have made it past our high school graduation. That the wind would be too strong that day and I would be unable to get out of bed. But like most of everything that you have ever believed in, you were wrong, and I am standing taller than I ever have.
It’s been four years since you walked past me in the hallway, shouted at me to slit my wrists, and joyfully walked away, in the heat of amusement with the girls that you considered to be your army. When in all actuality, they hated you as much as you hated yourself, and it only took you two years to figure that out.
After graduation when I walked away from the building that slowly ripped apart my youth, I didn’t look back. And to this day, I still haven’t. But you, you brown eyed, insecure girl; I will never forget your mouth when it spilled words onto my lap of thoughts of hopelessness. The memory of your lack of sympathy, lack of regret, is still burned into my mind. And I think it is a scar that will never properly heal.
I walked past you at the supermarket the other day. I was just getting off of work and your remaining presence was the last thing that would appear in my head. But there you were, in aisle 4, looking for sleeping pills. Your face was one I could never forget; a mouth full disgrace that I could never let escape my mind. And when I walked past you, you turned around, and I smiled at you. I looked at who you are now in the eyes, and I could see that you were are just as broken today as you were back then. When I left the supermarket that day, I felt a sort of strength inside of my bones. A strength that you placed inside of me yourself.
Now when I look back at my life, I see the words that changed who I am forever. So instead of saying that I proved you wrong, and making this letter into a treaty, I am just going to say thank you. Thank you for handing over words to me that turned consciousness into confidence. I would have never known who I am today, if it wasn’t for who you were back then.
No matter what I say,and no matter what I do,everything will alwaysrevolve around you.
No matter what I say,
and no matter what I do,
everything will always
revolve around you.
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