The Midnight Readers discussion
✧ Personal Book Nooks
>
Mack is listening to Welcome to Nightvale while doing schoolwork
FRESHAFRESHAVACADO
FRESHAVACADOOOOO
quack quack fathers and sons are wretched mirrors of each other what is it like to look at your father's anger and know it is not your own must be nice to just be terrified and not see the same thing in your own eyes quack quack fathers and sons are terrible tragedies the father uses his anger to try and make the son better than him but all the son learns is the anger quack the blood on my knuckles is no longer my own i used to be scared of my father's fists now I'm scared of my own i swore id be kinder but i think ill be worse the son is the father the father the son
Bug Juice (I was a birdcage you were meant to fly) wrote: "quack quack fathers and sons are wretched mirrors of each other what is it like to look at your father's anger and know it is not your own must be nice to just be terrified and not see the same thi..."i will just listen to the quacks
I scared my little sister to death and I never want to see the light of day again I did the same shit I swore id never do I didn't mean to it just came out what happened to me I swore id be kinder than this
i scared mylittle sister real bad and I accidentally ripped the tail off of her stuffed animal and I grabbed the back of her shirt and she ran screaming away from me and she wont look me in the eye and I fucked up
:oi can teach you how to sew-eth macky
it'll help u be...
kinder
right?
no i dont know how to use anything besides my fists
Bug Juice (I was a birdcage you were meant to fly) wrote: "no i dont know how to use anything besides my fists"it's ok
it was an honest mistake
if you want me to teach you to sew i can 100% i broke my sister's stuffed animal out of rage too and i sewed it back for her
its a little tigeri ripped the tail off
Lady Lemonade wrote: "She’s right They’re for using your pen to create your beautiful poetry
And holding someone’s hand one day who actually loves you
And for reading
And eating ice cream and gas station hot dogs a..."
EXACTLYYYYY
YOU POETIC DUMBASS
i consider that list very poetic and macky if you need help learning how to fix it i can helpeth
thinking back on this poem i wrote 2 months agoPoets,fundamentally,
are bad at love
(or maybe it's just me)
I'm sorry you took my words
as me showing you my wounds
Can't you see?
Poets hide behind vulnerability
and these words are just words
written in ink,
not blood.
I'm sorry you drank my ink almost religiously
My poetry was never meant for the communion altar.
Potters,
fundamentally,
are bad at love
(or maybe it's just me)
I'm sorry it's easier to slip my hands
into a pound of clay than your hands
Can't you see?
Potters hide inside themselves
the way unstable clay will
fold into itself
before it even comes off the wheel.
I'm sorry it's easier to bury myself in a throwing
These hands were made for art not love.
Players,
fundamentally,
are bad at love
(or maybe it's just me)
I'm sorry my lips kiss a reed more readily
than another human's lips
Can't you see?
Players hide themselves in plain sight
Screaming words they're too scared to say out loud
with every note,
every mark time march.
I'm sorry I can't play anything close to a love song.
I swear I'd love you if I could.
I'm sorry you read my poetry like a prayer
and baptized yourself in it's ink.
I'm sorry my hands drink slip like a drunkard's wine
and treat the hangover with a breakfast of
unspoken words and the taste of
my saxophone's reed.
I'm sorry I have the feet of a sprinter
and the heart of a gypsy;
I'm sorry I'm not the one who'll stay.
I swear I'd love you if I could.
and also my dad says he is going to fix it
so ig im not allowed to
Lady Lemonade wrote: "Bug Juice (I was a birdcage you were meant to fly) wrote: "thinking back on this poem i wrote 2 months agoPoets,fundamentally,
are bad at love
(or maybe it's just me)
I'm sorry you took my words
a..."
je ne sais pas
je pense pace que
maybe because I feel unable to love right now
its just kind of resonating with me
RowenVy wrote: "your dad is fixing it... okay, perhaps try to help fix it? and apologizing ofc if you haven't already... and then showing her that you didn't mean to scare her, and then it's up to her to take he..."
I don't know what I'm gonna do
Lady Lemonade wrote: "Thought to let you know I’m leaving for a bit— hiatus— dk when I’ll be back"is there a different way I can reach you? emaiil or something? i don't want to lose you again
okay
poetry dump as per request igI.
Boy with more scar tissue than skin
Boy who first wore the band-aids as a badge of honor
Boy with bags under his eyes
Boy who wants to kneel in church
Boy who no longer talks to the moon
Boy who used to be a bookworm
Boy who doesn't know who he is
II.
I used to know a boy
always afraid of taking up space
always apologizing for existing
He hated himself so loudly
sentenced book-ended with sorrys
He thought if he hated himself first
It would hurt less if
It would hurt less when
It would hurt less to be hated by
someone else
He hated himself so loudly
He protected himself with apathy but
being numb is worse than being hurt
and when you hate yourself that loudly
you can't hear all the good
Hating yourself doesn't make it hurt any less
Just means when they leave you've got
one less person on your side
square your shoulders
this is boyhood -
you are bred and raised with a wolf inside you
why apologize for its fangs?
III.
I can't tell if I actually like this person
or if I just like the way he makes me forget you
When I was only
seven years old and
still sure I'd grow up
and not take my own life
back up against my bedroom door
tears streaming
skin stinging
ears ringing
I WILL BE KINDER
I should've known of course:
fathers and sons are wretched
mirrors of each other
(What is it like to look
at your father's anger and
know it is not your own?
To just be terrified and
not see the same in your own eyes?)
I should've known of course:
fathers and sons are terrible
tragedies in technicolor
(The father uses his anger
to try and make the son better
than him but all the son learns
is the anger)
The blood on my knuckles is
no longer my own and
I used to be scared of my
father's fists, now I'm scared of
my own
I swore I'd be kinder
I think I'll be worse
The son is the father
the father
the sonWhen I was only
seven years old and
still sure I'd grow up
and not take my own life
back up against my bedroom door
tears streaming
skin stinging
ears ringing
I WILL BE KINDER
I should've known of course:
fathers and sons are wretched
mirrors of each other
(What is it like to look
at your father's anger and
know it is not your own?
To just be terrified and
not see the same in your own eyes?)
I should've known of course:
fathers and sons are terrible
tragedies in technicolor
(The father uses his anger
to try and make the son better
than him but all the son learns
is the anger)
The blood on my knuckles is
no longer my own and
I used to be scared of my
father's fists, now I'm scared of
my own
I swore I'd be kinder
I think I'll be worse
The son is the father
the father
the son
You thought you knew me,
didn't you?
You thought you had me all figured out
in that silly little box of yours
because I let you think
my walls were down
(I never give away all my secrets)
So you know my favorite color
(that makes you no different than any other)
You pieced together things you thought you knew
into a person that you think you know
But that isn't me
that isn't me at all
I never told you
that even though I listen to emo punk
I also like country and rock
and I told you my favorite color is yellow
but you don't know that for the longest time
I didn't like any colors
not even gray
I told you that I think everyone is pretty
but I didn't tell you why
I didn't tell you how bad my self-image us
or how it feels to disassociate or
how I feel about God or
what happens after death
You never met my best friends
or came to my youth group
and I never told you
how it feels to live in my house
So sure,
you know my siblings' names
and my favorite season
But you don't know my whys
I don't wear my heart on my sleeve
and if you wanted to hurt me
you'll have to try harder
(We had some laughs but
You never knew me)
I'm looking out the window
on the car ride home
Good things have happened
maybe good things will happen
again
but they are done for now
I am not sad
bad things are not happening
it's just that a good thing is over
I will sleep soon
and I will rest
and a new day will begin in the
morning
The good day is over.
maybe tomorrow will be a good day
but I am looking out the window
I have been looking out the window for
weeks now
I am tired and
ready to sleep
I am ready for tomorrow
I am ready for another good day
I am ready to rest
I need a break
I am looking out the window on the car ride home.
when I was eight years old and
the world was crashing down around me
for the very first time
I got through by saying to myself
one day you will be eight years older
a year older than benjamin is
right now, and everything will make sense
again.
I will be eight years older in
eight months
eight days
eight hours
and eight minutes
but the sky still hasn't stopped falling
I don't know if I can wait another eight years
I'm a crystal vase on
my grandmother's piano
The light shines through me,
but I am not the light
I am lit up and shining,
but I am not the light.
The rainbow slides through me,
but I am not the rainbow.
The flowers sit in me,
but I am not the flowers.
The water sits in me,
but I am not the water.
The piano notes plink off me,
but I am not the music.
The reflections of love dance over me,
but I am not love.
The light shines through me,
but I am not the light.
I am just a crystal vase on my grandmother's piano.
Blank eyes and
a heart that's not quite cold
lukewarm blood not quite
rushing through my veins
a steady thump thump of a
tell-tale heart
surgically
precisely
unfeelingly cut out of my chest
I have snapped all the heartstrings
that tied me to you
You said you weren't angry
that we could still be friends but
I don't do anything half-assed
You of all people should know
I will be the best or
nothing
at
all.
You of all people should've known
when you told me to fuck off
it would be the last thing I did for you
I do nothing halfway.
Not even the burning of bridges
Not even isolation
You knew telling me to fuck off
you knew it would mean forever
Maybe you didn't mean it
but the strings are cut
I will be the best
You will be nothing at all.
when I kill myself
I think I will disappear
my energy will scatter and
no one will notice I am gone
for weeks
I.
You're made of all those little things
That squiggle around inside your brain
Bounce through your skull
And off the walls
Made of things that are not skin and bone
Made of things that only you know
Made of little squiggles only you understand
Until you find other people
Whose squiggles look like your own
And bounce off of each other's squiggles
And when you're young
Those squiggles form wierd little dreams
That you miss when you're old but
You're meant for more than you
Understand when you're young and
Your squiggles can change
And so can you
II.
You've made this church
into a gold slathered idol
This building owns you and you
are a slave to ideation
you've never found in the testaments
You scream of tradition but
that's just one of your pillars
What about reason
What about prayer
What about scripture
Even the religion to that you
preach on the corners
doesn't agree with the
paths that you take
You've got the blood sacrifice
dripping from your lips
and the communion wine
is stale on your breath
Your baptismal fount is drowning
you with dirty water
that stopped being holy
a long time ago
III.
The punch must be the
same punch they've been
making for fifty years and
it tastes like blood and memories
the perspective of this building
is in a perspective
that isn't the same I can see it from now everything is different
everything is the same
My cousin is made of constellations and
I miss climbing the tree by the field and
the smell of the altars
and my grandpa's voice praying and
no one ever looks for the prodigal son
what if I don't return
IV.
I'm trying to warn you
Stay away from me
I'm trying to show you
I am not good
I am not holy
I am not pure
I am an infestation
I am swallowing the sun
I am eating it whole
I am trying to scare you away
I am hoping you will realize
I am not who I try to be
I am not who I let you think I am
I am forgetting my morals
I am losing friends quick
I am an infestation and you need to
Stay away from me
V.
The trick is you have to learn
how to live without regrets
The trick is you have to learn
how to forgive yourself
The trick is you have to learn
how to let go of your anger
I think I've figured out that
the trick to being happy is just
to be happy in the easiest ways -
Appreciate car rides full of laughter,
the shape of the clouds and
the light of the moon and the sun.
I think I've figured out that
the trick to being happy is just
if you need to change, change -
Part your hair the opposite direction or
start sleeping without the fan on and
walk somewhere instead of driving.
If you can't stay like this forever -
don't.
Things can always get better.
The trick is you have to learn
how to let go without hiding from it.
The trick is you have to learn
how to face your problems head on.
The trick is you have to learn
how to be okay.
You ask me what home is
I tell you of crayon-covered walls
the gritty taste of sidewalk chalk
the ashes and sand under the grill
the click of a gas fireplace
You ask me what home is again
this time I remember the smell of books
tiny little paper cuts from turning pages
the dusty taste of free summer lunch
bare feet in the reading tower, bubbles and fish
Again, you ask me what home is
I tell you about spiral bound notebooks
the scratchy hospital gowns and itchy IV
3am mornings sleeping on church pews
7 year olds communicating by email
You shake your head What is home?
Guitar strings and saxophone notes
Bonfire smoke and ranch dressing
The Wellerman Sea Shanty and Mau Maui
"I'm happy you're alive"
You still refuse. What is home?
A parking lot full of memories that are his and not mine
an alleyway (Can I do something impulsive?)
hand in my hand, wall clock in the grass
two arms around me when I am at my worst
You chuckle. What is home?
My father's jacket and A1 Steak Sauce
Softball signed by OMIGOD I MET THE DAISIES
face split into a grin, fireworks, chicken tenders
he held my hand, he held my hand, he held my hand
You ask me one more time:
What is your home, little bug?
It is carried on my back like a turtle
memories made of slishy sloshy bug juice
Places when I was safe
Times where I was whole
the queit noise of the car ride home
the bus stop at seven in the morning
the elementary school parking lot at 1am
the top of the bricks in the afternoon sun
Middle left, top left, bottom left
bottom left, bottom left, middle right, top middle
home is something I carry around
Home is a turtle shell on my back
I.Yesterday I ached and
visited the graveyard of my heart
Yesterday I went grave robbing
searching for someone
to make me forget you
My hands were covered in dirt
and blood
I think it was my own but
it might have been yours
II.
Today I cried and
sang songs about heartbreak
I wore my father's jacket
and pretended it was the same
as a hug
Today I missed my brother
and sat in his chair
in his room and pretended
he was there with me like before
Today I messaged you
too many times in a row and
tried to remember how to be friends with people other than
you
III.
Tomorrow I will pick apples
and make the apple crisp
I wanted to teach you to make
I will run a 5k in
my new spikes and I will not even
want to tell you my time
I will go to a bonfire with my cousin
and we will laugh
about the fact that I cried over you
Tomorrow I will make new friends
and memories and
not a single part of tomorrow
will know your name
IV.
Tomorrow I will drive past Taylor and
Broadway and I will not even care
Tomorrow I will cry for you on the kitchen floor
but I will not beg you to stay
V.
Today I picked the apple the
the hornets ate from and fell in
love with someone before knowing
his name. Today I ran until my legs
gave out and didn't cry when the
strawberries spelled. Today I hugged
my cousin and talked to my dad.
Today I didn't cry when I talked about
youand the knots in my chest remembered
how to be heartstrings. Today I slept in the
sun and told stories my dad told me.
Today I sat by the fire and enjoyed it
for its warmth and not its destruction
Today I remembered to smile without
forcing it. Today I was alive and I was
happy and my god it was amazing
Today I didn't want to die. Today I
breathed in and my lungs didn't ache
Today I didn't want to die. God isn't that
amazing? Today I wanted to be alive
Today I was better.
Better is a good thing to be.
I.
There's no easy way to say
that I am broken in pieces
and they're trapped
somewhere far inside me
I can't feel anything except
for the hunger but
at least I am safe
II.
If it's over don't
tell me, If you don't
love me don't tell me
Let me not take the hint
Let me pretend someone
cares for just a second
If it's over just leave
me don't leave me trapped
in a fantasy, I'd rather
die than live a fucking lie
III.
I'm not enough and I know
and I'm sorry that
sometimes I don't want to
keep breathing I'm not enough
and you should run as far
away from me as you
can but I'll never tell you
that because I need you and I'd
give you anything just to make
sure you'll stay, You're the
realest person I've met in
a long time and I think you
are made of clay and sweat
You are something too anciently
beautiful for me to touch
I need to hug you I need you
to hold me seep into me
remind me how to be alive
and you need to run
as far away
as you can
I can't find nothing poetic in it
Which one of us gave up first?
I'm trying to convince myself
I am not a tragedy
I'm trying to teach myself
weren't we gods for a second?
There is no art or beauty
in the fact that people drift
away and apart and sometimes
there's nothing we can do
about it but
weren't we gods for a second?
I am starving and there is
something savage, feral inside of me
I don't know when to let things go
and my kind of love will rip you apart
I am claws and teeth and blood and
weren't we gods for a second?
You asked if I was okay and
little firefly thoughts flashed
behind my dead brown eyes
I wanted to package up
all the times I had been okay
and place them in front of you
I wanted to watch your hands
rip the wrapping paper away
I wanted to say
See? I told you I was whole
I wanted your eyes to dance
I wanted not to be broken
I wanted you to look at me and say
She is not a tragedy
But you said my eyes seem sad
even when I smile
I.
I know I wasn't your favorite song
but I still thought you might be proud of me
II.
The parson is screaming at the congregation
and he called himself a hillbilly
just a second ago
but I'm still not sure
what he's trying to tell me
besides going to church will give you a headache
III.
The clock on the wall isn't ticking
and my head hurts
why do you have a microphone if you're already screaming
IV.
Ils sont penibles et
Ils ne sont pas très intelligents et
Je veux retourner chez moi mais
ma mère parle avec ses copains
et mon père dort dans la voiture
V.
It is 9.05 pm
and I wonder if you've called
VI.
It is loud because everyone in this house is talking
and it is too loud because
not a single one wants to talk to me
I have been hiding
(for because of the headache)
and no one has come to check once
Everyone is too busy
pretending not to be sad
and I am too busy
pretending to be an adult
and then acting like a child
It's okay because I wanted to hide
anyways
VII.
You're not a bad dad
I'm just a bad person
who thinks bad thoughts
You're not a bad mom
I'm just a bad kid
who never caught the drift
I'm sorry if I hurt you
cause that's just what I do
I'm the bad influence and
I'm the one to blame
Anyone can tell you that I
just can't behave -
can't keep my mouth shut
I've got no money left to save
I'm sorry that I failed you
as I do time and time again
I'm only good at metaphors
and wiggling this stupid pen
I am all of the poetry I've ever read
and every song I've listened to
even the ones by 1D or t-swizzle
I am every book I've ever read
and the taste of cantaloupe
after you know you've eaten too much
I am the thrum of cicadas
and the drone of box fans in the summertime
I am the creak of wooden floorboards
underneath my feet and
the tanginess of water straight from the hose
I am tarps equalling slip n slides
and skinned knees from sliding on them too long
I am bare feet on gravel
and the crack of a winning carpetball match
I am banana boxes packed with crisis care kits
and the way your stomach falls
when you drop from the top of the swing
I am little hand-held American flags
and glowsticks and fist-fulls of candy
I am nerf gun bullets and library books
I am bonfire smoke and funnel cakes
and one dollar flip flops from Walmart
I am razor-sharp candy canes and
Halloween hot chocolate with candy corn
I am MEL and High Say Scummuffa and
circus peanuts from the gas station
I am heyyyyyy dudeeeeee at the fire hydrants
and the nasty-tasting snacks Bonnie gave us
I am VBS crafts and Benjamin playing Phantom of the Opera
at 1 am on the electric piano at church
I am my father's daughter and my mother's son
I am a pastor's kid and I REFUSE
to sit on the altar or keep my hat on in church
I am Ghost Gas Station and Ghost Ice Cream Place
and especially Ghost Train Tracks
I am the stars on the car ride home
and corn on the cob and friend bread and dinner rolls
I am kazoos and swing sets and
the way my grandpa's eyes crinkle
I am not what you wanted, I know
But I am what I needed
regardless of what you expected
I still have the nursery rhymes memorized
but also the domestic abuse hotline and
the suicide prevention hotline
I still want you to make me vanilla milk
when I can't sleep but
you're busy on Facebook with other people's families
And I still want you to pray with me
and sing Jesus loves you
and tuck the covers in up to my chin
but
I still remember counting with you
how many of the 10 commandments
I had broken that day
and thinking
how disappointed you were in me
and how disappointed god must be
I was too young to be calling myself unlovable
but I was
I've been trying to be an adult since I turned 10
and to be honest
Wee Willie Winky sounds like a perv
I.
In French,
instead of saying "I miss you"
they say
"you are missing from me"
and I just thought that it
encapsulates the hurt
a small bit
better
II.
My poetry tastes like burnt sugar cookies
again
but the melancholy is finally gone and
the train sounded like a
tornado siren
I.
It has been 40 hours
since I last held your hand
or gave you a hug
and I miss you like a little kid
II.
My legs burn from cross country and
there's a cut on my neck
from when my mom cut my hair
I miss holding your hand
III.
You asked if you could do something
impulsive and
I didn't respond because
my voice caught in my throat and
I wasn't sure if I'd heard you right
Im still not but
I would have said that
it was almost 4am and I might
have seen a dead man a
couple of hours ago so I don't see
how you could be any more impulsive but
yeah it's nearly 4am and
I'm 15 and
I'm tired of being smart
But my voice caught in my throat and
I was never good at being anything but
the good kid
But the answer is yes
Jakob's dog just had pups
but she had five of them
and couldn't take care of them all
So Jakob had to drown one
and when his head went underwater
I felt a kind of kinship
of my parents' five children
I think I was the one who drowned
Are my shoulders more distracting
than your sons'?
Is it my stomach or do you just
loathe me so much
you are physically unable not
to hold me to a higher standard
You would rather me show up to practice
in sweatpants and a sweatshirt
in 90-degree heat
than god forbid
someone sees my shoulders
Chew me up and spit me out again
I'll be a better daughter this time
one that doesn't wish they were a boy
Maybe next time around
you won't look at me and see
your problem child
Maybe next time around
you'll look at me
and see anything besides my father's anger
I.
I know I'm not a saint
because I am sitting in this revival service
while they give their goofy little testimonies
and all I can think is that
I would rather be holding your hand
and maybe even rather be kissing you
but I don't know how to kiss someone
II.
It is 73 degrees
according to the thermostat on the wall
and the clock has stopped ticking
at 2:50 and 23 seconds
it smells like mold and old ladys' perfume
but at least the minister isn't
yelling into the microphone again
III.
The flag of the Christian church is on the left
and the American flag is on the right
the cross lit up smack in the center
and all I can think is that
your hand felt like wildflowers in mine
and if you would let me hug you forever
I swear I would never let go
I will have a full life
I will survive long enough
to have that and
no matter how many times
the little red lines
say I have some little red virus
living in my lungs or how many
little red bottles of pills
I think about sliding down my
little red throat or
how many times I want to take
that little red razor and
steal its blades to make
little red lines of blood across
my skin, I will make
myself survive long enough
to be able to say
when I finally lie down
in that little red field of flowers
and my lips take their last
little red breath
I will say I lived a full life
I will not be a little red tragedy
I will let no wolf swallow me
Because I am not
little red riding hood
I'm just a kid
trying to be a grown up
My little red eyes
are raw from crying
but I will survive long enough
I deserve that at least
I want to have a house
that is all my own
and it will never be filled
with screaming late into the night
and if I fuck up dinner
it's okay because it was
just for me and
I paid for it all wirg
my own money
I would like to have a home
and be my own family
and have time to heal
Roses are pink
and they're sitting on the counter
with a note that offers
someone's deepest condolences
Roses are pink
and they're from the funeral
the one in Havana
that I couldn't go to
Roses are pink
and they're the closest to closure
that I'm gonna get
cause she's six feet under
Roses are pink
and they're dying too
when they're gone they'll be
just like her stories
and her soft crinkly hands
like her whispered "secrets"
and her favorite cartoons
and the summers she spent
in my grandma's bedroom
and my grandparents took
the grandma frank room
Roses are pink
and I hate that color
Roses are pink
I miss my great grandmother
Remember when you were shorterthan mom and
you grew your hair down
long
long
long
and you wanted to be older?
(It was only supposed to be two weeks)
Remember when you never would've thoufgr
a firework was a gunshot and
staying up until 10 was
late
late
late
and you couldn't wait to grow up?
(It's been more than two years)
Remember when needles were
your worst fear and
pills didn't kill, they helped
heal
heal
heal
and you wished your life away?
(There were never any good old days)
Nostalgia's a slut for attention and
your life isn't over yet
It would be easier
if I could hate you
or if you hated me
Romeo and Juliet is overrated and
tragedy isn't nearly as
romantic as it seems
so I'm sorry that instead of calling
you I'm stuck in my room again
forever a little boy looking out
at the fireflies and the ambulance lights
whispering no louder than the cicadas
promising that someday, maybe soon,
(maybe forever away), promising,
I will touch the sky
with my bare hands, even,
even if it burns
It would be easier if
I didn't care what your parents
thought of me and you the same
for mine. Romeo and Juliet wasn't
tragedy, but stupidity and
I'm idiotic enough for two,
So I'm sorry that instead of holding
your hand I'm stuck in my room
again - Just a little boy
looking out my window wondering if
Rapunzel stayed in the tower
because at least it was
safe, and, even still, promising,
I will touch the earth
with my bare hands, even,
even if it burns
Rapunzel, Rapunzel
How can the prince save you
you've cut off your hair and don't
you
know?
Princes save themselves or
are you tired of that paper crown?
Ambulance sirens and fireflies
the thrum of cicadas
the drone of the street outside
Poetry dripping from the pipes
slipping from my mind
your name is getting too damn loud
I've got a banging headache and
the songs at the grocery store
were suddenly all about you
But you're not gay and
maybe it's better
for both of us
this way
(my daydreams always end with me alone)
I don't like the way
I feel smooth and shiny
or even much how it looks
it was just nice to do something
with my hands
and that razor blade
besides unzip my veins
I spilled dishwater
on the ground today
and instead of breaking down
I danced in it
Healing sounds like the lyrics
to the yungblud song I screamed
while washing the knives
that I no longer want to slit
my skin with
He sat on the roof
golden hour sun
dripping
like honey
over his wings
burned
into his back
I couldn't help but wonder
Was he meant as a warning
or maybe a martyr?
Icarus smiled his sad smile
brown eyes seemed to hold the weight
of the sun itself
Not a martyr or a warning
neither anarchist nor hero
Just a boy, Just a boy
a boy who fell too quick
too quick to love
the sun loved me back
the sea, the sky
tore us apart
too young, too stupid
Just a boy, Just a boy
nothing more
The sun dipped below
and Icarus' skin no longer glowed
If not for his scars
or for his wings
Icarus would have looked like me
Just a boy, Just a boy
Dry thunder and
keys in the door
distant noises
nothing more
Guitar strings and
a bari sax horn
bittersweet memory
nothing more
A muffled landline and
creaky hardwood floors
reckless mistakes
nothing more
Four or five winds
and a sloppy drumcore
a losing band
nothing more
The yelling lectures
and the way he spat the word whore
whispered regrets
nothing more
Nothing more than the poetry I
that I am made of
Nothing more than the hole
inside of my chest
Nothing more than my reason
for staying alive
Nothing more than the friends
who've helped me survive
Nothing more than the hurt
I've been trying to hide
My poetry is lost somewhere
between anterior and posterior
between content et trist
between pinch pots and wheel throwing
between the bible verses thrown at me and
between radioactive waste and ping pong balls
between 60 points and 210
between A lunch and C
between bench presses and calf raises
between equations and expressions
between being the best and being real
I don't have time for poetry
I don't have time for music
and I don't have time to care about him
but time is just little tick marks
on a stupid circle of 60 ticks
and I've got all the time in the world
I'm trying to be perfect and
maybe it's working but I'm
lonely and exhausted and
to be honest
I don't really care
how much prettier I'd look
if I smiled more or
caked my face in makeup or
wore something different once in a while and
I could care less whether or not
you think I should spend more time
at church and with my family
and for heck's sake I
give less than a rat about how
your language isn't very ladylike
you should grow your hair out again
you need to focus more on school
And if you tell me one more time that
gender is what God chose
God will make a divine intervention
Oh wait-
nope.
that was my knee
in your dick.
Fuck off.
I'm seeing you places you aren't
and you were never in that crowd but
I'd rather grasp at think straws
than give up and lose you because my
work ethic just isn't strong enough
(I'll show you all and you'll regret
the words you say behind my back)
I can't write poetry that's not
about you and I don't know what's happened
to me but I'm hoping I come off as
dedicated or anything besides
too desperate for attention
(I'll show you all and you'll regret
the words you say behind my back)
bug is barely alive rn 👍 he is doing english assignments and he fucking hates english save him please
someone gib me the answers
RowenVy wrote: "Oh i remember these!"yeah dey de same ones I gabe you
You're made of all those little thingsThat squiggle around inside your brain
Bounce through your skull
And off the walls
Made of things that are not skin and bone
Made of things that only you know
Made of little squiggles only you understand
Until you find other people
Whose squiggles look like your own
And bounce off of each other's squiggles
And when you're young
Those squiggles form wierd little dreams
That you miss when you're old but
You're meant for more than you
Understand when you're young and
Your squiggles can change
And so can you
You've made this church
into a gold slathered idol
This building owns you and you
are a slave to ideation
you've never found in the testaments
You scream of tradition but
that's just one of your pillars
What about reason
What about prayer
What about scripture
Even the religion to that you
preach on the corners
doesn't agree with the
paths that you take
You've got the blood sacrifice
dripping from your lips
and the communion wine
is stale on your breath
Your baptismal fount is drowning
you with dirty water
that stopped being holy
a long time ago
The punch must be the
same punch they've been
making for fifty years and
it tastes like blood and memories
the perspective of this building
is in a perspective
that isn't the same I can see it from now everything is different
everything is the same
My cousin is made of constellations and
I miss climbing the tree by the field and
the smell of the altars
and my grandpa's voice praying and
no one ever looks for the prodigal son
what if I don't return
I'm trying to warn you
Stay away from me
I'm trying to show you
I am not good
I am not holy
I am not pure
I am an infestation
I am swallowing the sun
I am eating it whole
I am trying to scare you away
I am hoping you will realize
I am not who I try to be
I am not who I let you think I am
I am forgetting my morals
I am losing friends quick
I am an infestation and you need to
Stay away from me
The trick is you have to learn
how to live without regrets
The trick is you have to learn
how to forgive yourself
The trick is you have to learn
how to let go of your anger
I think I've figured out that
the trick to being happy is just
to be happy in the easiest ways -
Appreciate car rides full of laughter,
the shape of the clouds and
the light of the moon and the sun.
I think I've figured out that
the trick to being happy is just
if you need to change, change -
Part your hair the opposite direction or
start sleeping without the fan on and
walk somewhere instead of driving.
If you can't stay like this forever -
don't.
Things can always get better.
The trick is you have to learn
how to let go without hiding from it.
The trick is you have to learn
how to face your problems head on.
The trick is you have to learn
how to be okay.
Pictures of the universe and
pictures of a brain cell
look so much alike
Your head is made of constellations
How could you end it with a
bullet
Your mind is playing
tricks on you
Please stay safe tonight
Call me in the morning
when it's safe inside your head
But if you need
a place to rest
If your vision's not quite clear
You can call me in the morning or
You can just stay right here
Rest your head on my shoulder
and cry the stinging tears
Stay safe till morning comes
It'll all be clear soon
The start of fall and
the air smells like something
I can't quite place
There's a longing to
fill my lungs up again and
stay alive just a little
longer
Your calls aren't welcome at this number
anymore
Your feet aren't welcome on this doormat
anymore
I used to miss dialing your number
and the sound of your voice
Used to miss the little things
But I'm tired of this shit
So your hand's not welcome in my own
anymore
You're not welcome as a home
anymore
Your words aren't welcome in my head
anymore
And your calls aren't welcome at this number
anymore
b͓̽e͓̽l͓̽l͓̽a͓̽d͓̽o͓̽n͓̽n͓̽a͓̽ wrote: "EW ENGLISH"exactly im crying
b͓̽e͓̽l͓̽l͓̽a͓̽d͓̽o͓̽n͓̽n͓̽a͓̽ wrote: "currently doing AP notes 🤮🤮🤮🤮"ewwwww im so sorry
RowenVy wrote: "*blinks in thinking that english isnt that hard*I can help"
hello wut? i have to analyze a poem and I no understand
bro said
"What theme about tradition and community does this poem convey? Draft an objective summary and then cite key details that help develop the theme over the course of the poem."
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh no
Bug Juice (I was a birdcage you were meant to fly) wrote: "bug is barely alive rn 👍 he is doing english assignments and he fucking hates english save him please"I LOVE ENGLISH
i'm doing my english rn i love it
lmao i can helpeths
Bug Juice (I was a birdcage you were meant to fly) wrote: "RowenVy wrote: "*blinks in thinking that english isnt that hard*I can help"
hello wut? i have to analyze a poem and I no understand
bro said
"What theme about tradition and community does this..."
OOOOO OOOO okay
what's the poem?
mary (betty’s version) wrote: "Bug Juice (I was a birdcage you were meant to fly) wrote: "RowenVy wrote: "*blinks in thinking that english isnt that hard*I can help"
hello wut? i have to analyze a poem and I no understand
br..."
without title by diane glancy. I'm on the next question now.
Lady Lemonade wrote: "I’ve read all these before I thinkBut ima read them later quand la famille dort"
I'm not sure when I ill be able to talk but ill try to myam, but if I cant pls know I tried
Bug Juice (I was a birdcage you were meant to fly) wrote: "mary (betty’s version) wrote: "Bug Juice (I was a birdcage you were meant to fly) wrote: "RowenVy wrote: "*blinks in thinking that english isnt that hard*I can help"
hello wut? i have to analyze..."
okie
does you still need helpeths?
its a good poem i just hate the assignment 😭
okay no because helpwhat the frickity FUCK does
What do the poem’s title and subtitle mean? How do these ideas relate to the theme of the poem?
FUCKING MEAN??? HELLO? I2OUEDGLVGFEKHWBV kill me now
yeah i have no idea- the poem is literally called "without a title" it doesn't have a title like- sir???
how does dis sound?The poem's title and subtitle refer to the speaker's father's lack of community and title. He might feel a little lost, or like he lost the most important piece of himself by leaving his home. This connects back to the central theme being that tradition and community are very important and should not be abandoned under any circumstances.
then I have to cite text evidence
yeah but my english teacher is a buttface and thinks the poem is about the father abandoning his tradition or something so idk
im doneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
time to eat ice cream and congrats myself
i had a fudgesicle :p
yeh
Bug Juice (I was a birdcage you were meant to fly) wrote: "i had a fudgesicle :p"slay
how did I manage to get 10 and a half hours of sleep last night and I'm still tired
also I was on the bus and now I'm motion sick
orrrrr we could use the knife toooo
PEEL THE AVACADOOOOO GUACAMOLE
GUAC-GUAC-A-MOLE
GUAC-A-MOLE