Do you have memories that are oft forgotten, but a certain smell, or sound can trigger the memory to play so vividly you feel every single thing you felt that night.
Winter, brings the pain and the heartbreak for me. The snow crunching beneath my feet. I was eighteen, I was wild and beautiful and I was walking home at four in the morning with a man almost twice my age and two hundred dollars worth of cocaine in my pocket.
I was so happy. The air hurt my face, and Carl and I spilt his last cigarette. The night was blurred but I remember being in his bed. I remember him telling me he cared. I remember the lyrics he wrote about me. And that he couldn’t sleep with me.
He said he wanted to and that I was beautiful. But I think he just wanted to take care of me.
I miss it you know
I miss the sleepless night driving by little white lines
I miss waking up in unfamiliar beds
I miss smoking until my lungs hurt
I miss the girl I used to be
So broken, so complex, so
The wind is harsh on my skin and I must admit that I love the feeling. I primarily have used this blog as a place to write poetry but I would like to try something new. I was to take more time to explore myself and my thoughts and I want to expand my horizons.
I want to write not only in metaphors and stanzas. I will be writing bluntly about many aspects of my life. a wide range from fashion and lifestyle to mental health and sex work. I want to write about ugliness as much as beauty and I am aware that not everything will appeal to the same group of people but I just hope that some of what I write will speak to someone.
I’ll forever live
As the 17 year old
Who let a man twice her age
Convince her she was nothing.
No matter how hard
I try to scrub that off
I remember how warm your hands were and sometime
Only sometimes I miss how they held me.
Most of the time I remember how they burned me,
Into never wanting to touch another persons flesh again
You have eyes to kill over and you don’t know this because men don’t seem to like compliments like this
Your coffee order is complex and I have a feeling its metaphorical for the personality you obtain
The window lets the sun play with your bleached blonde locks and I’m jealous that the sun is able to explore you while I keep my distance.
People say being lonely is sad and unfortunate but the way you old yourself proves
Being alone is not the same as being lonely
I wrote poems about you before I knew anyone like you even existed
I’m not sure where the illness ends
Or where I begin
And thats a harder pill to swallow
Than the three bottles of antidepressants I took this morning
But how long can you live
On Suicide hotlines
And wine coolers