taken out of context we all seem so strange

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sometimes she bleeds poetry

[ then again: | /tiara ]
(letters that you never meant to send)
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(even after you're gone) [27 Sep 2003|06:53pm]
I deserve more then this. I don't understand your anger. I'm all out of energy, I gave you so much. This hurts - I miss you, I loved you, all of that. Please, I'm offering it all up to you - this is where I surrender.

This is where it ends, darling. I never thought it would be this way. This isn't me, this is not my heart breaking, these are not my hand shaking, this is not my life you tore up, this is not real, this is not really happening.

This is where it ends, darling. I'm sorry for thinking you were someone you could never be.
5 | (poetry doesn't happen here)

[20 Sep 2003|06:10pm]
she never meant for any of it
and now when it rains she opens the window, pressing her forehead to the glass for a long moment - she'll take her pills, climb into bed but she already knows it will be a long night.

in the morning she'll wake with cold feet, sheets tangled and an emptiness inside because he still appears in her dreams.

and even there, he still lets hers down
(poetry doesn't happen here)

(a not entirely fictional character sketch for a heart break) [17 Sep 2003|12:44am]
From my creative writing class. Feedback would be lovely if you don't mind....

She never had any pictures of his face. There was never truly a time when it would have been appropriate. But even if she had had one, it would have been destroyed; one of the times she told him she never wanted to see him again. She told him that for the last time last week.

Never again. Now she can't get his face out of her mind.

It was his eyes she first noticed, which she always comes back to. There was nothing very remarkable about them, or about the rest of him.
His hair was thinning on top and he was short, only about an inch taller then her 5'5.
He was skinny too, and it used to bother her that he weighed only pounds more then she did.
His eyes themselves were a plain brown, which she called mud colored when she was being uncharitable. They were set deep in his slender face, just above his angular nose and narrow lips.
His ears stuck out a little bit, and once she had kissed their lobes. They were soft and smooth under her lips, in contrast to his chin, which always had a bit of stubble. She would never admit that she liked it, feeling the rough edges against her.
Not that she'd ever feel it again. Besides, his new job requires him to be clean shaven.

And she's done with him anyway.

But his eyes. Maybe it was only her imagination, but they used to light up around her. He was the first boy to tell her she was beautiful, and when he said that she could almost see her reflection in his shining eyes. And she remembered, later on, the small silverly pale tears sliding out of the corner of his eye. She never told him she’d seen that. But it only made him more beautiful to her. Shining eyes, lit by tears. She had made him cry. They were good at that, both of them.

She refuses to cry over him anymore. And so it ends and she is surprised at how abrupt it feels.

In the one photograph she has of him, he's sitting off to the side at a party, his head turned away from the camera. His eyes are not visible, at all. That's how she'd like to remember him, on the outskirts, an after thought.

That's where she'll leave him now, and where he'll stay.
She'll never look in those eyes again.
1 | (poetry doesn't happen here)

[16 Sep 2003|12:10am]
you're no longer someone i'll remember but someone i'll regret

And those are words I've never said before. I never used to believe in regrets. But I do wish you had never been in my life, my heart, my bed. I've stayed here to long - this time it's over. For good. Because you had time and all you've done is harden my heart.

she hits overdrive and merges - passing the speedlimits, the toll booths, heading towards self destruct.

It was raining tonight and I barely felt it. Autumn's first cold breath on my face. Campus is quiet, stillness, I swing on the swings and close my eyes and wish time backwards. I never did learn to let you crash down.

Nor did I think to cushion my own crash landings.

I don't want to remember anymore. May this rain wash the campus clean of my ghosts.

From here on I refer to you in the past tense. Putting the "D" on love softly (loved), wishing it wasn't a lie.

Waiting for the day that it isn't.
(poetry doesn't happen here)

(she plays elaborate games in the wreckage) [28 Aug 2003|09:01pm]
Two years later.
She watches them come in, bright eyes, arms full of bags, waiting to spread out, to grow.
Two years ago she was one of them.
Now she wears an official looking navy shirt and squints at them through a camera lense, takes copious notes and smiles on cue. And they ask her questions as if she knows something, as if s
She could begin to tell them something important. She pretends it matters where they can park their cars, how to arrange a room, who the RA is, where your roommate comes from.
This is one day in your life, she would say, but I have lived it three times, once for myself and twice vicariously and it's not even a prologue it's merely an annotation. This doesn't mean anything and won't for days. This is your limbo. She barely rememebers hers.
No photograph, no notes suffice in the end. No landmarks. This becomes your life too quickly. It drips into you too slowly. It tangles.
Really, she has no idea what to say. And the air is Jersey summer humid and stagnant and if they were smart, they would have air conditioned the freshmen dorms, the parents say. She only shakes her head when they say that.
No one wants to hear that it's just another rite of passage.

In the end you simply leave. More or less as you came. She knows. It is just that simple. And that heartbreaking.
(poetry doesn't happen here)

[30 Jun 2003|01:41am]
i cannot pretend you are tied to me
you aren't in any conventional sense
we never kissed
we never shared a bed, sheets tangled around us

we never even made any promises
and you'd think we would have
since we both like to play with words
anything we said you can explain away
you only owe me the truth,
i only gave you my heart

i have no claim on you
we danced with your hands on my hips
and you read my poetry and left me
messages and held me once

while the sunset
and those are only memories
they only happened once
and never again

i have no claim on you
you belong to her, your poems,
your hugs, your arms hold her
while she sleeps and she gets to
be there for all the moments i
dream of. because she's yours.
and i'm only my own.

i have no claim on you
only that i loved you
loved you enough to let you go.
3 | (poetry doesn't happen here)

(what i'd miss) [26 Jun 2003|11:35pm]
my memories are to simple
to account for this
nothing stands out
except for the bug bites
on my legs the night we sat in
the grass and i wouldn't let you
touch me
they faded
months ago

words don't lose meaning,
i just press delete and pretend
they never existed
and slowly you begin your descent
away from me
and i guess this time it's easy
for all your protests i know
your burdens are light and her
traitorous arms are welcoming
in a way i'll never know

so this is what i leave you,
call it legacy, call it a curse
but as long as you're with her,
tied to her, you'll never be free.
after all, strange as it is -
i gave you permission to go to her,
and i always said i never lied to you.
(poetry doesn't happen here)

(i need you inside) [24 May 2003|01:11am]
I just want to curl up in your arms
feel your warmth against me
close my eyes and pretend I'm finally

I'm crawling you back now
and thie gulf is entirely our making
darling, funny how we make things harder
then they should be

You think we'd know by now.
2 | (poetry doesn't happen here)

(not enough sky) [20 May 2003|11:47pm]
The trees smother you here
they reach across the streets
and touch and kiss over my head
and everything is filtered through
like nothing really exists
it's all distilled
like looking up from underwater
everything stained with green
sprinkled with gold, from sunlight,
closing me in again.
(poetry doesn't happen here)

[28 Apr 2003|05:52pm]
I know I don't sleep soundly
anymore. You don't need to tell
me that - my twisted sheets and cold
feet are evidence enough.
I need the window open
at night so I can breathe.
All through the winter, I'd rise
from bed wrapped in a blanket, snow outside,
to press my forehead against the glass

I needed to feel the cold against me.
My breath visible against the window
expanse of clear glass
(poetry doesn't happen here)

[28 Apr 2003|02:40pm]
Writing. Scraps and pieces. Friends only. Comment if you want to see the messiness.

Nothing is is finished. Everything here is real.
3 | (poetry doesn't happen here)

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