Me reading a poem I wrote but the first part got cut off oh well.
I want to stop lying. I want to not cheat on people. I want a man with a beard and two hands and a chest. I want a man to push our child’s butt over the edge of the seat it’s trying to climb and then say yay!! you did it all by yourself!!! I want friends that like me. I want a boy to lay on top of me and crush me with all of his weight. I want a boy to bury his face in my neck. I want to be choked. I want you to call me pretty. I want you to stop apologizing. I want you to stop apologizing then going right back to fingering me a minute and a half later. I want the bruises on my neck to go away before he notices. I want him to notice. I don’t want to have to think of these things, I want them to pour out of me. I want to believe that I want to die. I want to be a good person. I want to stop lying..
Someone once told me that poetry is a form of lying to yourself.
I didn’t believe it at first, mostly because that person was me….
but I am learning how to lie to myself.
I want to write something honest,
but lately I have been deceitful so I can’t.
I keep unlearning the things I’ve spent so long trying to convince myself of and I’m sorry.
I don’t know why I keep apologizing but sometimes its the only thing I have to write about.
Isn’t the real reason for writing repentance? Isn’t that all it is? If it is, I could go on for miles like-
I keep listening to my subconscious and I’m sorry.
I keep searching for parts of you in other people and I’m sorry…
Maybe in three years I will have enough feeling to form an actual poem
but for now I can only write about guilt and the hands that I don’t know how to reach for.
He lovez me
“P.S. I’m writing in pen because I mean everything I say even if I make a mistake”
uh
I want to stop lying. I want to not cheat on people. I want a man with a beard and two hands and a chest. I want a man to push our child’s butt over the edge of the seat it’s trying to climb and then say yay!! you did it all by yourself!!! I want friends that like me. I want a boy to lay on top of me and crush me with all of his weight. I want a boy to bury his face in my neck. I want to be choked. I want you to call me pretty. I want you to hit me. I want you to stop apologizing. I want you to stop apologizing then going right back to fingering me a minute and a half later. I want the bruises on my neck to go away before he notices. I want him to notice. I don’t want to have to think of these things, I want them to pour out of me. I want to believe that I want to die. I want to be a good person. I want to stop lying..
"When you told me about losing your virginity
do you know I wanted to be there
to shake you and say, ‘Wait dammit
wait for me.’"
do you know I wanted to be there
to shake you and say, ‘Wait dammit
wait for me.’"
— Derrick Brown, Unsent
Leonardo da Vinci was the only painter ever to depict Jesus Christ with holes in his wrists. Contrary to what most people are taught today of Christ being nailed to the cross by his palms, da Vinci believed that he was actually hung by his wrists; he recognized that the palms would never have been strong enough to support the full weight of his body.
Anyway, I drew a black dot on my wrist right after I learned that and now I can’t stop picturing a nail going through and piercing one of my veins and it just bleeding out and down the length of my arm but in the way my veins are arranged and yea
