31poems

[31poems]

my tell-tale heart

Last night, as I laid in my bed,

This strange sound rose out of my chest.

I wanted to be motionless -

No, I wanted to be dead -

But my dumb heart kept right on beating.

12/8/18

inspired by Edgar Allen Poe's "The Tell-tale Heart"

[31poems]

a web of my own creation

There’s a problem with my esophagus,

cause I keep on throwing up

every night; I’ve found the problem is

I’m taking in too damn much.

The hairs on my skin stand up;

I shake from limb to limb.

I’m traumatized and angry

cause I can never seem to fucking win.

I’ve got a boyfriend now

with a gleaming heart of gold,

he’s tender and he’s charming,

it’s such a sight to behold.

I’ve got friends that hold me up

in the darkest of the nights;

I’ve got bright eyes, a wide smile,

and I’ll laugh til I see the light.

But I walk with a heavy step,

because the world aches on my back.

It seems the only path to walk

is straight into a quicksand trap.

I can feel myself scream with each step as I sink,

I’m terrified - I want to fight,

but I feel so fucking weak.

I may be a coward,

or whatever words they choose to use;

I get frightened and I flee,

tripping over worn-out shoes.

It seems no matter what I say

my words always get twisted,

and I’m stuck inside a web of my own creation;

I can’t ever fix it.

Still I’m trying every day

to carve out my own space.

Somehow there’s hope in my heart,

I feel the love and I pray,

to an unknown God

or those above watching over me.

I’m so sick, and it’s so twisted,

cause all I’ve ever fucking wanted is to be free.

[31poems]

my cover of skeletons by driveways !! happy october :))

[31poems]

“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”

― Jamie Anderson

[31poems]

I want my roses to be every color but Red

I’ve dressed my sorrow in yellow green for as long as I can think. When I met him, I saw blue crawling from his skin. I could not believe, “a match”, it seems. As with every past lover would deem my colors as their signal for greed. I’ve met White, I’ve met Gray, dated Pink, and dreamed of Golden. Purple was there, and so was Orange. I can’t never talk about Red without my eyes getting swollen. I’ve found a lover to play dress up with. He holds my sorrow, We made each other dark green.

By @bangrycxn , Oct. 2024.

[31poems]

i know i was wrong

You don't understand just how wrong it feels. This constant pain in my guts, like my body was kicked in the soft spot right under my ribs for hours on end. A bloody and bruised exhibit on display in a bathtub, unable to breathe. Appendix inflamed and on fire. Spreading like lava to the restless tips of my fingers and the worn soles of my feet. To the back of my shaking brain, where it clings on for dear life. To my pounding heart; that cruel, incessant machine.

It's like my soul is being slowly punctured. Torn apart piece by piece, ripping my guts from the inside like something that I've never really been able to digest. Or rather, something I'm terrified to admit to myself (however fucking cliche that is).

It's something I can't understand about my own fucking experience. And I despise that with every fiber of my being, every string that plays my soul and thought that races around my brain. Because those strings are being cut slowly but surely, one by one.

I'm afraid of being pushed to the brink. I haven't lost control for almost a year now, but god, that night made me terrified of myself. For myself. I don't want to be scared. I don't want to be afraid. I don't want to be desolate and empty and devoid of feeling, even if that would take away the pain.

That night taught me how the burning, unruly anger I carry inside me will gleefully spread onto others like a Californian forest fire. If I'm not careful, one day I will end up rotting and cold on Central Park West. Or the back of my mother's car, screaming again about the torture that's taken reign in my hopeless kingdom, and scheming, callous demons that roam freely in my path. But I won't let that happen. I don't want that to happen. I just want to be okay. Is that too much to ask? Or am I wrong for trying?

2018

[31poems]

my hands are always sticky

i love too many people

who often don’t love me back

so i buy 

oranges 

and

pomegranates 

and

apples

then i

peel the oranges

and

open the pomegranates

and

cut up the apples

i put 

the slices

the seeds

the slivers

into a bowl

to serve to you

partly because

i love taking care of people

but most of it 

is an attempt

i’ll admit

to convince you to love me

because i was taught

that i needed to earn love

so now

my hands are always sticky

some people

take the bowl

to consume what i’d created

yet they do not thank me

so they will not love me

but sometimes

rare times

someone will 

look past the bowl

at my sticky hands

and bring me to the sink

where they wash my hands

with their own

[31poems]

if you’re thinking of me

If you’re thinking of me, just send me a text.

I know you are, cause there’s a hiccup in my chest.

As long ago told in a Nepali legend,

A hiccup is a sign someone’s wishing for your presence.

If you’re thinking of me, just let me know.

I harbor grudges, and I can’t let them go,

But I’m trying to move on and let the past be the past,

Cause all I’ve ever wanted is this good feeling to last.

If you’re thinking of me, just give me a sign.

I’ll be up writing poetry, manifesting all night.

I’ll be up until 5 am, writing in the dark.

Singing prayers that you won’t tear open my heart.

If you’re thinking of me, just send me a text.

It’s crazy to be missing a guy I’ve never met.

But you’re funny and sweet and I’ve got you stuck in my head.

And late at night, I dream about having you in my bed.

9/22/24

[31poems]

my cover of is there somewhere by halsey :)

[31poems]

"isn't it time / when the fires are too many / to eat the fire and not the cake / and drip the fires from my teeth / as once I had my hot hot youth?"

Paul Goodman, Birthday (1951)

[31poems]

do you regret the blood on your hands? do you regret the destruction you've caused?

you spit on the countless second chances offered to you and yet you wail about your own ruin. you mutilate your own form with tender care, insisting it will heal you, and then when you look at the love you've offered yourself you recoil with disgust. what do you really want? do you know how to love yourself with your claws sheathed? whose fault is it when you watch the time and blood swirl down the drain?

when you look at the damage you've wrought do you remember what it looked like to be clean? when you look in the mirror do you recognize the body staring back at you? what will you do about the blood on your hands? do you try and make amends, years too late, knowing it will never fix the damage you've caused?

if you were offered a blank slate, would you try and keep it pristine or tear into it again? would you even care? do you care about the blood on your lips and under your fingernails? can you ever scrub it clean?

[31poems]

Virginia Woolf, in a diary entry dated 31 August 1928 featured in A Writer's Diary

[31poems]

I've Endured, Now What?

Blue Iris - Mary Oliver / So This Is All I Will Ever Be? - Fatima Aamer Bilal / Vive, Vive - Traci Brimhall

[31poems]

Words bleed from the tips of my fingers, spilling out over the page.

[31poems]

wherever you are

I think about you still, wherever you are.

Your initials are scarred on the muscles in my still-beating heart.

With you, I forced myself to lie and play the part.

Without you, I had to figure out where I end and where I start.

I know what you said about me to your eager, attentive nation,

And that you create weaving tales rife with themes of desperation.

I know you use death as a tool of manipulation,

But I know I'm not the only one who sees right through every explanation.

I remember how you lovingly glamorized the media that you consumed online,

Mostly all that of the tumblr grunge, manic pixie dream girl kind.

I remember the first day you showed up at school with an arm full of lines,

How you proudly proclaimed to the world that you truly lost your mind.

You counted calories of our meals at every goddamn lunch,

And you marked down and snarked about every fucking Lays chip that I crunched.

I didn't know what it was back then, but I always had a hunch

You would move on to a new perceived slight by the very next month.

I remember how you willfully drove such a deep wedge;

How you left me behind, not a single word said.

But you wanted her so badly that you took me back into your bed,

And you were so skilled at playing pretend, as if I was ever truly your friend.

I remember how upset you were when we finally took action,

Because I know now you spin those stories for the sympathy and the attention.

You act like there's nothing more than a black and white reflection,

But your true self shines through, and you're full of self-satisfaction.

And god, I thought I've been stuck in past, but it's nothing compared to you.

You're still talking shit with your friends about people in your past that you once knew.

Carefully planting every buzzword like terrible, narcissistic, and abuse.

I hope one day they learn that it's all just a fucking ruse.

I think about you still, wherever you are,

Cause you shaped me to downplay tragedies of the heart.

I still write, listen to Halsey, and always press restart.

But I've grown up, and you haven't - that's the truth, however tart.

8/16/24

[31poems]

{F. Scott Fitzgerald/ Robert Brault/ Sai Assari, Dreamer's Collection (Tumblr User: @dawnsfragrance ) (x)/ Tumblr User: @hermoonlit-world (x)/ soulofserenity (via Instagram)/ Sai Assari, Dreamer's Collection (Tumblr User: @dawnsfragrance) (x)/ Tumblr User: @msanonymous (via Instagram)/ Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi/ Tumblr User: @hermoonlit-world (via Instagram)/ N.R.Hart}