#mars.poetry

[poemsonmars]

you told me that daisies

are your favorite flower

and i had to fight the urge

to plant a bouquet

of them in my lungs.

i want to cough up

petals and stems

when you smile at me.

i want to be so full of

your favorite things

that i forget how to breathe.

-mars

[maximilff]

tagged by @sillylittlegirlfrommars on my poetry blog to post the last line i wrote!

i'm not sure if i am more scared

of being stuck here forever,

with no way back up again,

or that i don't know whether i find

more solace in the high or the crash.

tagging (no pressure) @laurabenanti @ssa-montgomery @maddiebuckley @stardreamt

[masseffect5]

hungry excerpts.

[poemsonmars]

i like to say that

i hide you in my poetry

but that isn't true.

it's never been subtle;

everything i do is a plea

for you to come back to me.

every poem i've ever written

has been titled with your name.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

it's hard to write

when every poem starts to

feel like a suicide letter.

most days i am an

echo chamber of apologies.

i start to wonder if

there is anything else

left in me anymore.

i go to bed empty.

most nights i am

something much worse.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

breathing has gotten

harder again lately.

i'm not sure if it's the

gaping hole in my chest

where their love used to be,

or the fact that i'm alone again

and the depression has found

its way back into my rib cage.

or maybe it's the smoking.

i hate that i've fallen back into

all of my bad habits so quickly,

but it's the only way

i know how to survive.

i don't know why life insists

on teaching me lessons

but i hope the next one

is learning how to rest.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

i have spent years

trying to string together

the prettiest words

for the people that i love,

but i have never had anyone

that will write me poetry

in return until you.

you say i'm rubbing off on you

and i smile and say that

it is a mutual happening,

but i'm not sure if i'm

becoming more like you

or if i'm just realizing

how much of you has

always been in me.

i think i have known you forever.

i think i have loved you even longer.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

i would like to linger

in the driveway

just a little longer

with you, my love.

i would like to

stretch our goodbye out

as long as possible,

end over end, until

it is too much of a mess,

too beautifully tangled up,

to do anything other than

shiver against the wind

with you in my arms

for as long as you will let me.

i would like to linger

indefinitely in your life.

i would like to not ever

have to say goodbye again.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

i like to write using ink

of her favorite color,

in hopes of putting

more of her into my poems.

in hopes of getting

more of her out of me.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

you could swallow me whole

and i would still apologize

for putting up too much

of a fight on the way down.

watch how i curl into myself,

trying to keep my sharp parts

away from the inside of your throat.

i'm sorry if i make you bleed.

i've never been very good

at just letting things happen.

i've never been a natural

when it comes to being soft.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

grief is fucking terrifying.

it covers everything in

such a massive layer of pain.

of confusion. of rage.

i can't breathe through it.

one minute i'm sitting in

my childhood bedroom

and the next, i can't see.

i wave my hand in front of my face

and no one greets me in return.

i don't know who i am without her.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

you're sleeping right now

and all i can think about

is how much i miss you.

how i miss you when you're gone,

or when you're busy,

or when you're right next to me,

with your hands in mine

and my attention, as undivided

as my brain will allow it to be.

even when we have spent

the entire weekend together,

i miss you the moment

that i drop you off at home.

my bones ache when i have to

pull away from your driveway

and the only way to drown out

the ringing in my ears

is by playing your favorite songs

as loudly as my car will allow.

i feel it in my entire body.

it's like a homesickness.

i miss you every second

of every minute

of every hour that we're apart.

i miss you everyday

that i have to come home

to somewhere that isn't you.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

"i guess i broke your writer's block"

they laugh and i can only nod,

a lovesick smile

plastered to my face.

of course you did, darling.

of course you did.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

i've planned more for my funeral

than i have for my future.

i've known what i want

my own tombstone to say

since i was twelve years old

but i can't decide on a major.

i can't hold down a job

or keep friendships unless

i turn into a version of myself

that i don't even recognize.

i can't tell you if i want

a family someday, or if

i could ever even believe that

i might be worthy of having one.

when they asked us what

we thought our lives would

look like in five years,

i drew in a little question mark

and tried my best to ignore

the look of concern

in my teacher's eyes.

but the five years have come and gone

and i still feel like i'm

living inside of that question mark.

if anything, i'm only more confused.

i only have more questions.

i never thought i'd get this far,

i don't know who i'm supposed

to be now. i don't know that

i really want to be anyone.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

i have always felt like

there's too much inside of me

and none of it is quite right.

like a flame constantly

burning itself out

when all it's meant to do

is keep the candle lit.

like an hourglass

suffocating itself

from the pressure of

passing the time.

i think i liked the

feeling originally;

the intensity. the burn.

but honestly i'd trade it all in

just to know what it feels like

to breathe fresh air again.

i think i would like to rest.

i think i would like to stop

moving from place to place,

hoping my restlessness

will be mistaken for wanderlust.

hoping the smoke will stop

following me and finding

its way into my lungs

no matter where i go.

i think i would like to

learn how to breathe again.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

the thing that no one

tells you about being a poet

or a dreamer or a lover:

normal people move on.

they find new muses,

new people to love,

new things to write about.

eventually, at the very least.

but she's still inside of me,

stealing away the air from my lungs

and the inspiration from my brain

and all of my half-hearted

attempts at normalcy.

how am i supposed to write about

anything else when she exists?

why would i want to?

-mars