Category: grazia

I’m hurting. I don’t want you to f…

I’m hurting.
I don’t want you to fix it,
I want you to 
feel 
it.

Maybe it’s something in the air Or the darknes…

Maybe it’s something in the air
Or the darkness of your eyes
But it’s twisting all my feelings
And this love seems full of lies.
I don’t know who I am.
Have I ever been alone?
I plant saplings in my garden
But the weeds are overgrown.
I’m scratching off my skin
And ripping out my hair 
But so is everyone I know
It’s something in the air.

I took a break

That’s what we do when we’re broken, right? We break down, break up, break out – take a break. Take whatever isn’t working and tear it down… sometimes you fuck it all up. I got stuck in a loop. Pain causing pain causing pain. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t read, I couldn’t write. I wish this was a shitty hyperbole. 

I always learned to take my medicine, that it would fix me, but that only works in a perfect system. Pain causes pain causes pain. You need nurses who give a fuck and doctors who treat you right and someone to change the doses when they keep you up all night. 

Life sucks when half of your medicine is a lifestyle. You have to move through the pain, you have to exercise. But you worked all day and you’re sore and that bed looks mighty comfy maybe just sleep it off and get up early to work out but pretty soon you’re rolling out of bed for a 4pm shift and your joints are stiff and your eyes are shaking and your morning meds have shifted to the afternoon and pain keeps shooting down your spine but you. did. this. to. yourself. 

I took a break to heal but I’m still broken. 

That’s just something I’ve got to accept.

With racing hearts and dimming lights, our bod…

With racing hearts and dimming lights,
our bodies find the floor like corpses
and we are led to meditation.
A voice tells me to think of a safe place,
something that’s mine
and I instantly feel a warmness in my chest.
She tells us to close our eyes,
slow our breathing, 
and find it.
“Remember how it feels,” she guides,
and there’s softly brushing my cheek,
“what it looks like,” she continues,
green eyes flash across the backs of my eyelids,
“sounds like,”
his voice blankets me again, soft and warm,
“smells like," 
his shampoo is still in my hair
"tastes like,”
I remember the mint of his toothpaste from any other.
“It doesn’t matter what it is,” she whispers,
“just as long as you feel safe there, happy,”
and I certainly do –
the only home I know is in your arms.
I could almost drift off to sleep 
from the peace I’ve found
recalling forehead kisses and sleepy afternoons.
I’ve never breathed so lightly, so easily,
I’m so in love with you.

how am i to sleep without you in my arms?

how am i to sleep
without you in my arms?

I’ll be there to squeeze your hand when …

I’ll be there to squeeze your hand when it hurts most.

It’s 11:11, make a wish,” I whispe…

It’s 11:11, make a wish,” I whispered, lost in the ticking of the clock.
“I’ve got mine,” he replied instantly and I was too curious to keep myself from asking what wish provoked such a quick response. “Can I tell you?” he questioned, wondering if sharing a wish truly keeps it from coming true.
“I don’t know, write it down and tell me in a month,” I offered.
“How about in 20 years?” he asked with a contagious smile. 
“That works, too.

We find love in empty gas tanks when the pric…

We find love in empty gas tanks
when the price is on the rise
I’ll drive and stay past dark
no matter how unwise
You visit me in coffee shops,
Our paychecks waste away.
Your backseat is a blanket fort
I want to hold you every day.

Let’s drive for miles and miles until we find …

Let’s drive for miles and miles until we find someplace so quiet that it lets you forget anyone else exists.

We’re still just suicidal teens, passive…

We’re still just suicidal teens,
passively living,
with only one another
as a cause to stay alive.
You’d think it would be different,
after all these years
but it’s still hard to keep myself from crashing
every time I drive.
I spend my life in offices,
consulting specialists
who take my blood again and again
at every appointment.
They love giving me the news
that everything is “fine,”
by which they mean it isn’t terminal
and I’m overwhelmed with disappointment.
I’m hurting. I’m aching. 
But I know that you are, too.
I love you so much, I’d live for you.
And I don’t want to be alive.