How To Breathe

September 1, 2014

Never fall in love with a boy who says he can show you how to breathe
Tell him no thank you
You’re quite capable of doing it on your own
Because he will give you air while he is around but

When he goes away
His absence will leave you out of breath
The empty space where he used to be will have you choking on thin air
Missing him will be like trying not to suffocate in outer space
Loving him without him there to love you in return will feel as if
Any moment now
Your lungs will cave in
And you won’t be able to breathe ever again

Never fall in love with a boy who makes you think
He is the only reason you can breathe
Because even though you were quite capable of respiration
Before you met him
You’ll be holding your breath for his return
Until the day you die.

Only the blind still hold onto the hands that bruised them
Only the seeing know how to leave after they’ve been let go
I was blind but now I can see
August 31, 2014

truths for a dishonest soul by Rachel Sandene

Nature is imperfect; we are unnatural
No one is perfect until they are loved
August 30, 2014

You can forget the way his lips felt on yours
By drowning in alcohol the memories of his passionate kiss but
If you dare to touch the vodka on the top shelf of your mother’s kitchen cabinets
The mouth of the bottle you drink from might start to feel like his
And what if you start to become so addicted to the drowning feeling
That you forget how to breathe
Just like you did when you were kissing him
What if the dead memories of him don’t sink
They float back up to the surface

You can forget the way his fingertips trailed
Along your goosebumped arms
Your stretch-marked legs
Your too-small breasts, your concave stomach
Hipbones, collarbones, vertebrae
Every inch of your body that lay beside him beneath the sheets
Tingling with his touch
By letting other boys do the same, by giving yourself to
Unfamiliar men at the parties your friends have always thrown but that
You never went to
Because why would you go to find love
In a foreign place
When it’s already so familiar
But now the familiarity of his love is gone
So you find false romance in strangers that do not stay
It’s always fake it’s never the same

You can forget the way his heated breath felt on your bare skin
On all those nights where he made you feel slightly less lonely with his presence
By breathing out filthy smoke instead of words of true love
But you can’t resurrect his warmth with packs of cigarettes
You can’t kill his heat with nicotine
Your hands with only shake with cold withdrawal and you’ll fill your lungs
With tar and soot and a cough
That can’t be taken away quite as easily
As the hand that used to fit so perfectly into yours

You can forget the way your words made him feel something
By burning the torn-out pages, the letters, the spiral-bound notebooks
The journals you filled with poetry
But memories don’t ignite, they don’t catch fire in the rising flames
They hurt more and more the more they burn
And you wouldn’t forget the truth that he no longer loves you
You’d just lose all the proof that he ever did

You can forget the way you screamed his name when he fucked you like he loved you
Like he needed you
Like it wasn’t just fucking
Like it was making love
By carving his name into every inch of your body that he made feel something during your first time and
Every time after that until the night
When he stopped fucking you like he loved you and fucked you more like it was just a
Worn-out habit
Until the morning he decided he no longer needed you beneath his sheets
Or in his heart
Until the morning his love died
You can try to forget that morning by cutting his last words into your flesh but
Dead love doesn’t bleed like your wrists do
He won’t hurt like you do because he’s gone
You won’t kill him
No, you’ll only end up killing yourself

Don’t you see?
You can’t kill the memories of him because
He doesn’t drown, he doesn’t burn, he doesn’t shiver, he doesn’t bleed
You can’t make the memory of his love die because he’s already
Six feet underground
But honey, the dead cannot harm the living
So it’s time you stopped finding ways to forget
And found a way to let go.

Ways To Forget
August 30, 2014

truths for a dishonest soul by Rachel Sandene

PLEASE READ V2.0

Some of you may already be aware of my current project, as I made a post about it about a month ago and have reblogged it a few times since then. However, I figured it’s about time to make a fresh post!

"Confessionals" is a project I am working on where I ask people to tell me something they haven’t told anyone else (or, if that’s not possible, something they’ve told only a few people). Then, I write a poem for each person who “confesses.” The final product will hopefully be a poetry book or collection, whether I get it published by a publishing company thing or self-publish it on my own.

If you’d like to help, you can submit a confession to my askbox or via the submission form. You can also send me an email (links to all of the above are at the end of this post).

The submission MUST include your three-letter initials in order for me to write you a poem! If you don’t have a middle initial, that’s fine, but if you do, please include it. Your initials will be the title for the poem. Nothing else about your identity will be revealed, including your original confession.

By submitting a confession, you are consenting to me possibly publishing a poem written based upon your confession. If, after reading the poem, you don’t want me to publish it, I will of course respect your wishes! I’d love to include everyone’s poems, though.

IF YOU WANT TO READ YOUR POEM, YOU MUST GIVE ME A WAY TO CONTACT YOU! You can leave your email or your Tumblr URL (although I’d have to be following you for two weeks in order to fanmail you the poem). I WILL NOT BE POSTING ANY CONFESSIONAL POEMS TO THIS BLOG.

Thanks so much for your anticipated help! (: If you have any questions, consult the FAQ first and then come to me!

ASK
SUBMIT
EMAIL

I. The first time you scrawled the words onto a college-ruled page in a spiral-bound notebook. I’m sure you tore out pages without telling me because I tore out pages without telling you, but when you wrote you loved me whether I was Rachel or Red I wanted to gently take the lined page and fold it up into a paper crane because all my 11:11 wishes had been granted with a few strokes of a ballpoint pen. Now I wish I had torn that page out, too, stapled it to my heart so I would’ve known how it felt for your love to hurt, so I would’ve been prepared for the inevitable moment when you would hurt me.

II. The second time it was over phone static, before the line went dead, before I had the chance to register the words you had spoken, almost whispered, before you hung up. Maybe it was the sudden impact of my feet hitting the ground after jumping off my mailbox or maybe it was the adrenaline rush of my pounding heart hitting my ribcage, but either way the words you gave me found their way into my rattled bones and racing bloodstream. You were a drug, a poison in my veins, but back then I would’ve sold my soul for you.

III. The third time we were laying under the trees I write about too much. My head was probably on your chest and your heart was probably echoing in the space between my ears and we were probably sweating in the heat, but all of that disappeared when I said something along the lines of “It’s moments like this when I know I love you.” The words came out in a rush, as if not saying them all at once would mean they would never be said at all. You replied that you loved me, too, your voice vibrating in my skull, resonating in my spine, making its way from my head to my toes. Now my entire body feels empty without the vibration of your voice to fill my hollow bones.

IV. The fourth time was with written words again, but this time I didn’t read them in your handwriting that I no longer recognize, this time they weren’t lovingly placed on college-ruled pages, this time they weren’t your heart, this time I read them as pixels on a screen, digitized text in an email, and they weren’t a new beginning, they were an end. This time you said you loved both Red and Rachel, the order of the identities reversed, and this time you said goodbye.

V. The fifth time was over screens, again and again, reassurance that you loved me despite twelve hundred miles. But then the distance between us stopped being the hypothetical hours spent in an imaginary airplane and became the all-too-real days wasted waiting for the next I love you to come. The miles got longer and the gap got wider and the hole in my chest got deeper, and then finally the waiting stopped with four words instead of three: I can’t love you.

VI. The sixth time was in a hotel room in New York, over the phone again, me crying and collapsing inside and you saying you couldn’t talk because you were at dinner but you loved me, you loved me and it was all going to be okay. You called me Red again that night, and you decided you loved me again that night, and I don’t know why I believed you but I did. I believed you even though a month later you said you couldn’t love me for the second time. I believed you even when I said I was going to hate you because it was better that way. I believed you. And even though I shouldn’t, I still do.

You said you loved me, but you don’t anymore
August 25, 2014
Broken hearts aren’t always someone’s fault.
Six Words
August 24, 2014

touch

august 22, 2014

warm hands on my waist
our thoughts in decay
we’re buried six feet underground, love
but our pulses remain
our heartbeats race
i wish you could’ve stayed
i wish you were near
were you ever here

with your body next to mine
could you dive into my eyes
ask that question again
never start
never end
never leave, sail the seas
with me
eternity
would you return here and stay here
if i could give you a reason to be here

phantom neck kisses, missed 11:11 wishes
whispered permission
voices echoing in the distance
i want you now
i want you near
i want you here

silent lips, passion unspoken
addiction to love, words unwritten, devotion
your touch could become my religion
your warmth, my crucifixion
i was dead, i am risen
are you there
or just a vision
come be with me
i need you here

i love you dear
i crave you near
no stars, no sky, no air to breathe
no words to speak
just you and me
no space between
no vacancy
i swear to you you’re what i need
your touch would be divinity
come closer to me
be here.

FEARWAKES