The smudge of her charcoal eyeliner felt heavy on her hand. Shit she thought. What was the point?
Pretty faces blinked eyelashes full. Her mascara couldn’t do half. Highlighted cheek bones glowed golden peach. Only brittled scars from battle acne riddled her pores. Piling on concealer, layering walls covering tear streaks etched. Lips matted red, chipped teeth grinning because you’re never fully dressed without a smile she pushed. Head high, chin up beautiful because confidence is key. Show them who you want to be. Give that energy, poor out good. Let your hearts compass guide through life’s tries and never let your words go misunderstood.
That was the point she thought, wiping the charcoal from her hand. Keep going.
Tantalizing kisses sweet as honey dew melons
Sad little love songs full of hopeful visions
lead to eyelash wishes
and dreams of being your Mrs.
I’ve got moonlight in my hands
The warmth of a star so close to me
can’t even comprehend
This beautiful soul I see
She’s got this smile about her
That from the corner gently teases
Coaxing kisses from lips so soft
My heart skips into pieces
It’s not often I’m silent in her presence
Pumping her full of my pointless banter
But just one glance up from those eyes
And nothing I’ve said matters
She’s snowfall over bonfires
Or rainfall in a drought
She’s the Carmel to my apple
And everything life’s about
So with this moonlight in my hands
And the warmth of a star so close to me
We’ll stroll through the darkness
Blowing down blunt wrapped trees
I had to fall apart to see all the pieces
Laid out in front of me like a road map to recovery I could pinpoint exactly where the rip in my seem was. I had been stuffing myself full of nothings. Full of air, no weight inside threatening to collapse from lack of structure. Who taught you how to love? I had been stumbling along crafting hopes and dreams but what was 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮….
Can I just lay with you till the morning comes, till our lips have dried and fingers undone. Listening intently as your chest raises and falls, it’s here in your arms that my demons crawl slowly but away, escaping our fairytale turned raw. In the morning as the sun seeps through like honey blood, sticky shining down on this unshakable love.
I promise I will burn this world. Scorch it darker than midnights with no moons. My mind screams constantly with regrets of missed openings, tiny slits that needed to be pried. Cracked doors that begged to be swung wide, quickly I walked past adverting my eyes. I will stand confidently alone. No props or side bars, no braces or crutches. No shade. Reminding myself continuously, that by myself, there’s nothing myself can’t accomplish myself. Letting my voice be the loudest one I hear. The only one that matters. Loving and soothing, I won’t need reassurance. I feel the candle flickering, the flame gently tickling. And soon….I will burn this world.
I never thought of myself as an artist. In fact if I could pick somebody in my family who was the least artistic I would come second only to my brothers failed rapping career (Let it go Ed). However lately I’ve felt as if my written word play could be categorized as artistic. I wish I could transcribe all the qwerky thoughts that pop into my head randomly. “The wetness from his kiss left a sticky sweet syrup of a quiver on my lips” That line makes me smile 🙂 If I could sit around all day writing or rewriting to add sense’s to stories or kick to lines, I’d be in heaven. Just right now I’m suppose to be writing a biology paper on bacteria, but I don’t wanna write about bacteria. I wanna write about kisses hahaha. Later I might wanna write about swimming or dreaming. I never know I just write. I have so many things I want to say, so many conundrums that fill my head. I’m guessing this is what it feels like to know what it is you want to do with your life. The doubt eats’ at me though. What if it’s not as good as you think, what if they don’t get it. What if it’s too simple….. well I don’t want it to be so deep it’s confusing either hahaha. I have 2 weeks left in this class then I’m dedicating my summer to writing. I honestly have nothing else to do.
Smoking was my nastiest habit
that’s how I think of you
A blemish on my perfectly imperfect life
You live to make mistakes
promises made to be broken, lies told when words spoken
I don’t dislike what transpired
I was drawn to it
dragged to it like the nicotine from the filter of my newports
that rushing high felt when your drug of false love hit my veins
left me feeling filthy like the ash tray of a mouth I had
the blanket of a toddler being pulled across the floor
mindlessly cause you cling to it but chase every bright object that crosses your eye
you wouldn’t let me go
No matter how hard I tried to kick the habit
I was always brought back
even now the thought of a puff makes me lick my lips in wonder