[x]

Ink Stain BruisesI don't hold a pen the
way you're supposed to.

I write like a little
lefty child,
quietly rushing
to scratch my sick words out
as my hand drags itself
across the page.

And I can't
tell you how much the
ink stains
on my knuckles look like
bruises
from beating myself
every other
other night.

And I can't
stand to see me
like this.
It's embarrassing.

this ain't a movie.I stare through the window at
                           weak tree branches
         being whipped by rain and

6 . 7 4 6 117 miles from the
town I grew up in,
there was a river, and a
bridge
a hundred heart-jumps above it:

too-many-thousand
footsteps long,
with a walkway to the side that
didn't feel wide enough.

Cars would
VREEOOWMM
by at
59 miles-an-hour, as
with each nervous step, your feet
prayed to the concrete,

and cold wind would beat
at you between
green, rusted rails,
just to remind you how high up
you really were.

   Every once in a while,
   there would be news that
   someone had "jumped".
               &

bedtime psychiatrythe kind of night that
feels like a morning, like
faked vintage photographs
of grey-skin people:

standing in front of the
bathroom mirror,
stretching.
(it just feels like the
thing to do.)

fingers
climbing up the wet drywall,
reaching for something they
know they won't find.

ribs trying to
break free through my
cold, naked flesh.

count my blessings on my
breath, and find
something wrong with
each single one.

replay after
replay of the
day, asking
myself:
how does that make you feel?

never an actual
reply, just that smile
that says
i understand you perfectly, but
you don't.

[i just wish i knew what was wrong.]

[i just wish i kne

off-snow flakesthe paint's chipping
off from my white lies
and i'm finding

the easiest fixes
turn into
the hardest ones.

i can see the off-snow flakes
from here,
and i'm wondering how the hell
you don't notice.

because i'll tell you -
today
the aftertaste's even worse

than when my tongue
first
brushed them out.

but you just keep wearing them like some
sort of pearl necklace

even after they choke you
over and
over
and

i just don't have the heart
to tell you.

Oneironautin the dream i was happy.

dancing in the
sunlight to
the drumbeat of my
collarbone,   waves
warming my face,
my back,
as i turned.    my
wrinkled eyes
shut tight - laughingly,
knowing that [ nothing
i see will
even come close to
This].
not a god, but
god-like, as time
folded itself into
every infinite
corner of my fragile skull.    silence
bursting from my lungs,
just like
spring waterfalls:

i am lost.
i am there.
i am beautiful.
i am

falling
into myself
faster than i can think, past
any event horizon, past
even my fingertips:
reaching
for nothing, but
the grass reaching

dying takes practice.after a while you get used to the panic every night where you quietly rush to lock the doorknob you can't see and then, like a sigh of relief, hyperventilate collapsing and shaking on the bed. you wish you had a blanket or something on top of you, but you know it'd still be cold if you did.
you lay there and fade til you don't feel anymore.

you get used to waking up in the middle of the night with nothing in your chest and tears in your eyes - the ones you were wishing for earlier, just so you could at least feel something leak out. you don't even pretend to wonder why they're there. you don't pretend to act surprised. you wipe them off wit

Electromagnetics and ...Electromagnetics and Other Strong Forces

we sit here and
your eyes drift off to
funny walks with
funny hats and
interesting tidbits of lives. i
wait there and stare with no
words, only
feeling
like deep, warm rivers pulling me closer. your
daydream comes back
down to me and
now
i notice my cheeks are
tight – the little mouth corners
r e a c h i n g
for my ears. [it's
not their fault, they just
do what they're told,
like electromagnetism and love] but you
give me an eyebrow:
"what?"
you laugh nervously. i
look away and
blood flushes skin but my
lips
don't even try to hide teeth, because--

"...nothing.

y

pineneedle skini wish you were here

to graze my
pineneedle skin, to hear my
breaths like quiet breezes through
leaves, each calling your name

to watch me with faithful eyes -
mumbling, fumbling -
as i nervously pick the
bark from a tree

You know what I mean?
'Cause I'm not even sure I do.

you'd probably smile that smile that
says i'm ridiculous, and
tell me that i always
think too much

i'd stop and feel the sweat
evaporating from my neck,
as cirrus drifted overhead,
minding their own business

and i'd listen the morningbirds that
don't need words to sing, and
i'd say

Yeah, you're probably right.

silence,sincerity
my

i-love-you
s( in
order, f
rom lie
to Sin
cerit
y )

:

. the

night i
sh(out)ed it,to your
back ,
just to try,and convince
you ( my[self] )
i meant it ;

. the

day my
green eyes'held
yours Up,and
i didn't say anything- be
cause

i Didn't Have To .

summer poemyou used to say it was
the only time of year
that actually deserved to be called a
season,
when the
sweat on our faces shone like
sticky cellophane, and we
ran through sprinklers if
no one was looking.

with damp undershirts and
ice-clinking glasses and
asphalt smoking heat
and dust - you said
everyone's eyes were a little bit brighter,
like we were
borrowing something [life]
from the sun.

you walked around your little apartment, smiling
in thongs you changed twice a day, when you could -
laughing
about how funny
the AC chose right now to break,
and you'd look outside and smirk at
tired people
crossing the street just to wal

love like a sighsetting sun warms
our fingers, interlaced -
welcome home, love

StaircaseI miss
        Your smile.
                       Your presence.
                                  &

paper-cut
it felt so lame,
like something
from a bad movie.

with me
kneeling next to you, helping you
pick your
midterm papers up off the floor -

shuffling,straightening,shuffling
words tripping -

and I
felt like a sleezebag
trying to hit on an innocent girl,
but I wasn't.

[I don't know what I thought
I was doing]

and I think we should have known
when I
handed you those lecture notes
and gave you an
inch-long paper-cut,

but no.

we kept on pushing after that.

through the coffee-date where we
couldn't stop laughing
at how witty we both were,
and there wasn't a single
awkward silence,

and you thought
I was so classy

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love yourself.by ~WH1T3-N0153

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Visual & Found Poetry

_{I'm rather glad I made this a visual piece.

Stock: [link]

This is something I've discovered over the past few weeks about myself and people in general. If you don't love yourself, you won't be able to understand why someone else does, and on some fundamental level won't be able to fully accept that they do.
This isn't quite an original thought, but it's one that isn't actually known nearly enough. So this is my original phrasing to help spread the idea.

Full view recommended.}

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~Is-lnds Jan 1, 2012

(period)

~WH1T3-N0153 Jan 7, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

~amnaam Sep 29, 2011

Hi,

I've included this beautiful creation of your's in my blog [link] with links back to this page. I hope it is fine? Please leave comment on the blog if you want to have it removed!

Thanks and warm regards,
Abu