leftbehindwishes

i've tried my hand at this so many times. i've used metaphors and shaky rhymes to show how i feel, but each ended as the last: a frustrated author, a crumpled paper in the wastebin. it's hard for me to say what i mean. every step i take, i fall back two, too scared to move at all for the fear of losing you. but i will try. there's nothing quite like your kisses, or holding your hand at night. i'm never as happy as when your smile's aimed at me. i want to keep it in my heart, save it for just us to see. i'm selfish like that. but late at night when the crickets call, my every breath is filled with you. my arms are em

i dreamt once of us walking hand in hand. i was younger, you were unbelievably tall. the beach around us changed with every step, but i kept my eyes trained on you. you were my rock; you were my constant. suddenly you dropped my hand. you stepped away and dove into the surf, calling "follow me" into the wind. "mommy," i yelled repeatedly, "i can't swim." my voice grew hoarse, but you never looked back. i sat and wept, gripping the sand in my fists. my heart felt torn, as if a hole had been left in your place. you swam farther out as the tide rose, stealing away our footprints in the sand. the seagulls cried out to you

night's fallen. time passes, the clock blurs, my comforter fades. we're dancing slowly, and i smile as she sways. little kisses fall upon me; i see their intention but not their source. i glance around and see her lips, then wait for my butterflies to run their course. hand to hand, chest to chest, heart to heart. they beat, time skips, and i awake with a start. i reach over, half-asleep, expecting to feel her skin. i turn back, left unsatisfied, betrayed by my dreams again.

i am the breaker of promises, i am the end to all satisfaction. i bring about the destruction of hearts and yes, i feel bad, but i can't quite help what i do. i see your face, so young and impressionable, i can see straight through your skin. you think you're well hidden, and that makes it all the harder for me to watch you break. you pride yourself upon having a good eye, but do you really see him? he's built you up so high, all that's left is to fall. where will he be when your foundation cracks? -- i am not molded from good intentions, or the truth. behind my chesire smile are secrets you'll never know.

 It was the first day. She was hidden deep inside, somewhere underneath the short hair, the loose clothes, and heavy boots. She hated feeling this manly, but what could she do? Grow her hair out, curl and spray it, put on makeup? No. If anyone truly saw her, she'd have hell to pay. She'd gotten used to hiding by now, anyway. "Jordan Nelson?" Her head perked at the name she had become accustomed to answering to. Ugh. Why couldn't she have been named something typical, like Ashley, or Samantha? She would have even taken Lucy, for Christ's sake. I wonder what Mr. Ricknell would think if I said, 'Actually, I prefer Samantha'?, she though

i came across a site that listed the different meanings for ambiguous words. cut had dozens. dozens of definitions, dozens of synonyms. i have dozens of cuts. but they only mean one thing: redemption.

Days like this I feel Lonely, useless, Stupid, ugly, Everything I don't want to be. I am not good enough. My poems aren't good enough. My head hurts, I think I should Drill a hole Through my head, skin and skull, To relieve the pressure And relieve me of my sadness. I want to hide away Beneath my covers; Sleep forever, Not suppress my tears. I wonder if anyone In this class Feels as I do, insecure, and is better at hiding it. I don't want attention Not at my weakest When it could be remembered. I do want attention Now, at my weakest When I appreciate love most. I feel like everyone in class Is focused on me Seei

you're the wrong girl for anyone. you like math and honest photographs and poems that make your heart hurt. you're good at predicting people, or maybe people are just predictable. you have low expectations so you won't get hurt. you play a part, ever-changing, planning your actions to appear a certain way. you hide your true self so people will continue to like you. you're obsessive and fickle, switching hobbies and habits and loves every few months. katy rose, blink 182, maroon 5, john mayer. poetry, photography, prose. do you remember the first song you wrote? "dabba-dabba da doo, i love you, whoa-oh." do you remember the

a clear sky, open and blue, broken only by cotton clouds and a brilliant sun. it calls out to me, screaming, "see me, love me, hold me. just try; i'm already yours." - a tiny bird, chipper and shining, singing beautiful songs into the beautiful day. she seems happy, but i hear the sadness in her melody: "pay attention to me. i'm here, i promise, just look closer." - a blade of grass, green and soft, cradling my body and not caring how crushed it becomes. it whispers, "please stay, i don't mind being short of breath. just as long as you're happy." - i am the sky, the bird, the grass. and you will never get close enough

there were lots of things that could have crossed my mind when you told me you were over me and moving on to her. i could have cried or hated you or gotten mad, locked myself in my room and played sad songs and had a pity party all to myself. that's what i normally do when you say things like this and hurt me for hurting you. but this time all i could focus on was that fucking stray string on your white T-shirt because i knew that this time you were telling the truth.