fifty-one miles on an old country roadmy sister used to tell me, “Life isfifty-one miles on an old country road by ~MisfitableGrae
a journey without a finish line. Some may fall
by the wayside, but get up and keep on trying.”
on the good days, i can be twelve again
and crouched outside her door
and hear her asking God to give her a sign
that he was listening, goddammit, anything.
on the bad days, i can look back and i still won’t
be able to tell you when she lost her faith in
the thing about suicide is that
people can tell you they love you
and they can tell you that they’d miss you,
but suicide is selfish. no one can talk down
a bomb. they just have to let it explode
and deal with the aftermath.
here is how i end and it’s in bangs and it’s in whimpers
and it’s in two o’clock unanswered phone
calls and all the scissors we’re not allowed
to keep in our house anymore.
it’s in being stretched out like a trampoline over too
many people and snapping because i care too goddamn
much about people who don’t car
you put the 'u' in dysfunctional1. your lips taste like spun sugar and your wristsyou put the 'u' in dysfunctional by ~MisfitableGrae
hold him down like razor blades.
he is bending into you, he is breaking because of you,
he is telling you not to stop.
if you were drunk, you would mistake this as love.
2. here is the jaded world, banging on your door at seven a.m.
you’ve been the same person ever since freshman year,
gravitating towards the people who don’t care
whether you break them or take them.
you’re a slut who lost it in high school,
but at least you’re not the prude who didn’t.
1. he sits you down at the kitchen table
and tells you over red wine that some people
are made for bleeding and you take a sip,
and tell him he has the perfect complexion for bruises.
make a list of what you know of love.
fill it with whatever clichés
you’ve thought of when he rolls away from you
in the middle of the night, like an empty confessional
the morning after a one night stand.
end it with a question mark.
ask him to do the same and he
what i know about love, a list1. It hurts. Goddamn, it hurts like hell. It hurts like a dull, constant ache you can’t shake. It hurts when he’s sitting next to her and listening to what she has to say or tying her shoes or playing with her binder because you know that’ll never be you. It hurts when he’s sitting next to you and smiling and listening to what you say because you know it’ll never be more than that. It hurts when he’s sitting across the room with his friends and he’s laughing because look how smoothly his life flows without you in it.what i know about love, a list by ~MisfitableGrae
2. If you’re in a room with fifty other people who are talking to each other, you’ll still be able to pick out his laugh.
3. There are lots of different kinds of love, and lots of times people mistake something as love when it’s really not. That’s okay, because a lot of people think that you can’t really name love and it’s beyond any mere word or definition or something. I think it’s easy t
knees and toeshere is a short list of things i know:knees and toes by ~MisfitableGrae
Cody says he hates David, but he really doesn’t,
i will never wear a coat until the first of November,
i hate myself in the spring,
the sun is 92, 960, 000 miles from earth and i’m pretty sure
that number is rounded to look pretty
or god must be ocd.
it’s a miracle, i’m learning to look you in the eye.
make a wish, make a wish, any wish
i’m plucking out my eyelashes, i’m learning
to give up beauty for a shot at happiness.
i say too much too quickly without getting out
all of the consonants and my speech is craggy
and rocky like an abandoned trail in the Appalachians,
overgrown and the road not taken.
my fingernails are ragged and bitten to the shortest
stub i could stand. i don’t want to hurt you,
i don’t want to hurt myself, my fingernails cannot
hurt you but i can still hurt myself. one day i’ll
be brave enough to leave scratch marks on your skin
in angry red lines, one day i’ll be some
|I've decided recently that I need to delete most of the old stuff on here. I'm probably not, but if you want to read poetrythen ignore all old stuff.|
Thank you so much for either if you choose to favorite/comment.
and i have tried to make it right.i.and i have tried to make it right. by ~colbalt-rain
let me tell you a story
using six words.
their names become parts of statistics.
let me tell you a story
using six words.
“suicide is the easy way out.”
let me tell you a story
using six words
that will never be told.
pain is not a fucking
do you still pray,
knowing there will be no answer?
see, i cannot speak for those
who have no voice to give
but, sincerely, these are the six words
i respond with:
i wish i could save you.
we live our lives being told that
there is always a safety net -
that there are people designed to protect us.
i’m going to use six words because,
the saddest stories
take the fewest words to tell.
for them, there was never anyone.
blades can cut wrists but
here are six words:
blades can cut stories short, too.
i have approximately 250,000 words
to choose from
to try and describe to you what suicide is
but i don’t
when people say that teenagers don't make good choices, i guess they're kind of right. But in a way, i guess they're also saying that they didn't make good choices as a teenager and because they don't want to be alone or they don't want to think that they're alone, they'll say all teenagers make bad choices.
look. what i'm trying to say is that i was a little kid and now i'm a teenager and i'll probably grow up to say things like, "teenagers have no idea what they want to do with their lives" or "teenagers make terrible decisions".
i guess in general, i'm saying that i make some bad decisions and bad choices and sometimes i regret them instantly and other times i don't know i'm supposed to regret them until three or four months after the fact.
see, i still don't use a lot of punctuation and capital letters and i still spell "months" with an e and i still like the same boy i did when i was seven and i still hate myself just as much as i did two weeks ago and i've done these things for so long i don't think there's really a cure and i'm used to that, it's okay.
and just i guess, finally, or maybe in short, i am always going to come back. i mean, sure there's going to be breaks, sometimes long breaks, breaks that i can't really comprehend ending, but i will always come back, okay, there are times when i'm going to really want to leave and i'm going to think i'm able to but then i never can and i'm not.
so. i guess you can take this as being about deviantArt or being about life but i think it works for both.
thank you all so much, each and every one of you is a reason i stay.