Wednesday, September 4, 2013

How It Affects You.

Going, going, gone.
Pots and pans banging inside my head,
has been the only music that seems to put me to sleep.
Babies only cry when you've taught them to fear the sound.
And so that pure, soft sound of sweet serenity,
scares the living shit out of me.
Thanks dad.
Yo can never become too comfortable.
So never tell me you love me dear lover,
because I will be gone in the morning.
And if were too satisfied,
Than I will slip out before dawn.
Pots and pans banging inside my head,
has been the only music that has been able to put me to sleep
for the longest of times now.
Going,
Going,
Backwards footsteps race inside my head.
Dear dad,
I'd forgive you,
but these thoughts remind me that you're the one who cursed me to this chaotic lullaby.
You said no one would love me.
So far you're right.
Asshole.
Gone,
Each guy that has known me for more time than necessary.
Pots and pans banging.
Yelling, screaming,
Don't console me dear lover,
I've been broken for longer than I care to admit,
And stuck here for longer than I would like to be.
Thirteen sucks when you're twenty-four,
And Twenty-four sucks when no one seems to love you.
Pots and pans banging.
Yelling, screaming.
Dear lover,
I promise to leave a lipstick stained kiss to remember me by.

Harlem Nights & The Days After

My sheets still smell like you,
And that night I let my senses fall by the wayside.
Even now, I still feel like an idiot.
It took all of five minutes for me to become all wide eyes and smiles.
You must've  known then that I would be easy.
All I want to do is cry.
Cry that I let you.
Cry that I enjoyed it.
Cry that you stopped talking to me not two days after.
Does it make me a fool that even now,  at this very moment,
all I want is a call from you?
I would still welcome you with open arms.
My father was right; I am pathetic.
My self-esteem needs a hug.
I need someone to love what you and everyone before you seem not to be able to.
I hate you soo much.
I miss you soo much.
Harlem boy,
you broke my broken heart.
And now, I have to buy new sheets for my bed.

After thoughts

All this caffeine cannot be good for me.
All these sad love songs are forming a dark cloud over my head.
I need to revamp my playlists.
Nothing sucks more than remembering how many nights I stayed up past 3a.m just to talk to you.
...Just to hear your voice.
I promise my twenty-four year old self,
that I will delete my love sick sixteen year old ways from my heart.
Growing older does nothing but make us feel taller.
I wish I was sixteen again,
So that my idiocy could be explained away with youth.
Ill tell my daughter someday,
that it should take more than a month to fall in love.
Otherwise,
you'll just end up writing poems about boys who don't know your last name.