Infection

The sensation of removing something completely, 

For me is,

Fascinatingly and euphorically satisfying. 

But most things never do so. 

They grip and cling and hold on. 

The more you pull,

The more they tear off the pieces you want to keep.

And so you think you should just keep it where it has chosen to stay,

Hope that it won't hurt you anymore,

Hope that eventually with time it'll fall off,

A hollow shell of what it used to be.

Of course, it will not.

The more you leave it the more it takes away,

Infecting and spreading and decimating everything else.

Fall

Fall for an asshole 

Fall for someone that puts you down

Fall for someone who takes and doesn't give 

Fall for someone who won't love you back

Fall for the person who uses you

Fall for a person that leads you on 

Fall for someone who is in love with someone else 

And after you fall yourself hopefully you realize you don't need to fall for assholes anymore.

You don't need to feel like shit 

You don't need to take shit 

You don't need to pretend it doesn't hurt 

You don't need them 

Fall to stop falling 

Prayer

Bless the unfaithful and the questionable souls.

For they require most and demand only what is precious to their selfish lives. 

Give him the strength to find himself, and to quit his vices,

Give he what he truly desires, for something as pure as happiness cannot be reserved solely for the hearts of peace.

Give him the love he so wishes to keep.

Give her the health beyond her years, and to find calm in choppy seas,

Give her the joy and elation of fall for someone who loves her tender and sweet, and to let her believe it to be so.

Give her the strength to love with what she already has within herself and give that love him.

Give me the power to love them both, and to wish nothing but the best upon them.

Give me the ability to function without selfish intentions and self-loath, to be happy within the light of their happiness.

Give me the chance to move on.

Amen. 

Coffee

It's a bit tragic how the poems dedicated to you aren't even non-fictional.

It's like as if I process events unfolding with a romantic filter.

It's as if I brewed coffee with tea leaves and expect the same result. 

The words let me live out fantasies.

And the rhyme makes it seem as if there was a reason to thinking this way. 

And when there is no rhyme I like to think it's the emotional fiction taking over. 

And I don't want to think that there is no reality in my words.

Or in my rhyme and no rhyme.

Or even the filters put in place. 

But the tea hints at a stronger, nuttier, more caffeinated brew.

Pink

I fake painted your nails once.

You wanted them yellow. 

And carefully I traced my fingers around each nail,

As we sat on a pale pink blanket. 

As the sky shone with new light,

As the clouds rolled over. 

I painted your nails yellow. 

An ant crawled across the pink blanket 

And your nails still wet,

You flicked it away

And you said don't kill it

Because it could feel pain.

And then I imagined the fake paint 

Splattered teardrops on the pink.

And then I laid down,

And let my body finally sink.

And I sighed without a sound.

Happy

Am I happy if you are? 

Or am I too selfish to put you in a jar,

On the shelf? 

I want to be happy for you cause you're finally happy with yourself. 

But still I wanna kiss you and have you for myself. 

I, I, I, I, I, all I really think about is myself.

My wants and my needs and my desires.

I should let you go,

And I should be happy cause you're happy.

But I'm not. I still can't get over myself loving you. 

I still want to feel your hands on mine,

But you rather hold hers.

And I wanna run my hands in your hair, but you rather her do so. 

Yeah, I still can't get over you. 

And it's stupid. 

But my heart is selfish and desperate.

And I can't help but believe that you in a very small way love me too. 

She wrote

Hearts on pink beds in front of pink curtains in a pink room

Dolls scattered on the floor, sunlight peeks through the window

She sleeps with a thumb in her mouth and a dream in her mind

Candy coated

Denim jacket, pink skirt, Barbie sneakers.

Beads up her wrists and sunglasses in her plastic hand bag

Hops into a car, jumps onto a train

And suddenly she’s on a plane.

Up in the air, she’s told where she’s going

It swoops past her, what could be more important

When her Chelsea doll’s necklace is missing?

5500km she flys

Hard candy to dark chocolate, it seems her life made a u-turn

From Barbie sneakers to New Look sandals, 

From plastic hand bag to fringe cross body

From dolls in her hand to music plugged in her ears

She lived so naive, so lost in her own hole

Surrounded by walls she built herself

Almost never bothered to look up at the clouds

Until she found herself flying in them again

Candy coating eroded off, hearts on her bed become uneven circles

Walls half smashed by her own fist

Lying, being the product of realisation

Of the reflection that lied before

And below furry coats and 6 inch heels,

Under the charm of misguiding idols,

Beneath the thick layers of mascara,

A young black hole

- Amelia Ismar