roxxy1448

Every day, I bite my tongue, to show (and not tell) you how I feel.

pen across paper the rhythmic tapping of keyboard running my being is letters yet i cannot make words

I learnt to love you by your sleek surfaces and cold screen your blinking presence I am visisted in dreams by my past lovers and I look for their code beneath eyes reflected in my green glow I listen to your clanging noise watch your pistons move and wish

I stared at the mirror today trying to remind myself that I am a hyena. Misunderstood, but great. Hell - I’m lying to you. To the world. To myself. I’m not even a cicada - At least they have a voice to scream. & I wish I could scream. So loud the sound breaks eardrums. So loud that all the voices in my head shut up. - dearpoetry

    .         If the woman is a stone         bury her in blue water,         If the woman is a knife         rub her til she's sharp. His voice is a rattle at the bottom of a tin cup. His arms are spurs, and rusted where metal pinches leather. He shakes like a drum in firelight with the last fist still fresh on his back:         ama sa'ni, she grow curved low like a horseshoe,       &

How to heal a broken heart: Do not write love poems. Forgive yourself for the one morning you didn't kiss him awake while the alarm clock rang. Let yourself cry when you realise you don't remember the last time he said "I love you". And again, when you know exactly when you said "I love you" last, and it didn't matter to him anymore. And again. And again. Do not count days between the last time he saw you naked and the night he told you he hadn't been happy for months. And don't ask yourself what that last time meant to him. Delete the songs you know you'll never be able to listen to again. And his number from your phone. And the t