The Sound of Silence or What Does In Love Even Mean?

 Close this harder than necessary,

Stomp around to make sure you’re heard. 

In between, the sound of silence.

So silent, you could hear a pin drop. 

So silent, even the ghosts come out,

For anticipation that everything inside 

has been abandoned. 

In the silence you can hear, 

All the things it should be.

A home filled with laughter, 

Fueled with eager conversation.

Two voices whispering I love you,

In the night so no one else gets to hear. 

The sound of one mouth on another, 

Bodies anxious to not feel alone anymore. 

The sound of an almost moan,

Until her voice catches in her throat. 

The sound of exhaustion at the end 

of the day, 

From loving someone so hard. 

In the silence you can hear, 

All the wishes that never made it.

The sound of heartbreak, 

That never heals. 

An Almost Last Love Letter From an Almost Unworthy Lover

 It’s been awhile, for the letters at least. Although it doesn’t even feel that long. The one thing I never wanted people to know was that I started writing letters because I used to write them on paper, to you. Every single day. Honestly, I just missed you so much and I had no one around to talk to. So, I couldn’t stop imagining all the things that I would tell you if you were here. I brought them to you one time, I think you burned them. I was so lonely without you. I still am. Lonely I mean. I just think maybe my soul isn’t meant for this world. It’s constantly been plagued with loneliness and no one seems to notice. You always noticed. When I was a kid, before you, I used to lay backwards on my bed with my head beside the stereo, trying to get as close to the music as I could. It was the only noise I ever really heard, other than my own breathing. It was the closest thing to peace I knew, laying in the darkness with the music, the one time where I could be any emotion I wanted without having to worry what people would think about me or who was watching. I used to have a light that I would shine on the ceiling. I’m married now. It’s been a lot. He thinks that whatever the opposite of soulful is and being not very thought provoking is cool. But 25, really 23, year old me is not 13 year old me and I don’t. He seems a million miles away from every version of you I’ve ever known. I don’t know. I don’t know if you remember this but one of the things that made me fall in love with you was this question and I had asked it to several people. No one gave a good answer, if any. Regular, vapid people in their regular, unalive world. And I kept thinking that I know that you would answer. So I asked you. And you answered without hesitation. Don’t tell my husband, but I’ve still got the screenshot. You told me that you believed in love, even though most people didn’t anymore. I don’t think he believes in anything, least of all me. I wish you were here to tell me what to do. Hell, I wish you were just here to talk to, no judgement, no cutting me off, just me and you, a couple of stars, a conversation. It’s day four now, I’ve counted, of my husband cutting me off every time I try to talk. He’s stopped me at least once every single day. I don’t know why other than he doesn’t like what I’m saying. I think he just hates me. But that’s just another thing I say that makes him angry. He used to be nice. Last year was really hard. So hard. But in between those hard moments, were gentle moments, moments where I felt like I was talked to like I don’t know, gentle, kind. If we’re all being honest with ourselves, the way you talk to some broken, fucked up little girl. But now, we don’t really speak, which is better than being talked to like a dog. Or at least how people that aren’t me talk to their dogs. Do you remember the day Ranger had to go to the vet? I don’t remember if he had to be put down or not. I just remember how sad it was. There was a period last year, where I guess he was just going through stuff, I mean, I know he was. But he didn’t even exist anymore. He just sat there, he went to work, but he didn’t help me make sure the bills got paid, like actually having to go out and pay them, we have one bank account, he wouldn’t spend time with me, he didn’t want to be intimate with me, like physically, and I couldn’t speak. I literally couldn’t speak. If I did, then I was mean and evil and ununderstanding and I don’t know if you’ve ever met me but not saying how I feel isn’t really my style. You used to like that about me. I told my boss that I felt like I was drowning. There’s this book that I had to read in high school, I can’t think of the name of it right now, but I loved it. The main character’s name is Edna, how ironic. In the end, Edna is so tired of whatever her husband has going on, and everything around here, and no one wanting to hear her, that she just walks into the ocean. The end. The end, as in the book doesn’t go into detail, but she drowns herself. It’s relatable. But the point is, I loved him, just like I loved you, so I kept holding on for the ride. Everyone goes through hard shit, right? I still loved him, I still believed in him. But it’s a year later, so why am I still drowning? Literally every single thing I say is wrong. My opinions are irrelevant, unless he likes how they make him feel. There was nothing ever wrong I could say to you, you always listened, unless I was mean, then you just didn’t want to talk to me. He does this thing, I don’t know what to call it, every term I use, he hates. I tell him I don’t think it’s very good for me mentally, he acts like he can’t control it. A harder time controlling emotions doesn’t mean that you can’t. It really just means that you’re practicing a little late in life. Everyone teaches themselves how to control their emotions. But I’m a failure when I can’t tell him how. And that makes the behavior excusable. It makes me want to change my name to Edna. Self control is learned. But when there’s always a reason why you can’t teach yourself, it’s never your fault then, right? The little kid part of me is terrified, he came the other day and I was just shaking uncontrollably. The internet calls the behaviors intimidation, which can be considered mentally abusive. He’s not abusive, I just think he doesn’t love me enough to want to look at himself. Honestly, it’s hard to look at your behavior. I get it. But at what cost? It’s like every single thing is about him. And since those months, I feel like it always has been. He doesn’t agree. Are you surprised? He thinks because he buys me my favorite treat or flowers or asks why I’m crying, that doesn’t make my life one sided. But it’s like this, every single thing about me is about how it makes him feel. He won’t let me speak because he doesn’t like the way my words will make him feel about his own self. If you don’t stop, I can’t control it. That’s something the internet brings up and not in a good way, if you catch my drift. My opinion and feelings shouldn’t be a threat to someone. I don’t understand why it’s always how my words make them feel. Sails, why isn’t it about me? It’s never why does Samantha feel that way? It’s like I say something is bad for me, it continues, I live my life on edge and sad, and then when I say I don’t think I’m loved, I’m still the problem. It’s okay to cut me off, freak out on me, or be mean because I don’t feel loved. Like how is that my fault? Why is the question there not what do I do to make her feel not loved? Or what can I do to love her different? Or if someone treated my mom this way, would I like it, or what would mom think about that if it was done to her? Lately, the new question is why am I crying. I feel like that’s a stupid question. I’ve always been strong and independent and fuck the world, but I let someone constantly shut me up, not be emotional, hurt my feelings, do things I really don’t think are okay, and it’s a big mystery why I’m sad. He knows why. The question here should be why is she sad, and why is my reaction, since I love her, to ask why she’s crying, and then pat her shoulder. Seems bananas to me. But my opinion doesn’t make the world go round. Yours used to though. I just wanted to be so worthy of your love, I wanted to be the kind of person that you’d be proud to be beside, and honestly, I just wanted to be the kind of person that deserved someone like you. Someone who was so sweet and kind and loving, and every thing my whole life was always missing. I wanted so badly to be that kind of good person. I must not be though. I’m constantly rejected. I literally feel like my whole life is not about me. It’s about who my words make someone else interpret themselves. It’s never why am I hurt. The other night, he asked me why I was crying and then got mad because I didn’t feel like anything I said or did was ever good enough. He always says he doesn’t get mad. I don’t really care what you call the emotion. I was sad that I wasn’t good enough, no matter what I have done, and then he tells me that maybe were not soul mates. Talk about gut punching, slit your throat now stuff. I keep asking myself what do I believe in. Do I even believe in miracles, because you used to make me believe, over and over, every time I was about to give up, here you come, still making me believe, even when you didn’t know it. But now, I keep waiting and praying and hoping. I love him, I wanted so badly to be a good wife. But being a good wife shouldn’t have to mean giving up the things I like about myself, like my ability to stand up for myself and speak, and my opinions that never mattered to anyone but me so when you’re all you’ve got, they’ve got to really matter. I wish you were, I feel so lonely, I thought a husband, well that’s not true, I thought love was supposed to be your best friend. I could really use a best friend right now. I feel so stuck in life. People change, but when is it enough time? When is it time to quit asking God to heal his heart? Because one minute, he’s sweet and amazing, and everything that was missing. And the next, I’m emotionally devasted, like really mentally not okay. He doesn’t even try to come talk about it anymore. He might apologize but when that isn’t enough, he just starts to avoid me. He doesn’t even try to make things right anymore. And part of me doesn’t want him to. He acts like the hurt is okay because I say things he doesn’t like. Behaviors and words aren’t the same. Childhood trauma isn’t the same. How can you know what someone’s first years of life were like and not care if you bring them back there. I sent him photos today, he didn’t even open them. He didn’t care. You know, the other day he gave me the most amazing day of my life. Night, really. It reminded me of you. The first time in two years, I’ve been reminded of you. He swears he acts like that plenty of times and I just don’t remember. He’s nice, he’s nice part of the week, making me sad the other part. Every week. What I meant was, it was the first time since the last time I was with you, that anyone has reminded me of you. It was whispers and forehead touching and intimate and all of the things that you promised me. There was a night that followed it too, it was like the most intimate thing to happen to me since I been married. Every time I woke up that night, he was staring at me. He just wanted to touch me. But all night. Seems like something you’d do. He never stares at me or just watches me. He says that isn’t true too. But honestly, he glances at me. But he never watches me. He doesn’t give me the you look. I used to say I would never ever get married, until I met someone who looked at me the way you did. My, how the mighty have fallen. I love him, I love you. But I’m not the excuse for someone else’s behavior. Unless that behavior is yours, and then goddamn I want to be the only excuse, and the lower the better, if you get what I’m saying. There’s this guy on Facebook, he makes his money with this videos, they’re nothing new or special, and I’ve heard/seen the story a million times. Girl waits and waits on a man to do the things she wants him to do. They break up, and he’s doing it for the next woman, and she’s heart broken. But the truth is, he didn’t do it for her because she wasn’t the one. That’s what they say. Men will do what they want and change for who they want. So if a man wanted to be focused on your needs, he would be. And if he does it for the next woman, that doesn’t mean something is wrong with you. I wanted so badly to be the thing that he loves. But every day, more and more, I think I’m not. There’s no focus on my emotions or why I do the things I do or why I think like I do. I don’t feel like there’s ever a point where it’s like Samantha, I want to understand you, I want to know you, I want to care about your feelings, regardless of how they are making me feel because you’re important. I’m too scared to leave. He has so much potential. So much potential. I can see it in the moments that aren’t hurt. But I feel like it’s been two years of promising me different and every time I turn around, it’s the same behaviors causing the same hurt. I spent my whole life hurt, I can’t endure that kind of pain forever. I just want to be loved. That’s not even true. I have been loved, by many. But they don’t count. I want your love, or his love, and if I can’t be good enough for either, I just want to be with my dad until he dies, pack up and move to a different state, get artificially inseminated, and raise my little daughter in peace. Just me and Sailor. And one day, when she meets the right boy, I can tell her how much I loved you, and how much of a fuck up I was, and how heart breaking it was to lose you, heart break so big I never recovered from it, and no one was ever happy again. That love is the only thing matters and to run towards with everything inside of her because if there is a chance for the kind of love I knew, it’s the only thing worth living for. Stuck between I’m obviously not the love of his life, I’m supposed to be though, praying he’ll wake up one day and want to love me, and wondering why no one on the planet ever cares what’s going on inside of me. There’s little Samantha inside of me. Maybe there’s still little you inside of big you. Little you would care. Little you would listen and focus on what was hurting me. If little you is there, little me misses you. I still love you with every fiber of my being, as always, no matter what you’ve done or where you’ve been, you still can come home to me. If you want. I miss you, I love you, I’m sad without you.

The Problem With Hope

 If I could sum up my life,

It felt like whispering secrets into a forgetful wind,

Sending up my hopes and dreams,

Watching the leaves play telephone,

Until they come back down for me,

Fragments and half-wishes,

Sadness wrapped up to look like poetry and parties,

Heart swelling to shatter at my feet,

Songs that almost sound like home,

A book that had you going right until the last chapter,

Until the wind dies down,

Leaving me to clean up it’s almost perfect mess. 

I’ve Spent My Whole Life Remembering Your Nonexistent Gaze or Why Were We Only in my Head?

 It’s been years,

But I still know that look.

It is ice in my bones,

And fear in my heart.

The only thing that 

Really knows me.

What do you want 

After all this time?

You, you say.

And your answer is everything.

Fire inside in my veins

Lips hard on mine.

Your hand down my pants

Closing the distance between us.

Like I’m the only thing 

That’s been missing from your life.

Your tongue down my throat

Searching for the emotions

You’ve been dying to feel. 

My toes curl

My hands grasp for you.

Any space is too much space 

Heart so fast it floods my ears.

It’s your eyes on mine

Nothing else between us.

Filling in your missing void

You’ve came for what’s yours.

Dreams that Never Came

Meeting you for the first time,

Was like fate come to life.
Looking into your eyes,
Was the only time I ever felt seen.
Your silence,
Felt like home. 
I didn’t have to try
To be understood. 
My feelings were like 
Words you’d never heard before. 
Touching me,
Was like the most serious thing to you. 
So serious, 
It sent shivers down my spine. 
Kissing you for the first time,
Was like darkness,
So no one else could see.
Something only meant for us, 
The start of something new. 
You were staying up late,
Because I never had anyone,
To talk to before. 
It was eye contact, whispers, 
And things just between us. 
It was a best friend, 
When I didn’t even know I needed one. 
It was deciding, 
That we were the only thing that mattered. 
It was saving a life, 
No one else knew needed saving. 
But you knew everything,
Without trying. 
You were everything,
To someone just hoping to die.

People Save Us to Shatter At Their Leisure

How do people die?

Is it all at once?

Or piece by piece?

Like glass surrounding your feet?

You pick up a piece or two.

Play with them in your hand. 

Fix them together, like a puzzle.

Grab a third, more and more,

Until only a handful remains on the floor.

Add it to your pile of treasure. 

Only to take your new creation, 

And smash it with a hammer. 

A million little pieces. 

Too small to grab without getting cut. 

Too many pieces to find them all. 

Never completely whole again. 

Eat, sleep, repeat.

A little more that never gets found each time.

No one noticing until it’s too late. 

Until there’s nothing left.  

Never Knowing to Leave Well Enough Alone

 

What am I?

A big regret, an even bigger mistake?

A cause for your anger, a sponge for your hate?

A situation better left alone,

A prettier figment of your imagination.

The chapter in your story before you get your life together?

A parasite, sucking from your life.

The disgusting thing that stole your joy.

The thing you have to resist the urge to shatter?

Temptation for your punches.

The ultimate ‘what doesn’t belong in this picture.’

A rodent crawling on an otherwise clean floor?

A goddamn disaster. 

Does Heartbreak Take Time Off Your Life?

 Like the last drag off your favorite cigarette,

Like the panic you feel at the idea of being left alone,

Like the way it burns on the way down but you chug it anyways,

Like the tears that are too many to count,

Like just one more order of fries because it’s a familiar action,

Like the physical pain inside your chest because your heart is hurting,

Like blood dripping down your arms because everyone else always used you as a target,

Like the inability to breathe because their words knocked the wind right out of you,

What am I, but a ticking time bomb?

Disregarded Dreams

 Happiness was the feeling,
Of your name on my screen, 
For the first time in a long time. 
Happiness was the feeling, 
I felt inside until, 
The first time you screamed at me. 
Happiness was the feeling,
Of looking at you, 
And you were already looking at me. 
Happiness was the feeling,
Of you telling me to 
Come sit on your lap. 
Happiness was the feeling, 
Of best friends at a 
Sleepover, whispering secrets
All night. 
Happiness was the feeling, 
Of your smile when you
Walked in my front door. 
And now, 
I'm not sure what happiness is. 
But I've got some guesses. 
Happiness is the feeling, 
Of when you talk and it's
Not to criticize me. 
Happiness is the feeling, 
Before you decided, 
I wasn't worth listening to, 
Interruptions and unfinished sentences.
Happiness is the feeling,
Before you decided I wasn't a good person, 
Before the assumptions that now run my life. 
Happiness is the feeling,
Of you coming home,
Too tired to hate me. 
Happiness is the feeling, 
Of that one tiny moment, 
Where you say everything will
Be okay,
Until nothing actually changes. 
Happiness is that feeling, 
When I thought you wanted, 
To tell me all of your thoughts.
Happiness is that feeling, 
When I could speak, 
And it wasn't the key to 
Upsetting you. 
Happiness is the feeling, 
Of having someone not think, 
You're a malicious person, 
Lord knows,
I've never wanted to hurt anybody. 
Happiness is the feeling, 
Before you woke up one day, 
And decided that feeling anger 
Towards me, 
Is something you no longer control. 
Happiness is the feeling, 
Before you decided you couldn't,
Possibly be the same person every day. 
Happiness is the feeling, 
Of those fleeting moments, 
When you think you are 
The same person you've always been. 
Happiness is the feeling, 
Before you told me you couldn't
Love me like that anymore, 
Because you weren't a kid. 
Happiness is the feeling, 
Of 2019,
When you still had the capacity,
To take a look at yourself,
Before you decided your view is
The right view.
Before you taught me to 
Hate myself.
And to feel scared inside.
Scared you'll leave,
Scared you'll stay,
And never change.
Scared that one day, 
You just weren't the same person. 
Scared that you don't think you
Have any say in who you are. 
Scared there's always an excuse,
Built in for your behavior. 
Scared that you used to be so kind, 
The most loving,
The most sexy,
Who is the real you.
Happiness is the feeling,
Of hoping for a different life,
With you,
And hoping that hope doesn't die, 
And that God still believes in miracles. 
Happiness is the feeling,
Of you in control of your life, 
And choosing to love me with it. 
Happiness is the feeling, 
Of hoping one day you'll come back around, 
And trying to be ready if you do,
And learning how not to exist,
If you don't.  

America's Sweetheart

 We end up alone because you'd rather 

encourage our show than teach us who to be

when the lights go out. 

I don't want to be a lonely woman

chilling at soccer practice 

alcohol in Yeti 

because I hate everyone around me. 

I don't want to compete 

for the biggest house

for everyone to hate me. 

You create us to be lonely

I want to be more than lonely.

I want to be alive. 

I want to be all day sex

in a motel room because 

he could think of nothing better to do

than me. 

I want to be dirty hair and barefoot

slow dancing in the yard 

trying to count stars. 

I am not your work all day

PTA meetings

flaccid penis. 

I want more emotions than 

I know what to do with. 

I want to be made of laughter 

so hard I can't breathe. 

The ocean over top my head, 

water interrupting my thoughts 

one with something humans haven't touched. 

I am not your death inducing job

follow the leader

feel nothing inside

wasted dreams. 

I want to wake up

to him asleep rubbing me.

I am books and coffee at 2 am

late night whispers 

and the feeling of love. 

Fuck you and fuck your system

I am not a player in your game

I am alive and emotions 

and the universe. 

Heroin pt. IV

I lay down, wait and watch closely,

I know what’s coming now. 

The closet door slowly creeps open, 

As the hour gets later and later.

You crawl into my bed,

Cuddle me to your chest. 

How was your day?

I ask in fear,

You tell me it wasn’t very good.

But tonight you’re tired, 

Can we deal with this tomorrow?

Tonight you hold me close,

Whispering you love me,

Your lips mouthing the words into my hair.

But tomorrow,

Tomorrow is is where you strike.

I anticipate all day,

I lay down,

You lay down,

Pull me close,

To make sure I hear you.

I listen silently,

You are the reason why I am this way,

You are just too much to love, 

Everyday. 

I love you when I can,

You don’t deserve more when I can’t. 

You broke me first remember?

No one could always be nice,

To someone like you,

Someone who inspires so much hate,

You weren’t a good person then,

And you’re not now.

I listen silently.  

You are lucky,

To get what you do,

You can’t possibly expect more from someone,

From someone who loves you,

But someone you have,

Also caused so much hate inside,

I sob, you tell me it’s okay.

You tell me you’ll never leave me,

You tell me how much you love me,

Convince us both to stay.

Tell me everything is my fault,

Tell me I created this,

Inside of you.

Tell me I created the life I’m stuck in,

Ask me if I love you, 

Of course I do.

Ask me if I’m happy,

We’re together forever,

I am,

You tell me you’re not,

I’ll never be as fun,

As the alcohol.

I’ll never take the pain away,

Like the drugs.

I am your bona-fide suicide,

Attempt waiting to happen. 

It’s a race for whose heart,

Gets broken the most,

Who can forget the least,

Whose skeletons are the worst,

To lay beside.

And all night long,

You whisper to me,

Through my tears,

All night long, 

Until morning. 

Until it’s time to decide,

Whether today you love me,

Or today you will hate me.

The ghost that never leaves.

My life long friend. 

Just Call Me Juliet Because I Am the Downfall

 What am I to you?

Other than a home to hate,

A closet and a well kept haircut.

A companion for your late night,

Movie notions.

A warm body so you don’t wake,

From your dreams alone.

A sometimes memory of your youth.

A reason to never seek more,

From life.

Someone to talk to,

When everyone else snubs you.

A failed attempt to be something,

To you. 

A distant idea you never missed.

The number one thing, 

You never needed. 

The nagging thing,

Standing between you and happiness.

The bitch you wanted revenge on.

An alive and well reflection,

Of your behavior.

So you can hate us both.

The thing you almost wanted.

Something for you to abandon,

The way they abandoned you.

The cause of all wrong-doing.

The whore that never saw you.

The sociopath that never,

Cared for anything.

The small pleasure inside,

When you think you’ve won.

The always there, never ceasing,

Villain in your story. 

The girl not even a mother could

Love. 

Heroin pt. V

 It’s not 5:30 but goddamn,

It feels like it could be.

You creak the door open.

I had a bad dream.

Can I come get in bed?

The word no,

Screaming in my head.

As my body instinctively,

Moves to make room for you.

I miss you, you say.

Did you miss me?

How does one not miss,

Their favorite little skeleton,

I tell you.

You curl up between us, 

And look at me with those eyes.

Eyes I haven’t seen,

In a thousand years.

I’m sorry, I say.

You tell me that you know,

That’s why you have to keep,

Reminding me,

So I don’t forget.

Thieves don’t deserve,

Peace from their crimes.

And I stole,

All that was good in you.

Can I hold you tonight?

You tell me to,

Hold him instead. 

But I can’t make,

My arms reach out,

To the man,

Who is fueled by hate for me.

Please don’t leave,

I ask of you.

I don’t want to be alone.

Then make him,

Want to do it.

I don’t know how,

I sob into the night, 

As you disappear,

Leaving me with,

Everything I destroyed. 

A Ghost Story

Why am I nothing?

A nonexistent blimp on 

No ones radar.

The text message

No one ever waited on.

The name no one 

Ever spoke.

The girl 

No one ever asked.

Orphaned into her

Own abyss. 

And the harder 

She tried to be something

Other than nothing

The less attention 

Everyone paid.

‘Till she really only 

Existed in her own head.

If you speak in a forest

And no one is around to 

Hear it

Did you even really 

Speak at all?

Are you even 

The molecules inside you?

Just made up of 

Unheard tears.

Cried over those 

Unmoved by her words.

After all, who moves

Out of the way 

For nothing? 

No one.

And no one even noticed. 

Love Is a Reward, and Sometimes You’re Not Worth It

 

Wishing I was dead

Because it’s better

Better than watching you chew 

my emotions.

Spit them out with an ugly grin. 

Tossing and turning,

in what isn’t supposed to be an empty bed. 

Nothing but thoughts of the pain 

in my head.

Dragging my heart all over town,

like it’s a demolition and you,

Well you, you need the prize money. 

Wishing I was dead 

Because it’s better 

Better than all the tears,

that make me hate myself. 

A silent house, 

the place where laughter came to die. 

Alcohol is better than conversations, 

and quality time are those rare moments

you’re not totally alone. 

Care is a two way street. 

Care, as in I care for you

And you also care that I care for you. 

Abandoned,

that’s what living here is. 

Alone,

just like the place I grew up in. 

The place where I love you

is only important if you’re acting fine.

Wishing I was dead

Because it’s better

Better than being told I’m impossible,

Impossible to make happy. 

While I scream so loud I can hear

nothing else, 

“Just love me.”

But did I really scream,

But am I really horrible,

Or is caring enough to notice when 

someone isn’t okay, a deal that’s off 

the table. 

Holding and hugs are only for good girls.

“Everything is going to be okay,

I still love you.

I’ll always support you,”

Seemingly exist only in my head.

But the sadness, the sadness, 

that’s not all in my head. 

Seeps into my bones,

whispers in my ear,

a permanent chill I feel. 

Love is a reward, 

not something meant for everyone. 

Can you do your tricks for me today?

Anger and sadness are bad behaviors.

You lose control, you’re a freak,

you’re the reason no one loves you,

you. are. the. problem. 

Mental health isn’t for everyone. 

Unless that everyone is how 

the things you feel inside,

affect them. 

Needs aren’t met, life continues. 

Pins drop, dogs bark, you are still

alone.

And no one notices.