writerx

Latest Posts by writerx

now that I’ve embarrassed myself in the lime light of love. Now that I’ve put harm to myself and threatened you. Now that I’ve clawed my way of the emergency room with hands pinning me down.

Can I finally let you go. Can I forget the sound of your voice, can I stop trying to breathe how you breathe.

Is this the final act of loving you.

some nights may seem hard to get through, but throughout the mist, when the fog feels like it’s suffocating you and you can’t seem to navigate the stars. Please remember that the sun will rise again, and it will always rise again.

“WITH YOUR HELP, WE CAN WORK TOGETHER AND PUT AN END TO CHILD TRAFFICKING. T H I N K A B O U T IT. An end to child trafficking means…. 40,000,000 less children being abused each year 150,000,000 less girls & 73,000,000 less boys experiencing sexual violence 1,800,000 less children being involved in prostitution and pornography 1,200,000 less children that will become victims of trafficking”

—

right person, wrong universe.

saving 18.

It’s the year 2030, 23:55pm October 17th. I’m 25 as sit by the window in my studio apartment that is hidden away by the blinding lights and skyscraper buildings in New York City. The sky is dark, the stars are visible, and the moon is a perfect crescent shape. My window glass in covered in small raindrops and for once, the loudest city has become nothing more than a hum.

The washing machine is running and the flowers I bought from Lucies flower shop two days ago have died.

The hot chocolate I made is resting just near my foot, the microwave broke a week ago, so I had no choice but to use boiling kettle water.

Delilah my tabby cat who I self-adopted on 8th street two years ago when I first moved to the city sits right in front of me. Admiring the city, I grew up loving so much.

The clock, which seems to be the only working thing in this apartment, hangs low not in the centre and too far to the left side, on the wall near my front door now reads 23:58pm.

A sigh leaves my lips. 120 seconds and you’re turning 24 somewhere.

Slowly I remove myself from the windowsill and tiptoe over to the kitchen, floorboards creaking under my steps. Opening the fridge to the cupcakes I bought three days ago in Mary’s bakery just right of Cornelia Street, I set them down on the kitchen counter. Admiring the chocolate goodness that sits before. The ones I’ve stopped myself from messaging and telling you about. You always loved my chocolate cupcakes when I made them, would you believe me if I told you I found ones better? Opening the draw, I pull out a pack of candles, the perfect shade of light ocean blue. Just like your eyes. Picking up the lighter also alongside of them. It’s been eight years, and still, I love you no less.

Placing the candle, on top of one of the cupcakes, I light it. The clock now reads 23:59pm. One minute my love, I whisper to myself.

00:00am. Taking the cupcake in my hand I tiptoe back over to the windowsill.

“Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, whoever you’re in love with. I hope you’re happy and I hope you’re safe. Happy 24th birthday.”

Blowing out the candle with a shaky breath, I felt a tear prickle and slide down my face.

I am too good at loving the villain, romanticising the devil. maybe this is why I always searched for monsters under my bed, ready to invite him in.

maybe all this time, the monster under my bed was you. I was destined for nothing other than a fire love, torture. this is why your pain does not scare me. I was born to love your darkness and fed you my light.

come on my love, I will hide under the bed with you forever.

in another universe I wasn’t scared to hate you. in another universe I hurt you just as much as you hurt me.

In another universe forgetting you was easy.

But this isn’t another universe. It’s reality and I still love you even though you hurt me.

Dear Harvey,

I never thought that I’d have to write a goodbye letter to you. I guess I just thought that we would end at least as friends, but it’s been two weeks since our conversation and I wonder if we just said goodbye without saying goodbye. This is the part where I start to wonder if the last ten months ever meant anything to you and if it was all just a moment in your life you’ll never think about again. Strangers to lovers and back to strangers again. I never was one for saying goodbye. Even if I see you ten years from now, I think my heart will still feel heavy. I think a part of me is ready to let go. To let what happened between us rest. Holding onto you is starting to hurt, and love should never hurt.

I do love you and the thing is... I’m only seventeen. And seventeen is a really inconvenient time to be in love with someone. I hope you know though, that I don’t blame you for anything. Sometimes people hurt other people and things like that need to happen for people to grow.

I think maybe we did belong to each other just for a slight moment it felt right. I’d like to blame time; she is an awful person to some. I don’t think she has ever liked me.

I’d like to blame those stupid books I read. The true blasphemy of literature is the romanticization of romance. They make it beautiful—all soft words, and elegant lines—and enchanting, with magic sparkling in the margins. And you can feel it in the depths of your soul, an unexplored ocean of laughter and tears and dreams all melded together. The yearning for a kiss that brushes against the steady and so so warm pulsing beat of life—against the smooth skin of a lover's neck. The desperation to touch another being and feel that they’re alive, right there next to you—right there, and never leaving. To love and be loved is a jewel among treasures and all that we each seek—all that we each desire.

It burns and it burns, and it burns. The never-ending ache of love and sorrow. Perhaps in some other life I could have refused, could have torn my hair and screamed, and made you face your choices alone. But not in this one. You would sail to Troy, and I would follow, even into death. But I'm afraid we have reached the end of our love story. I’m turning to the next page, and you’ll stay on the one behind. Only to be read when my daughter who in twenty years will cry to me about how she loves a boy so much it burns her. I did too. I still do.

“I never meant to hurt you”

but you did.

the most.

I knew a girl once.

who was so in love with this one boy.

that when the world turned upside down and burnt inside out.

God seeked her out. He knelt to her and asked.

“Tell me my child, one choice only. who do I save? you or him? him or everyone else?

with no hesitation the girl screamed on her own last breath “HIM. SAVE HIM”

she’s a very different girl now to who I once knew.

I pray one day she understands why God chose to save her instead.

it takes a certain kinda soul to see the beauty in someone’s darkness. Perhaps the truest kinda love is loving the darkest most ugliest parts of someone, and understanding that you might not be able to change them, but you’ll love them anyway.

gonna have to prepare myself for the "we all owe taylor an apology" when reputation tv comes out and people finally listen and understand the album..like no..I don't owe taylor an apology, YOU do x

love is understanding that he brought back the light in me, and I created the light in him. Even if the story ends with us shinning in different rooms.

the more I grow older, the more I realise, poets are liars. missing someone is not a romanticise ghost that haunts the corner of my room. It’s not remembering the smell with the flashes of good memories resurfacing . it’s hearing someone that sounds like them and your throat catching and then suddenly you’re unable to speak. It’s smelling what they used to smell like, and an uneasy amount of home sick rises up to your stomach and all of a sudden it pours out. It’s going to bed with a drowned pillow because the moment you close your eyes, they’re there. Picture perfect, as clears as day. the way they felt burns your body from the inside out. failing in love with someone is like the loving the devil, you’re lucky if you’re anything but a pawn in his silly little game.

healing….

When the world turns quite and the sun fades away and there are no distractions to spare my heart the thought of you, and the only thing to be heard is the whistle of the wind or rain as it gently patters against my windows, it’s easier. I understand now why you left and I’m slowly accepting the fact that you won’t be coming back. I don’t choke or lose my breath to the idea of you with different women, but rather happy. Happy that you’re happy. stay safe out there buddy, I’m rooting for you always. 

I hope he knows that it’s him I love most. That from now, in every life, I’ll search for him. It always has and always will be him.

sometimes the people we want forever aren’t always the people that want us forever, and that’s okay.

for all the girls that were given price charming, but fell in love with the villain.

and tonight when you’re out with your friends, and you find your way into a girls arms, and you kiss her. I hope you pause, remembering the last words you said to me. I hope after that, you tell her you can’t go on with it anymore, and I hope you think of me, and you start to wish things went differently. And maybe that is really selfish of me and cruel to rather you miss me than be so good at forgetting, and maybe for the first time in my life I don’t care about being selfish, because all I care about is the thought of you with someone else and how it tears my stomach into pieces.

you’ve ruined 11:11 for me

maybe it was the fact that nobody has ever made me laugh that much, or maybe it was the way I was cold and you gave me your coat and scarf, sacrificed yourself to the cold just to make sure I was closer to the sun. maybe it was the way you touched me and it felt like a magnetic force, maybe it was the way my safety was a priority to you, “please be careful on your walk home”, “call me as soon as you reach the door”, “be careful on the train, call me so I know you’re safe”. Maybe it was the way you healed every other heart ache. How you told me you were lucky that I was here. How I was so sure it was me and you forever. Maybe it was the way I forgot this was teen romance. And Maybe it was the way I forgot that any teen romance hardly ever makes it out alive. Or maybe it was the way you would say forever, and that whisper at night would be the lullaby that sent me to sleep. it’s more of a scream now. It used to make me feel so safe, so warm. Now it’s an ache in my stomach to hear, a catch in my throat that stops my breath. Maybe it was everything that turned into nothing. maybe I’ll never know. Maybe these words and these poems just have to be enough for now. Maybe it’s time to let go and say goodbye. But maybe I don’t want to.

I’m so desperate for you it’s embarrassing. How did this happen? How did we go from promising each other the world to hardly talking at all? When did all the laughing turn into shouting. I love you and it’s killing me. I love you and it’s hurting. I love you and I don’t know what to do with myself. I love you and it’s torcher. Do you miss me? are you ever thinking about me? Wondering if I’m okay. Or if I up screaming and crying. I’m still sleeping in your jumper. It’s like having a ghost that you can touch. I close my eyes and you’re here and I feel your skin, your kisses, your hugs. I close my eyes and I relive the whole moment. From very first day I knew of your existence, to the day we first met, and how you greeted me. So tall, so confident. The first time I heard your voice in person I almost crumbled. Please come back, just come back, come back, and come back. I’ll say I’m sorry and you can say it back and we’ll forget the whole thing and start again. Promise me you won’t forget this? You won’t forget when I was me, and you was you, and this was us. I love you and it’s killing me. I love you and it’s torcher. I love you and it’s hurting. I love you and I don’t know what to do with myself.

should’ve known better to try and love a boy who plays the electric guitar.

a common thief. a women foolishly in love. a hopeless romantic. starting at the sky and stealing the stars. giving them to the people who were not truly worthy of them. give yourself a break little one, you too, deserve the stars.

Love me and I’ll do the best I can to steal the night sky for you.

The raging impulse that love gives us. The thump and creeks of the hallway floor as I ran after you. The drum of my heart had never been so loud.

I stood in front of you, pleading for your love. “You’re hurting me, but still I want your love”. There is no “I love you” better than the way you say it.

If having you meant to be hurt then so be it. Destroy me, burn me to ground and forget about my ashes, love me but love twenty other people at the same time…at least you’re still loving me, right?

I love you, but you don’t love me and I don’t know how to cope. So I’ll bleed a thousand words until love doesn’t feel like choking anymore.

On June 24th at 16:53, you messaged me for the very time saying “heyo” and we made some jokes. A couple days later we somehow ended up sharing the music room together at school.

You played the guitar and I glazed my fingers over the keyboard, too nervous to play, too scared to fail you. Music moves so smooth when you play it.

We spoke all the time after that, until we didn’t anymore and you went away.

I remember the way you sang that night at your house, how you told me I was beautiful after you saw me in a way no human ever had before. How it felt believable coming out of your mouth.

It was a different kind of love this time around, you made me feel… different. I don’t know where you are now, or who you’re in love with but I hope you’re happy. And I hope that in some way, you think of me the way I think of you.

lemon boy...

I hope when I grow up I’m still the same person I am now.

I hope I still find joy in the different colours of the sky

I hope I still see love as one of the most beautiful thing in the world.

I hope my heart still stays kind.

I hope I still find peace is helping the homeless, seeing kids smile, believing in God.

I hope the sound of the rain is still my favourite sound and I never not see the beauty when the sky pours it’s own melancholy.

I hope art is still the only thing I know.

I hope New York still holds my heart right in-between it’s big city lights

Remembering how free it made me feel when I saw them for the first time when I was 13. And the fleeing moment when they stole my heart on the TV screen when I was 3.

I hope cats are still my favourite animals, that by the time I’m 60 I have at least 100.

I hope Disney movies are still my security every night I feel alone, and that chocolate is still my favourite thing to eat into after a bad breakup.

And that I never forget the dances to grease, that I’m still alive to watch my husband dance with my daughter to the songs as me and my father used to do when I was younger.

That country music is still the only way to understand any kind of hurt and conflict in my life.

I hope I never lose my love for Christmas and Halloween. That every year I get to decorate my house with too many lights and big Christmas trees. And that I get to give the kids extra candy and become the favourite house to trick and treat to.

That every time I pass a park with monkey bars I will still try it, knowing I’ll fail but hoping that I will at least get past one.

I hope when I grow up I’m still the same person I am now.

I hope I never grow up.

Maybe the right kind of love isn’t the one that burns like a 100 acre forest fire. Maybe it burns more like a quiet candle on a cold night, when all the electricity in the house has gone out.

The end of whiskey bottles are supposed to make me forget you, not remember you twice as hard.