im-mrs-brightside

[im-mrs-brightside]

Summer

I've counted the seconds

while you were gone-

stared at the clock

.

like it'd somehow become my friend.

But it still stalls like it can read my thoughts,

And I'm just counting the days

.

waiting for them to end.

#poetry

[im-mrs-brightside]

The Other Half

I believe in romance.

I can't help it.

I'm the most dangerous dreamer-

.

The kind that's real dramatic;

the kind that's real selfish.

I'll walk right back to the very thing

.

that knocked me down-

and it's happened so many times

that I think I'm starting to fall in love

.

with the ground.

I'm the worst type of optimist-

believer of all,

.

practitioner of none.

I believe in fairytales

even though I haven't read a single one.

.

I cherish hellos and I cherish goodbyes-

I cherish every breath from anyone

who gives me pleasure in being alive.

.

I still remember every smile I've caused-

even the ones that broke my heart,

even the ones I only ever saw from afar.

.

I've looked at my face so much

that I think I'm starting to see scars.

And I've looked at my ceiling so much

that I think I'm starting to see stars.

#hello everyone who is still here #poetry #writing

[im-mrs-brightside]

Almost Love

It was the warmest November night.

We stumbled and tumbled

down the sandy sidewalk,

.

flip flops in hand and

giddy good times in stride,

when you stopped for a smoke

.

and asked me for a light.

You're the offer I would never decline.

So I did the only thing that came to mind-

.

swallowed my pride and opened wide.

I breathed you in with salt and smoke,

and I think that's when you crawled inside.

.

I've always felt small.

With you I felt even smaller.

But when I gave you my lipstick

.

and you wore it all summer,

I knew there was no other.

That pink was now my favourite colour.

.

On new year's we watched

the sunrise on the shore

and when you offered me a smoke,

.

there it was, that pink stain.

I raised it to my lips and right then

knew it wasn't just my glass

.

that tasted like champagne.

#poetry

[im-mrs-brightside]

The Dominatrix

I am hard to love

but easy to widow.

I don't toss my pain around-

.

of course not.

It's evenly distributed,

almost selfless.

.

I think that might be a bit too devilish.

Perhaps a little careless.

Perhaps a little selfish.

.

All my friends are masochists.

Not by choice,

not by fetish-

.

simply by growth,

simply by gravity.

I learned the gentle touch

.

but never the honeyed words.

My tongue, still overzealous-

always telling,

.

forever a little biting,

forever a little jealous.

What even is there to do?

.

No option is the safest.

I fear I might be

a little bit of the greatest,

.

but terrifyingly,

also a little bit of a sadist.

It's all about the melodies.

.

Can you hear it?

The pain I create-

I at least try to make it poetic.

.

The strike pathetic

but the sensation always magnetic.

If I can ever make oxygen

.

taste just as cane sweet,

let them strangle me-

take away my hands,

.

take away the sugar air I breathe.

Because maybe if I feel

a taste of that bitterness,

.

or the burn of my lungs,

I might be shaken.

I might be surprised to find,

.

that in case I do survive-

I might actually be awake,

I might actually be alive.

#poetry #wow #shockingly not about bdsm for a poem titled the dominatrix

[im-mrs-brightside]

I was always so very intimidated by you on your main (and even anabolism) but here is like a blanket. Happy pride btw.

What does that mean??? Does that mean I'm less scary when you realise I have feelings lmao

[im-mrs-brightside]

2006

I knew a woman just like me.

We weren't the same,

but we were the same

.

in the sense that we were different.

We were the bad relatives,

the crazy cousins,

.

she was different like me

and I was different like her.

I knew a woman just like me-

.

she too was mad in the head

and full of tics.

I wish I could tell her

.

she didn't need any fix-

but before I ever could,

she died in 2006.

.

They called her hectic

just like they called me senseless.

They didn't get either of us,

.

and before they ever could,

she found a barbecue knife

and cut herself a necklace.

.

I didn't see it,

I didn't hear it,

I didn't know it.

.

Because this time wasn't the first,

the second,

or even the third.

.

I knew a woman just like me

who behind her eyes

had a raging war.

.

I knew a woman just like me

who walked herself to the grave

when I was only four.

#poetry #tw suicide #cw suicide #this is about my aunt Lúcia. she was neurodivergent just like me. #I didn't get to know her really because she died when I was a toddler #I still miss her though. my only relative who was just like me. #this is about my pessimism about being the only nd person in my family now because the only other nd person died tragically.

[im-mrs-brightside]

Mother

There's blood everywhere,

and it's not mine.

Mother-

.

you're bleeding.

I can't see the wound.

You're bruised, you're so cut-

.

your chest is wide open,

but I can't see the heartbreak,

I don't know where you're hurt.

.

Red, red, red, it's all I see.

Your bloody handprints,

your brunette roots,

.

a dripping IV.

What was it?

I was there, I was here.

.

I should remember,

but nothing's there,

nothing's clear.

.

They said you were on the floor.

They said your hands were

all over the bathroom mirror.

.

How could it be?

They were around my neck the whole time.

Your blood,

.

our blood,

marking my throat

from left to right-

.

choking me, but never killing me.

I see a bloody handprint around

your neck too, mother.

.

Who left it there?

I always feel like asking.

I know you'd never tell,

.

but at least you're living,

at least we're matching.

We're not that different.

.

I take after you, you know.

Your cigarettes-

and this I'd never tell-

.

I hate what they did to us,

but I can't not love the way they smell.

By the time we both go blind,

.

I'll be just like you.

Surrounded by ashes and liquor-

only if it's the expensive kind,

.

fancy perfume, designer shoes,

and the gold jewellery too.

It might seem ridiculous,

.

insulting,

perhaps even treasonous,

but look at us both, mother.

.

I can't get your blood

off my skin. I'm marked,

tattooed by your cuts.

.

And thus,

I'll never live to be you.

There's only enough blood in this womb

.

for the two of us.

So I won't bleed you dry, mother-

I'll never birth another one of us.

#poetry #I think this might be the longest one on here #I feel like I should content warning this but Idk what.

[im-mrs-brightside]

Ghost

Are these really my hands?

What are they worth?

How small can they really be if

.

I touch them to the ground

and melt into the earth?

I am a gravestone,

.

stiff and floral.

I think I might be gigantic.

I think I might be immortal.

#poetry #I'm so inspired today!

[im-mrs-brightside]

Sensory overload

I close my ears

like I close my eyes-

all it takes are twin shuts.

.

The whole world clears.

My skin is peeling-

sentenced to death

.

by a thousand cuts

under the white sun.

From flesh to bone;

.

sound by sound,

slice by slice,

each and every one.

.

I open them once more

under the tropical rays.

All over again, it sets me on fire-

.

it sets me ablaze.

Can I look?

Is it okay?

.

Still in my bloodless haze.

And still breathing, still heaving,

still living.

.

Still waiting.

Waiting to heal?

No. Waiting to see better days.

#poetry #stay breathing stay alive

[im-mrs-brightside]

Stop widowing me while I'm still alive. At least have the decency to wait until I'm dead.

#stream of consciousness #stop being so pessimistic about my life!!!

[im-mrs-brightside]

Pearls

I write the way clams make pearls.

The way some bodies

go into hospitals for surgeries

.

and leave in autopsies.

Why do I keep them, then?

These literary zombies?

..

Why? It's only logical.

See, I keep them for the same reason

there's always a morgue at any hospital.

#poetry #Ana wtf are you doing it's 5am check

[im-mrs-brightside]

The Goldfish

Tap, tap, tap.

I see that glitter-

fascination in your fish-eye.

.

But what do you see, coroner,

when you look through the glass?

I am watching, I am here.

.

Is it really water, doctor?

Because I hear that ethanol

is often just as clear.

.

Is there a prescription, doctor?

Is there anything at all,

bromazepam, morphine,

.

anything you could spare,

that would perhaps finally

let my lungs breathe that air?

.

Or is the fishbowl all there is,

a Nemo, the watcher,

a forever spectator

.

who will see the whole world

only through this water?

But what exists beyond the tank?

.

Would I be free?

Can I even breathe out there,

or will that oxygen suffocate me?

.

Nevermind.

This glass is a window

and my ceiling, a planetarium.

.

Besides, I'm thinking

the view might be just as good

from my little aquarium.

#poetry #I like this poem! #kinda proud of it #it's about how I view my autism amidst a largely neurotypical world

[im-mrs-brightside]

Bucket List

All I need before I go is to be happy.

Not like the kind

I've felt before-

.

that joy was hesitant...

it has to be more.

I mean the kind

.

that would make my chest warm

and yet my body light.

It can be temporary,

.

fleeting,

or perhaps even impolite-

but it must be absolute,

.

it must be right.

When I try to think

of anything else I want to do,

.

an extraordinary insight,

or something I'd like to find,

there's nothing I can conjure-

.

nothing else comes to mind.

I know how this seems.

You might find yourself

.

confused,

perhaps even astonished.

But truthfully,

.

that singular ease of spirit

is the one thing

I haven't yet accomplished.

#poetry #I like this one too ngl!

[im-mrs-brightside]

Ally

I miss you.

Not how I mourn a lost lover,

but how I mourn a good meal after it's done.

.

I don't want to stay,

I don't want to leave,

I just want to consume.

.

I might have a soulmate,

I might have a future,

but you are certainly neither one.

.

It's not beautiful but it'll do.

Because somewhere, I wish I missed

everything the same way I miss you.

#poetry #a short and simple one today guys

[im-mrs-brightside]

Juraci

I was born ten thousand years ago.

My roots are ancient-

old and rotten.

.

I have no more room to grow.

I am gigantic, great-

my footprints wide and my heart slow.

.

Ancient like an elephant.

I am a walking fossil-

a lifeless story of times gone.

.

My flesh is starting to roam.

Undressing my bones-

I'm outgrowing this skin I call home.

.

I'm uprooting myself.

Do not worry, I am not afraid-

I have nowhere to retreat.

.

And when I for once feel complete,

I hope none of you find yourselves

on the ground under my feet.

#Juraci is my grandmother's name #she's Native Brazilian and her name means motherly mouth in Tupi Guarani; a Native Brazilian language #poetry

[im-mrs-brightside]

The Pest

It was a garden.

I grew kinder, bright white

petals and roots that stretched 

.

for miles and miles.

From the south tropical green

of my stem to my destiny

.

that lied twelve hours by air

away from the flowering garden.

Ah, there he is!

.

The gardener!

He who makes it rain on me

to keep my petals white and pristine.

.

But you, yes you, gardener.

You poisoned my water and

coloured my petals black.

.

No sun could shine on me.

The flash of a camera was

the only light my legs could ever see.

.

You poisoned me, day by day,

until I thought it was medicine.

What was it? 

.

It was poison, yes, it was poison.

Not the kind like cyanide,

but the kind like morphine.

.

You poisoned me so much

that when you were taken

I began poisoning myself. 

.

Yes you, pest man.

The one with a wicked smile

and a cigarette in hand.

.

I saw you heave and club

long before they threw

you in the pen.

.

And if what I know is true,

my liver will burn out

long, long after your lungs do.

.

Even then, when they tossed you

in the can, 

I know what they went on to do.

.

By the powers of what is good,

let justice grab what she could not reach-

catch and kill that man.

.

Punch the light out of him.

Let no mercy be seen.

Let his end be grim.

.

What about where and when,

I see your face again?

I'll write about you then.

.

I'll kill you too,

again, again,

and again, and again.

.

Because now my mind is numb.

And I can slaughter men 

with the flick of a pen.

#poetry #wow a long one #cw sexual abuse #cw pedophilia

[im-mrs-brightside]

If I Stand Alone

If I stand alone, pay it no mind.

If it is my spotlight,

let me be selfish, unkind.

 .

If I stand alone, it is right.

If sole is how I was brought,

it is too how I will walk, upright.

 .

If I stand alone, do not be distraught.

For I am unshaken.

I am stronger than the past I fought.

 .

If I stand alone, do not be mistaken.

For in my eyes,

I have not been abandoned.

 .

It is not a curse in disguise; 

I am simply yet the first to rise.

#poetry