poemeo

[poemeo]

i am never selfish.

i sit in the warmth of the shower. i am never selfish.

i have given so, so much, forced by hand to sacrifice so much.

thus goes the life of an elder child.

he pounds on the door,

yelling his need to take his second shower of the day.

i have not showered in days. i am never selfish.

he roars in frustration,

“you always do this,” he growls.

i stare at the wall, gently sudsing the scars i have earned from forcing my parents to learn what misery does to a child. i am never selfish.

he bears no such scars. i have no idea how to feel about it.

he walks away. “you’re so selfish,” he says.

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[poemeo]

i am not meant to interact. i am not meant to touch. i was made to react and revere; wax the poetry of another’s muse.

humans are fickle things. many of us forget the rest of us exist, so sure our own little bubbles are the ways of life for all.

this is my purpose. i fill the gaps. i am the inbetween every stranger, i am the one that hears the tree when no one’s around.

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[poemeo]

i met her, once. 3 years ago.

she was misery in human form. she cried, every night, whispering to the moon; “please, take this pain, take me with you.” i watched from the corner as she wept. it’s all i was ever able to do.

she’s long dead. i was there when they buried her. now, i only meet her in my own home, when i stare into my reflection for an hour too long.

she stands behind me, with scissors to her hair. tears rolling down her cheeks as tufts of severed self-worth fall to the floor.

“i was only 16,” she sobs. “i could not carry the weight of the world. i was only 16.”

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[poemeo]

my mother and i have a very strained relationship. it used to be a lot worse.

when i came out as trans, she didn’t say anything. we were driving, she drove in silence. she told me later that night that she always loved me, no matter what.

weeks later, her and i would be in a screaming match. where she tells me she gave birth to me, and raised me, and knows me better than anyone; she knows i’m not transgender.

it has been 2 years. time between then and now will keep increasing, but i will never look at my mother without seeing the face that hated me—the woman that looks at me as though i stole her child, her baby girl, and i don’t know how to tell her that i’m here, it’s me, i’m still your baby girl, i’ve just grown up.

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[poemeo]

if there will be no place here for me on earth, i will find my place in the stars

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[poemeo]

my mother gardens.

she always has. it’s one of her few hobbies, one of the few things keeping her time.

when i was little, she would come back inside, smelling of the outdoors—of sun, of sweat, of hard work, and the strength of a matriarch.

i used to love the smell. i would follow her around after she came back inside, hugging her and taking in the aroma before she shoved me away, stating she was too hot for my behavior.

now, i can only find the smell in passing. on the off chance that i leave something too close to an open window, and the scent of nature clings to it like an empty promise.

i miss my mother, i miss her gardens. it hurts, because she’s still there, her gardens flourishing. i’m the one who’s gone.

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[poemeo]

i wish we weren’t so stunted. i wish your father had been kinder, i wish my mother cared to hold me.

i wish i could say the things i yearn to say without feeling awkward, or guilty. because if the discomfort is not mine, it will be yours.

i wish we had lived more gentle lives, so that we knew how to be gentle with eachother. i wish we could loop our pinkies while walking. i wish i could say “i love you” randomly, instead of waiting till we part ways.

i wish i could slice apples for you. i wish i knew how.

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[poemeo]

i love you, and i miss you very much. i don’t have any reason for saying this, it just hurts to hold it, and i don’t know what to do about it other than speak it into existence.

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[poemeo]

i don’t know what to do without you. i sit in my room, drunk, and alone. i stare at the ceiling, knowing my day would’ve been filled with joy and laughter had you been here.

but you’re not here. you’re sick, and you’re miles away from me, and i can’t make soup for you. it would be cold by the time i reach you.

i love you so much it hurts to breathe. you’re the jelly to my peanut butter. i think to lose you, i’d have to lose myself.

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[poemeo]

it’s 20:37. it’s dark out. your room is dimly lit, only the desk lamp in the corner illuminating the space.

we are not touching. we feel no need. we are sitting separate, you and i, and truthfully, we’re not even talking. we’re not even looking. we feel no need.

i’ve loved you for nearly nineteen years. i’ve known you for only six.

our house is warm. it doesn’t exist yet, and neither does your dimly lit room, but it’s warm. and you’re too far away for me to sit in the same room as you, but you’re sitting with me anyways.

i miss you more than words can describe.

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[poemeo]

heaven is a room full of every pet you’ve ever had, waiting for you to come home

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[poemeo]

i am thinking. thinking of hours past, thinking of the world, thinking of the end.

i am thinking of the girls i saw holding hands and jumping up and down together, excited about something i will never know.

i am thinking of the bird that built a nest on my house’s front door, and the eggs that have been laid in it.

i am thinking of the night my dog passed, when she ate her last treat, the life left her eyes, and her shaking finally ceased.

i am thinking of you, and the love i hold for you, the love that sits right next to my heart. i am thinking of you, and the times we held hands, and jumped up and down, and spoke of things only we knew. i am thinking of you, and the times we made new beginnings together, in places we probably shouldn’t. i am thinking of you, and how you and i are both here on a limit, and eventually, that time will be up.

i don’t know who will leave first. but i hope we leave together, holding hands, giving one-another our last treat.

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[poemeo]

i’ve stared at the stars before, many times,

but i’ve never stared at the sun.

most have not, in fact,

very few have.

there’s that childhood curiosity,

that led my eyes

to the bright ball of beauty,

before snapping away in pain.

and i wonder,

how the sun feels,

when she keeps us warm,

gives us light,

keeps us safe,

and yet we refuse to look.

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[poemeo]

i believe in soulmates.

though—and bear with me here—we were never destined to be.

the stars don’t have a constellation awaiting us, nobody held their breath, hoping for our paths to cross.

you and i simply found each other, and we created a home in our hearts for one another, and now i can’t imagine waking up tomorrow without you waking up too.

you’re my soulmate, in the sense of my soul having picked yours up, held it to the light, and declared softly: you are the other part of me.

#a poem for my platonic soulmate #poem #poemblr #poetry #original poem #tumblr poets #love poem #platonic love #platonic love poem #platonic

[poemeo]

this shits ass bro

your mom sucks my ass till i shit, bro

[poemeo]

there’s a thousand different emotions in my voice as i speak to you. love, hate, devotion, detest; how could you be so perfect yet so detrimental?

there exists a life where i hate you. there exists a life, one where i never forgave you, and maybe it’s the life i deserved. maybe it’s the life i should’ve lived. maybe it’s the life that saved you, maybe it’s the life where i never had to forgive in the first place. maybe it’s the life where everything’s perfect, and it’s just you and i and a picket fence, and a dog. maybe it’s the life where we’re on opposite sides of the glass, and there’s cracks from where i tried to reach you. maybe it’s the life i dreaded. maybe it’s the life i needed.

who am i to you? do you even know?

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[poemeo]

odd. nostalgia for a time not long ago, when i was only slightly younger and only slightly dumber.

what would he think of me now? what would he say? i have not changed much. i am a brand new man.

there are open eyes staring back at me. i hold his hand in mine. i like to think, though it may be foolishly hopeful, that he’d be the tiniest bit proud.

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