Category Archives: Poems

Missing me

I miss you
I miss you when I’m at home, alone having dinner
I miss you when I’m on the train
in class
in bed
in my dreams
But the worst is when I’m surrounded by people
because all these people remind me so much of how they are not you

When I miss you
I don’t know what to do with myself
I want to wallow in missing you
to yearn for your presence
your voice and your playful, joking manner
All the while I want it to go away
to forget and erase your very existence from my mind
from my memory

Which just leaves me stranded at a confused unstable crossroads
And so I deny I miss you
because I don’t want to
The crossroads suck

Missing you means
Makes me feel, I mean
and weak
To realize that one’s own existence is so intricately tied with another’s
is really fucking scary

But admitting it is the first step to its departure
I guess
So, I miss you.

And spending time missing you
means indulging in your present nonexistence
instead of gallivanting in the opportunities and fortunes
of my own

I don’t want to be happy when you’re happy
because you’re happy
I don’t want to be happy when you’re here
because you’re here

I want the here and now of me
without you

’cause now I’m missing me


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and Rage

–and rage will overcome us
filling us to the brim until
the past is very well forgotten
the future is nonexistent
and the present is a fire alarm
ringing, ringing, ringing
rings that pierce the air and

–and rage will consume us
eating away at Reason
plowing through patience
decimating compassion
pushing, pushing and pushing
words more articulate and to the point
than our words have ever been
but still biting and

–and rage will destroy us
when only the echoes of your words are left
and rage’s rings still resonate throughout.
My deepest regrets to you and control
who have both gone. I have driven
you away,

And rage has left me alone.

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Dear life,
Let me stay a while
like this.
Let me forget the work
the choices, the obligations
for a while,
even just a little while.

Make this moment stay a while.
Let me be held here
between my bed and exhaustion
before real life comes charging back.

–because I’ve realized
I’m so rarely happy these days
so rarely pleased with anything
by anything
that I need this.

I need this, this artificial satisfaction of
walking the precipice between
collapse and respite
feeding off each other
magnifying each other

their discrepancy enveloping me in anti-spacetime
where how things are, or will be
should be or were

just, stay.

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