Do you think I could still be a writer if I let the saddest parts of me go?
Tag: spokenword
meet me in aisle 7.
On our first date, we washed our cars. I'm talkin' bell bottom jeans in the middle of summer, compensated with a sun hat; he cleaned my sun roof while I scrubbed his hatchback. When I wasn't looking, he stuck a note inside my glove box. On our second date, we went to the store. Split … Continue reading meet me in aisle 7.
bon voyage.
he was the anchor tied to my feet and love was the ocean I drowned in.
the five stages of love.
The first one never counts. Odds are you were in middle school, crushing on the popular boy who called you buff and you took it as a compliment because you didn’t understand what it meant. But then you lost the weight and found a boy who loved your body, not your soul. That one doesn’t … Continue reading the five stages of love.
dried up waiting to be watered.
she stands there looking to him wishing he'd move closer wishing he'd take a step she stands there knee deep in wet concrete time passes and the concrete hardens she's paralyzed wishing she had moved when she had the chance now he looks to her as if she's the most beautiful statue he's ever seen … Continue reading dried up waiting to be watered.
7:01 a.m.
the sun creeps over the horizon, blinding eyes that haven’t gone to sleep yet; bright and blinding, but beautiful. the warmth coats my skin as i lay down to rest for the night; completely satisfied with the notion that your eyes are what fueled the morning, you’re its coffee; sweet with a touch of new … Continue reading 7:01 a.m.
don’t turn off the lights.
When it’s dark and silent — that’s when I think the most. I lie awake and stare into the void that I know would be my ceiling if I flipped on the switch, but I just lie there, thinking. Most of the time about my heart; the person it aches for, beats for. Other times I … Continue reading don’t turn off the lights.
silent—a messy poem.
walls so thin i can hear my sister on facetime with the boy who loves her and with the boy she loves the call ends and for a moment, it's silent 2am rolls around and i wake up to a phone call ringing from two doors down my other sister answers and i lie awake … Continue reading silent—a messy poem.
moved without moving.
I still had all my belongings packed up in boxes waiting for the moment when I got to load them into my car and drive away forever I haven't unpacked them yet because a part of me still hopes this isn't the end. because we were going to move together escape. together. just yesterday you … Continue reading moved without moving.
B.K Laurel 