Poetry

– Erin Hanson

Poetry

…you are all the books you read,
And all the words you speak,
You are your croaky morning voice,
And the smiles you try to hide,
You are the sweetness in your laughter,
And every tear you’ve cried,
You’re the songs you sing so loudly,
when you know you’re all alone,
You’re the places you’ve been to,
And the one you call home,
You’re the things that you believe in,
And the people that you love,
You’re the photos in your bedroom.
And the future you dream of,
You’re made of so much beauty,
But it seems you forgot,
When you decided that you were defined,
By all the things you’re not.

Not 

– Finn Butler

Poetry

Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water. And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes you cannot even breathe deeply, and the night sky is no home, and you have cried yourself to sleep enough times that you are down to your last two percent, but nothing is infinite, not even loss.

You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day you are going to find yourself again.

‘Saltwater’

S.M

Poetry

When I stare into your eyes
and you stare back into mine
I don’t just see the surface
I see the galaxies as they hide.

And for those fleeting moments
I know not of gruesome thoughts
but rather of the cosmos
the stars, your eyes have caught. 

It’s as if you swallowed night
just to take my breath away
the universe is endless
and my feelings are the same. 

Striking depths of space I see
your eyes provide this view
what do you think while you search mine?
All I think is, ‘I love you.’ 

– Anonymous

Poetry

“I knew you were no good for me because when you stood in front of her, your eyes swallowed her smile until you wore one too. I pictured her choking to death on her long hair before I realised she wasn’t the reason I was upset.

A few facts about me since the advent of you: I don’t put peanut butter on both sides of the sandwich anymore and I never leave milk out on the counter because you’re right, it’s gross. I sleep with a cat and a dog in my bed partly because they’re warm and partly because when I wake up screaming, they have no words to ask me what I’ve been seeing. I run every day now but I still have not managed to escape you. Whenever I breathe too deeply I can taste the tobacco of your kisses at the bottom of my lungs. Last night I set seven alarms and slept through all of them on purpose. I am no longer held together by your stitches and it feels like all the limbs that you had your hands on are slowly drifting like continents away from each other so one day I will be lost in space, all in pieces like broken pottery.

I miss you more than I can say.”