salt & paper
I tell myself that every freckle is a lesson learned.
A time when I should have died but lived,
Said words that ought to be forgotten,
And loved much too freely.
They come steadily in time, like a graying hair or a fading smile.
As it does, life moves too fast,
And it's only when you stop and look do you realize they're there.
Count them, count them all.
One my pinky. For the time I turned the wheel but not enough.
Thank God.
Another on my knee for the water stuck in my lungs.
Gasp. Let it out. Gasp. Let it go. It's not over.
And one the arm I once so desperately tried to destroy.
The skin comes off. And comes back.
And comes off.
And yet my freckle is still there.
Words taken back, if only you could.
Count them, count them all.
One, I will wait for you.
Two, rot in hell.
Three, waste of breath.
And where should the better ones rest but on my face.
Count them, count them all.
Far too many to fit on all these fingers and toes I was blessed with.
One, two, three, four,
Tell me that you love me more.
Dozens.
Marked for all the kisses I have wasted.
You should only be so lucky.
And yet I am all too generous.
So I sit on nights like these,
Staring at a mirror and recounting my pasts,
And wishing someone would come and save me.
Come kiss these marks of mine,
For once, I think I deserve it.
And if you can't do this, my sweet friend,
Bring me the roughest sandpaper you can find,
So I can begin erasing and re-writing.
For the only thing I love more than the open wound is the salt.
I haven't written in years. And the first time I do, it gets bad reviews.
I woke up and wanted a change today. And since I can't drop 20 pounds in 20 minutes, I dyed my hair instead. Maybe I'll just shave it next time.
A time when I should have died but lived,
Said words that ought to be forgotten,
And loved much too freely.
They come steadily in time, like a graying hair or a fading smile.
As it does, life moves too fast,
And it's only when you stop and look do you realize they're there.
Count them, count them all.
One my pinky. For the time I turned the wheel but not enough.
Thank God.
Another on my knee for the water stuck in my lungs.
Gasp. Let it out. Gasp. Let it go. It's not over.
And one the arm I once so desperately tried to destroy.
The skin comes off. And comes back.
And comes off.
And yet my freckle is still there.
Words taken back, if only you could.
Count them, count them all.
One, I will wait for you.
Two, rot in hell.
Three, waste of breath.
And where should the better ones rest but on my face.
Count them, count them all.
Far too many to fit on all these fingers and toes I was blessed with.
One, two, three, four,
Tell me that you love me more.
Dozens.
Marked for all the kisses I have wasted.
You should only be so lucky.
And yet I am all too generous.
So I sit on nights like these,
Staring at a mirror and recounting my pasts,
And wishing someone would come and save me.
Come kiss these marks of mine,
For once, I think I deserve it.
And if you can't do this, my sweet friend,
Bring me the roughest sandpaper you can find,
So I can begin erasing and re-writing.
For the only thing I love more than the open wound is the salt.
I haven't written in years. And the first time I do, it gets bad reviews.
I woke up and wanted a change today. And since I can't drop 20 pounds in 20 minutes, I dyed my hair instead. Maybe I'll just shave it next time.