Winter Poems

Nights are hard. Crying myself to sleep is hard.
I take sleeping and anxiety pills together because at night I cannot calm down and I can’t get to sleep without them.
They put me in a welcome fog. In a fog that I can’t function in it. It’s good though, because I just need to sleep right now.
Falling asleep not gently because of these meds is hard and weird and scary, but comforting somehow. I just don’t have to be sad for much longer when I take them. There’s an end in sight.
I’m actually tired of being lulled into sleep by an outside force, but I can’t stay awake because nights are too hard.
I’d rather not fall asleep crying. I would rather the medicine knock me out cold. I would rather the fog overcome me. I don’t want to shake in my bed and keep turning my pillow over and over because my tears drench every part of it.
I want to sleep peacefully. Sleeping peacefully is deceptive when you only sleep because of the pills. It’s not really a quick fix. It’s not a fix at all.
The reasons for those tears are still there in the morning when the medicine wears off and the fog lifts.
And once I wake up, the dulled memories come back into sharp focus and now I’m crying in the morning and so now –
Mornings are hard… putting on mascara while crying is hard


I miss the man who was mean to me
I was mean to him too
It all came from passion though
It was our particular brand of chaos


Our relationship should be wrapped in caution tape
I wish orange cones advocating for a slow, careful progression lined the stairs to your apartment
Blinking lights should come standard on your incoming calls
Despite all that, I’d continue on, I think
It’s human nature to test boundaries
You don’t know your limits until you cross them


There are no huge lies,
No earth-shattering revelations
But if you white lie a little each day,
I am forced to keep my reservations.


Must I be completely broken to write well?
I guess depression could be my only talent
Simply too boring to write while content;
the words in happy, easy moments aren’t powerful, but stale
Passion truly comes only from pain
This is the reason we all self-destruct


Just be yourself — they say
Well, which one — I respond
Which one this day?


You took the best parts of me for too long
Now that you’re gone, I’ve got me all to myself


How can we, the sensitive hearts, handle such hate?
When we are so grossly outnumbered, how do we fight?
How are we supposed to spread light, or even hold onto our own?
Seemingly nothing will chip away, nothing will ever lessen the world’s pain
Hopeless is our call to love

But maybe not
The one way to counter hate, to ease pain and turmoil,
is to love harder than others hate
Courageous love; that’s our bread and butter
Love for no reason; love for love’s sake
We do that anyway
We cannot stop
This is our fight, those whose hearts have already hardened won’t take up arms
We are warriors of love, armed with empathy, understanding, and that soft heart
We were born for this


Please do not cut or burn your skin until we’ve had a chance to paint it,
for we can paint in colors more vivid than blood, I promise you this
We will paint onto our skin sunflowers and starbursts that rival real life blooms
Don’t cover your body with cotton and clothes anymore, but with paint and glitter
We’ll pull the brushes over any part of our bodies that we wrongly deem as “un-lovely” or “unworthy”
Covering them in petals so beautiful you’ll never want to wash them off
Allow me to show you that your body can absorb paint better than a razor or a flame
Give yourself a chance to see your body as beautiful as I do
As delicate and lovely and colorful as any flower
For only when you see yourself through my eyes will you cherish your skin like I do
We’ll paint you in better colors than any scar could ever be
If we paint enough maybe… finally….
You will see your skin as precious and beautiful even when the paint comes off



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