Posts tagged with ‘poetry’

(Source: livemylief)

staying up late with a pencil.


i remember being young
and letting eraser shavings hit the ground.
i remember drawing on paper.
getting lost.
i remember my eyes glazed over.

i look down on the ground.
i haven’t used an eraser in what seems like years.
i remember being young.
i write down a note
to sweep the floor tomorrow. 

(Source: jessesummer)

The problem with elevation.


I woke up for the first time not wanting to fall back asleep.
The pain in my arm is dwindling.
I woke up without an alarm.

At the end of the weekend I just want to shout expletives towards the sky while smiling and eating summer fruits and contemplating my existence.

Seeing your face in my eyes.
Seeing my face in your eyes.
Singing with the radio.

I woke up for the first time with a goal.

At the end of the day I want the next day to arrive quickly, knowing that only brings me closer to something dark, but also to a metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel, in some in-explicative way.

I woke up feeling your skin in my hand.

(Source: jessesummer)

on dealing with existence.


i have difficultly discerning my feelings.

i want to lie in bed all day.

i have a feeling in my right arm.

i am not as worried as i feel like i should be.
no one is as worried as i feel they should be.
all worry is inexplicable.
it is unnecessary.

so many things are out of our control.
so many things are in our control.

i want to feel a certain sadness.

i want to feel every possible variation of joy.

i want to live for an extended period of time.

i do not want to live in space.
space conjures fear.
warranted fear of existence.

i want to sleep soundly tonight.

i want to wake up relaxed and prepared.

i want to enjoy.

(Source: jessesummer)

oh god, up on a roof


i sat on a roof.
titled my head back.
viewed the world upside down.
life seemed empty.
like i could fall off of the earth.
i got up and wanted to vomit.
could be the movement.

i could die right now.

there’s no explanation.

(Source: jessesummer)

poem for jv, 5 parts


hearing birds chirp
before i’ve had the chance to reach my bed
is one of the most painful reoccurrences
in my life.

it only takes me one hour and forty seven minutes
to walk from one end of this city to the other.
i could walk farther,
but shit gets dark past a certain point
and i don’t think a familiar face
would be anywhere near those parts.

i fell asleep watching ‘how to train your dragon’
on dvd for the sixth night in a row.
i woke up to the menu looping over and over.
the same 15 second song played a hundred times.
i dreamt of teeth and black scarves and allergies.

walking backwards feels scary and cathartic.
i know these streets with my eyes closed
so i walked backwards downhill for three miles
before turning around and walking another
three miles backwards uphill to my front door.

some days i don’t look for you at all.

(Source:, via sarahjeanalex)

untitled 4


As I contemplate my experience, I cannot help but compare it to everyone else’s.
I stand in the shower and let the hot water run over my back; I feel nothing.

There is a dead fly stuck to the side of the shower door.
Upon closer inspection, the fly is alive.
His wings are pressed against the glass, as if the massive drop of water (in comparison to his body) has transformed into glue.
His legs wiggle.
I contemplate killing the fly.
I don’t kill the fly.
Instead I rinse soap off of my arms and step out of the shower.
10 minutes have passed and I feel nothing.
It is 12:30.

When midnight strikes, there should be commotion.

In my mind there is always commotion.

I keep myself busy by telling myself that everyone else isn’t busy.
That while I waste 6 hours in my desk chair,
Everyone else I know is wasting 6 hours in a desk chair.
If only our lives weren’t so interesting.
If only.
Whatever it takes to get to sleep at night.

Lately I don’t fall asleep before 3 o’clock.
I always wake up feeling fuzzy; grainy like a photograph.
Low aperture.
High ISO.

At the end of the day, my existence feels like chalk;
like I could crumble it with my fingers, in a motion much like a fly’s feet would move if it were glued to a flat surface.

I contemplate starting over, but get a fluffy feeling in my stomach.

Starting everything over again.

I see a small red spider crawl across my computer screen and crush it with my thumb.
I half-expect to hear a sound.
Maybe a squish or a pop.

Instead, I grab a t-shirt and wipe the spider’s body off of my screen.

A streak of blood.

I feel nothing.

(Source: jessesummer)


this is going to be a poem, 2012

she is a terrible server and a terrible person


at the end of the night, all i have had to eat is a tuna sandwich.

things are getting better.
things are going great.
things that i say out loud to convince myself things are getting better.

sometimes my cat purrs so loud that he makes a squeaking noise.
at least three times per month i wonder if being a housecat is a living hell.

i want to wake up to things being completely the opposite of what they were before.
i want to have a girl invite herself over to make popcorn and watch ‘forgetting sarah marshall.’
i want a girl to meet me at my apartment after work to make bread.
i want a girl who dresses well to walk down five city blocks with me while holding a cup of coffee and discussing the events of her favorite reality tv show from the previous night.

at the end of the day, my room is a mess and my stomach feels empty.

(Source: jessesummer)


work poem, 2012

I now have a place to put my writing. I promise they won’t all be horrifically sad in some way. 


work poem, 2012

I now have a place to put my writing. I promise they won’t all be horrifically sad in some way. 

(via jessesummer)