My lips form words But they don't reach your ears And hang in the air Dispersed by a soft breeze And I feel isolated Surrounded by a claustrophobic foam That won't allow words to escape Or muddles them to the point of misunderstanding The signal is weak And I can't reach you I can't reach anyone Ttoille has struggled with anxiety and depression for their entire life, dealing with a family who didn’t understand it and living in an environment of people who chose not to. Poetry
“tell me something good,” you say.
“not with your words...”
my brain sputters the same way
my jeep does
struggling to find the ideal
air to gas ratio.
i don’t know much good,
or if I do it fleets me
the same way a mountain sheds
it’s excess water
into rivers and streams and creeks,
eventually leading to the ocean
that is my brain.
this vast expanse of nothingness
full of unknown creatures, thoughts, feelings.
things that you, or I, will
I wasn’t kidding when I said
“You kill me, kid”
Deep, hot breath like fire in my bones and
Your hands two stitches sewing up my hips I got so drunk off the scent of your skin
Blood loss by a bitten bottom lip
Blindness, because the look in your eyes was no match for mine
Cause of death: side smiling Are these love-bites or lacerations
Handprints where they shouldn’t be
Chicken pox goosebumps
98.6 degree burns where you touched me Walk-of-shame eyebags
Nausea from ne
I think it’s about time you buy new bones
Because I want you to be healthy
So you can outlive me
And then I will be bones
And I will be alone
And there will be a single rose sticking through my ribcage
Sticking through my bones
There will be birds and there will be words
Like I have never heard
Because unlike you, robins never weep and
Marrow doesn’t keep and
You don’t know this now
But one day we’ll be bones somehow
Do not grieve, little bird, you'll lose your w
My hero doesn’t wear a skirt made of steel.
She wears a shirt from K-Mart dated in 2003.
My hero doesn’t fight crimes.
She fights gangrene and sores that don’t heal.
My hero doesn’t carry a sword.
She carries the weight of the world. My hero doesn’t wear a cape.
He wears a button down with the sleeves rolled up.
My hero doesn’t have a long planned out speech.
He knows his actions speak louder than words.
My hero isn’t always there to save the day.
He finds a way to
(Original in Afrikaans) ek skilder myself vas
in ’n winterboom sodat
die lente kan kom
maar die impastogreep van bas kramp krom en dig ’n blou kring om die kind se mond totdat botsel-oë
ewig sluit klein gebalde vuisies gestuip hemelwaarts rig (English Translation) I embed myself with paint
in a tree that grows bare
to rebirth colors and light air but the impasto-grasp of bark is a holdfast of denser words tightening hardening back labor a blue rhyme