Jan 5,2014
0 notes

when we started with loneliness
the midnight before deadlines
i met you in mild panic
out loud in the dark sheets,
you heard that i did not want you.

when you flew me to another country
where i first tasted recovery
in the form of money, the ocean,
city lights and wine
you saw that i did not want you.

when the music played on the screen
and you watched me read
the map to another life
far from you
know that i still did not want you.

when i graduated in silence
you told me my scars were worth
far more than my diploma ever did
i said that i did not care
i did not want you.

when my parents left me alone
with half of you left
I was shaken, excited,
scared
i did not want any more
of you.

when you saw the kisses lingering
in the fluorescent hallway
you heard me tell him,
begging the both of you,
to stay longer with me.

(you knew that really,
i did not want you there)

and now we are over
you have taught me so much
but truthfully,
even now that you are gone
i do not want you back.

Letter to 2013, F.Z.

-

017/365, January 5th, 2013

Jan 3,2014
4 notes
Why do you paint over the stars
on your face?
If you linked the space between
your freckles
they would form constellations,
that if you looked closely enough,
rival the ones in the sky.
Your heart is a black hole, and
the ache you feel when you warn
satellite hands away in dark basements
“I don’t kiss strangers.”
is a precaution you take
to make sure you do not swallow them whole.
The mornings when you wake up
to feel the sun shining on your skin
are the days when
sunbursts rise from your eyes,
you cannot hold them in
and you set on fire
your reflection in the mirror
with a gaze.
You are afraid of aging
you say you would rather burst into a supernova
instead of smoldering quietly out.
The bags under your eyes
are invisible to everybody except yourself
they are pockets of meteor dust
that you sweep away with your hands.
You are eighteen
and you see the fine lines around your eyes
But they are map lines, my dear.
They are to be read with the
coordinates on your lips,
The ones that direct a smile
to the person who calls you beautiful
when you know you are not
When you know you are more than that,
when you know you are the universe,
and you have not discovered a planet
within you
that can sustain life,
you have not discovered a planet
that can sustain love.

From the Observatory, F.Z.

-

016/365 | January 3rd, 2013

Dec 30,2013
0 notes

New year, new start. I’ve been reading more poetry lately and I’m ashamed that I’m not creating my own. Here’s to another attempt.

Jun 27,2013
2 notes

the amount of abandonment you’ve faced

can be directly attributed

to the number of words

you do not say

-

015/365 | June 27th, 2013

Jun 2,2013
2 notes
May 28,2013
1 note

Commencement Speech for Phoenix

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May 20,2013
1 note

no sleep, dead face

these are the aftereffects

of receding too far into surreal worlds

the ones that really aren’t supposed to exist,

because if they do, only if they did—

the real world doesn’t seem like the world

I’d want to live in anymore.

-

012/365 | May 20th, 2013

Apr 30,2013
0 notes

"When we first moved into this house, there were two beautiful young saplings in our front yard. My parents said that one belonged to me, and the other belonged to my sister. Slowly, over the course of the next two years, my sister’s tree started to die. When it finally became apparent that it was never going to grow leaves again, my parents contemplated replacing it. After my tree was blown over during a storm one night, my parents eventually replaced both trees with two new young pear saplings. The one that sat on my old tree’s plot began dying again two or three years later, while my sister’s tree flourished and gave really nice pears. Just last weekend, after a buffet lunch with my parents and grandparents and my baby sister, we went tree shopping again. My grandpa decided that a flowering pear tree would be easy to maintain, despite the words of this random stranger who happened to buy two peach trees (he seemed annoyed that we had stolen his sales rep to select our tree). My parents were hesitant, and my grandmother wanted a fruit tree. I wanted the flowering pear tree, like my grandpa, because I wanted the indecisiveness to be over.

So now, there it sits. In our front yard, a well-established pear tree that’s slowly bursting forth with fruit again, and a slender, fragile young pear tree that can only flower, but will probably never fruit. 

Seven years in this house, and there have been five trees in our front yard.

The one thing that amazes me the most when I see dead trees is that they’re still able to stand up.” 

-

011/365 | April 30th, 2013

Apr 27,2013
33 notes
Apr 21,2013
3 notes

TO MOTHERS 
(or parents, in general, who think too much about their child but don’t actually see them, who push their daughters and pressure their sons, who love blindly and don’t see that we simply want to make them proud)

what you do so effortlessly,
so carelessly, so quickly,
affects every concept we have of ourselves

every person you compare us to
is every person we want to destroy.
rip them apart, 
eat them alive,
stand upon those comparisons,  
a mountain of broken acquaintances, 
and tell you 
scream to you 
"I’m better than they are."
that we’re the best you could ever have

but after every victory we face
after every tribulation we survive 
there’s always one more person 
whose perfections bring out the faults in ours

and you’re there
letting words slip out of your mouth 
telling us again 
that we’re not good enough, 
that we’re never going to be.

We learned eventually
that you don’t do it on purpose 
that it’s in your nature 
(in our nature) 
to be judgmental and vicious and racist and hypocritical.

even now 
We see ourselves turning into a copy of you 
letting careless words lead to careful destruction 
annihilation of self esteem 
reminding us that there’s always somebody better

some of us have gotten so good at justification 
that we can pass this off as weathering 
"If I live through this I’ll be stronger."
we whisper unconvincingly 

but the only problem  
is that the more we live 
the less we want to

because the comparisons don’t stop
the endless reminders don’t end 
that 
"I’ll never be good enough." 
"I’ll never be good enough." 
"I’ll never be good enough."

-

009/365 | April 21st, 2013

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