i want to write something about the war, about a new-found
experience, a feeling behind the events we see, the pictures of broken limbs, children's eyes on stakes, lips trembling.

i want to be able to find a cure in-between my lines, or even
someone else's lines, just something somewhere;

i started this as a letter to explain the fucked-up day i had,
to explain why the world feels forced to crawl
while i feel forced to hide.

i start it all the same way, though, typing to a future,
and even a past while i pretend the present isn't as damaged
as it seems.

and i changed fonts three times. i took a color from my list, closed my eyes and chose, and i typed as if there was a purpose sitting beside the keyboard as it rests on my lap
and i changed my clothes four times. i took a shirt i hadn't worn since Savannah, and i could have taught a million lessons between now and then, i could have at least traded baseball cards on the sidewalk with the kids that lived beneath me.

i put on red lipstick. i don't know why. no one is here to see. but i put on the reddest color, i even placed it on my cheeks, and i stared out the dark windows. i stared down towards the grass as headlights seemed to pass every hour. it felt like days but i always say that. everything feels like days. i once said something about minutes turning into regrets even though i have none and i wrote this in a bathroom stall once while security banged on the door and my friend called out my name because it was late and the band had left, the place was closed. i was too drunk to answer but i wasn't too drunk to scribble some fake teenage philosophy on the wall. i wasn't wearing pants when i finally opened the door for them. i had to be carried out with my forehead wet from the water they splashed to keep me from passing out. and i begged to be taken to the hospital, "oh please have my stomach pumped, please don't arrest me, please call my mother but please don't" and i heard myself yelling these things and i didn't recognize the language used.

so i put on this red lipstick and i kissed the mirror. i kissed my hand. i kissed the places i could reach. i camouflaged the scratches, i cut my nails. i bled from these lips.

i wanted to start this as a letter. i wanted to explain why today was bad, why i let someone inside me that doesn't belong, why i always say i need to do the right things when i really don't want to, why i share my feelings with wishing wells, birthday candles but no living person ever knows.

i wanted something in this to strike a cord, to become a slash in a throat,

but i think i failed again.

05/02/2011

Author's Note:

"yeah well maybe I hurt you some, 
let's contrast and compare,
lift up your shirt, 
the wound isn't there"

- bright eyes

Posted on 05/03/2011
Copyright © 2025 Ava Blu

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 05/03/11 at 03:14 PM
The level of longing expressed in this is very, very beautifully handled. There's no pretension or a desperate plea for pity to be found. Everything is simply laid on the table, and the poem and perspective are that much better for it. Good stuff.
Posted by Timothy Wilson on 05/04/11 at 04:26 AM
I second what Gabe says. This is truly real. And perfecly constructed. Another mind blowing masterpiece for the evergrowing list of ava blue awesomeness
Posted by Anita Mac on 05/04/11 at 11:36 PM
I was copying lines to say they were my favorite, but the whole piece is just... perfect for what it is. You are so amazing, you know...? I hope so.
Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 05/05/11 at 08:41 PM
you make me want to write something as honest as this. i don't know how to say how incredible this is.
Posted by Charlie Morgan on 05/06/11 at 07:36 PM
...of all comments, tho i am in total agreement with them, i agree the mostest with morgan...this honesty is frightening.
Posted by Joan Serratelli on 05/06/11 at 09:22 PM
GREAT piece! Thank you!
Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 05/06/11 at 10:23 PM
You are one true poet, Ava Blu. Because you let  the insides of your words flow like waterfalls. Your authenticity is clear. I would love to see you published. Your poetry/writings outshine much of what I find on shelves these days.

This is another awesome poem.
Posted by Adele Cameron on 05/09/11 at 06:19 AM
it reads like a slow circle, it reads like a story meant to be told.
Posted by Julie Adams on 05/09/11 at 07:31 PM
Reading you makes me braver in the world. I am ever grateful to you for that. Peace to u always, poet xoxoxo ~jewels
Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 06/23/11 at 03:04 AM
I had to come back and favorite this. [ahem]I'm more choosey about favorites now than I was when I first started here :/ [/ahem] I love our notes to you here. Hope you're taking them to heart. I've missed your poems lately, dudette 
Posted by Richard Vince on 08/08/20 at 12:43 PM
not sure what i can say that others have not said in earlier comments. disarmingly honest, movingly real. the indefinable feeling of late night loneliness woven into words. this will stay with me.