The Stranger

The Stranger

16 | she/her | No good

581
Writings
306
Followers
475
Following
Try Not To Mention God (HARD)

I move guided by hope

not sight.

I know that just the tiniest

bit of belief will get me

far, no matter if I’m blind.

I see fear of death in

the quiet brown of your eyes.

I see you are also worried,

worried you’ll have to pay

more than just your life.

I hear Him — all the time.

I hear Him — into day and

when mourning night.

I know, the sun was once

just empty light,

I know that we’ve only m...

Begging

There’s a girl somewhere

who leaves notes

in bathroom stalls, begging

people to stay alive.

In her eyes, she is still

eleven, and really,

she’s only begging herself.


You decide this girl is

a ghost, because you can’t

beg the past for something

the future already offers.


But you don’t see her eyes,

or how her hands pull at

her own arms,

bones shifting beneath

her skin.

You don’t see the year befo...

(W)hat(e)ver

I bare my teeth more than

I say _I love you._

To me, loving is

a threat bigger than death.

Only one can kill you

while you’re still alive.


It’s not that I meant

this blood, it’s just that

you told me red was

your favorite color,

and I panicked.


God, I’m so sorry.


-


_For some individuals, experiencing gentleness can unexpectedly trigger aggression. This often happens when the person has never e...

Shame Was A Thing Invented By My Mom

She died in that hospital bed

after I was born.

But I still find her body

in different places.


Sometimes in the bathroom.

Sometimes in the kitchen.

Once, in my room,

lying in my bed.


I lay next to her

and held my breath.

Tried to hear her heart,

but I only heard hell.


Voices, like the devil,

speaking in tongues.

I could only make out

the words evil and run.


My hands feel heavier

with every wor...

Tell Your Mother That I Love You

I think she’s mistaken

when she looks into your silver

eyes.

She yells at you, and sometimes

she cries.

But she doesn’t know what you

do late at night,

Or how that metal between

your fingers never feels right.


You know that time will pass,

And that these heavy feelings

surely won’t last.

But staring at the clock won’t

make it move fast,

And hurting yourself won’t

make you less sad.


I see you — I...

Please Don’t Make This One Rhyme

I search the grocery store aisles

for honey-flavored vinegar.

A smell I always seem to hate,

but a taste I still remember.


They don’t sell it like they used to,

with a note taped to the top—

warning of side effects,

and maybe even cops.


I didn’t expect they still would,

not after all this time.

But then again, I still find myself

waiting for you each day

to come and wash off my crimes.


If you’r...

Zero Hope

Answers I long so desperately for.

Blame I still chase, and guilt even more.


Crying to deaf ears and a blinded heart,

Dying, it seems, is when true living starts.


Everyone knows there’s a price to pay

For all that you keep and refuse to say.


Gracious our king—so humble, so wise.

How do we still choose pain over paradise?


I don’t know how far I’ve managed to come.

Justice, for me, has never mea...

My Brother

On a random Tuesday,

at 3:45 p.m., my brother texted me:

_Got hit by a truck. Nothing broken._

_At hospital. Call u later._

And when I went to visit him

an hour later,

my heart wrecked with worry,

he smiled and sort of shrugged

his shoulders.


This was his reaction whenever

anything bad or uncomfortable happened.

It annoyed me how stoic he was,

but then again, it made me happy

that things didn’t g...

One of the Greatest Poets I Ever Knew

With eyes ever so unknown

And a voice sent from Heaven,

With courage he’s shown

That days don’t end, we live to the next.

And to stop yourself from crying,

Sometimes crying is best.


With his words, he heals hearts

And travels seas.

He lets you know

You can be whoever you choose to be.


And in this, the sky stayed

Ever so blue,

And in this, he remained

One of the greatest poets I ever knew...

Could I Ever Summon a Voice

One day, hell split open

and threatened to swallow

the world whole,

because there was _too much_ peace.


The devil, in his accursed voice, said:

_We need destruction._

_It’s what we were made from._


And I almost agreed.

Because for so long,

we’ve spoken in so many versions of peace

that we’ve lost sight of what it really means.


We’ve been taught to believe

that peace is the absence of death,

of ...