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You want to talk about my poems but those are not words
I have to give you. I am busy still living in the city where we
fell in love. I’ve papered the walls of my bedroom with maps
of the places that leave your name on my tongue. This is not
the best way to forget you but it’s better than drinking alone.

This black line snakes across the river from my apartment to
your dirty kitchen. I miss the way your breath felt on my neck.
I can’t say I miss you without flinching

The blue dots are the bar stools where we drank whiskey as
I apologized for being a world-class bitch. The green star is
the diner where we got coffee the first morning we woke up
together. I want a tattoo of the first morning we woke up to-
gether. I want the memory to hurt.

There is a burn mark at the center of the Hawthorne Bridge
and you know why. We don’t need to talk about it. I am so
sorry. I am the wrong kind of strong.

I am mad at you because these days being mad at you is as
close as I get to kissing your forehead. It keeps raining but
nothing looks cleaner. Everything in Portland is a postcard
saying “Wish You Were Here!” So many of the books in my
bedroom used to be your books.

Clementine von Radics, “Everything in Portland is a Postcard Saying ‘Wish You Were Here!’” (via poetrist)

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I want you…

Secure, like a promise on a postcard in my back pocket.

Standing sock-footed and sleepy-eyed in my bathroom.

Desperately, the way I wanted cigarettes two days after I quit. The way I wanted him to come home the first night after he left.

Bone to Bone. Naked. Raw. Hungry.

The way your father never wanted your mother.

Like a promise I will never be lonely again.

Out of duty, like when soldiers return to war.

Because every lover before you has turned away when I still had handfuls of love to give them.

Because she broke you down into pieces that were easier to swallow.

And I’m hungry for the life you lead; I want to fuck my way into it.

So I watch you like a wild animal. Always admiring, awed, and afraid.

The way we’ve both poured whiskey down our throats like it would save us.

Trapped, collected like a photograph in a locket.

Out of gratitude. Only you could forgive the way I can never be alone.

Less than I want others who don’t want me.

Because you remind me of the city skyline reflected in the river.

Because I remind you of the guard rail that keeps you from jumping into the water.

Because I have always wanted to be a soldier, and loving you is a battle.

I Want You…

Clementine von Radics

(via nikitaduncan)

27,639 notes

I buy all your favorite foods so I will be ready when you come home
because once I did this and you said “This is how I know you love

I go on long walks alone and think about a poem my friend wrote
that goes ”This is how you die by distance.

I hum the sound of the dial tone under my breath.

I stare at my hands and wonder at their uses. I consider pawning
my thighs. I consider auctioning off my hip bones. I put my breasts in
a box on the top shelf of the closet. I do not need them now.

I think of all the things I have to tell you when I will see you.
Stories like:
I just found out pumpkins are technically fruits
Cary Grant’s first job was in a traveling circus
Most mammals are born able to walk and learn to run within minutes, so we are not crazy for moving so fast.

This morning I wrote your name in the steam on my mirror, even though I knew it would fade within minutes

In my best notebook I wrote “I miss you” ten thousand times.

I wrote “I think I am missing one of my ribs”

I wrote “I envy the way leaves know exactly when to fall from the branches and when to come back in the spring”

I wrote “Everyone else isn’t you. It turns out that’s a huge problem for me.”

-Things I Do When I Cannot Hold You, Clementine von Radics (via clementinevonradics)

(Source: clementinevonradics)

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We are not in love. Not the way I’ve been told
being in love feels like. But we have been sleeping
beside each other for so many nights and I
am the most beautiful doormat you have ever
walked over.
Clementine von RadicsThis Is How We Lose Ourselves (via larmoyante)

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I want a tattoo of the first morning we woke up together. I want the memory to hurt.
Clementine von Radics, excerpt from Everything in Portland Is a Postcard Saying “Wish You Were Here!” (via larmoyante)

71,972 notes

I stopped going to therapy
because I knew my therapist was right
and I wanted to keep being wrong.
I wanted to keep my bad habits
like charms on a bracelet.
I did not want to be brave.
I think I like my brain best
in a bar fight with my heart.
I think I like myself a little broken.
I’m ok if that makes me less loved.
I like poetry better than therapy anyway.
The poems never judge me
for healing wrong.
-Clementine von Radics (via clementinevonradics)

(Source: clementinevonradics)