Charlotte e.e. Griffiths - POETRY

POEM - lights off

Thu, 28 Jan 2021 03:35:00 +0000

the things that eat at me are far deeper

and much

much more entangled

than the worms or the hemorrhoids or

the lost lovers.

there's a darkness

in all of us

of course

and

i pretend,

i catch the shadow from the

light

in different

dim and

glimmer and

i wash my hands of

it.

but the

blood will

not

wash off; it

never really

leaves

the best

of us.

this darkness is not

something easily

stomached and

maybe

that is why the bowels are

irritable and the

anus is inflamed.

and i don't blame them.

this spew of life

into stagnant verse

over closed casket

still

waits at night and

i am always

too

polite to

tell the truth.

please, tell

me you've got it

figured out

this time.

- Charlotte E.E. Griffiths

@C.G.POETRY

POEM - spilt milk

Thu, 01 Oct 2020 02:37:00 +0000

it's all death, despondency and dissociation through the day and

sometimes for weeks or months on end. i think i've

woken up three times this year

alone to the realisation i have not stopped hurting

and i'm not going to get better until i stop just "getting through

it".

you can't just get through it.

pain demands to be felt.

pain fucking demands to be felt

and if you ignore it

you will go mad.

i have been avoiding this conversation for years but i

am not okay. i am afraid of abandonment

and i am afraid of disappointment and i am afraid

that every single thing in this world experiences undeserved

pain and i cannot stop that; i cannot stop

any of it.

my father told me years ago that there is no point crying

over this magnitude of milk but i just can't

stop.

i just can't stop watching the sidewalk and

seeing all the cuts and gutters and shadows and

knowing where they started. i don't want death or

destruction or loss i want love. i want love for everyone

in the room from the moment they enter it to the second they

leave, but i can't

promise that. i can't promise it

to myself let alone everyone and

that's it.

that's what really hurts and upsets and breaks and

wakes me up at four a.m,

what keeps me afraid of commitment, what tortures my mind,

and if you ask where my disorder came from i

will list food and manners and separation

anxiety but i will NOT

admit that i made the choice to

give love endlessly and

i am TERRIFIED i'm

one of the very few

left.

did we really deserve that?

- Charlotte E.E. Griffiths

@C.G.POETRY

POEM - love walks out the door

Wed, 30 Sep 2020 05:33:00 +0000

and i let it.
i'm tired of chasing down porches in hope the light shines
just right
over the grass and i might
be where i belong.
love lets you think it's
all or nothing but
i,
small child,
small girl,
still fall into
wrapped arms and find
crystals in with my
filters.
that's how you learn
to let go because
love never boils
if watched, it
doesn't like
expectation and
i go out with no
money in my pockets and
i expect
nothing
so
everything
finds me
instead.
i hope this
is how it ends.

- Charlotte E.E. Griffiths
@C.G.POETRY

POEM - love poem of the twenty-one year old amateur

Wed, 27 May 2020 02:46:00 +0000

i write some pretty shitty but sometimes okay
poems about love.
i first knew i wanted to be a writer when i
read a love story at age ten and the popular
girl asked how it
ended.
i guess you could say i'm good at talking about things
i don't actually have an understanding
of.
bullshit is the easiest language for most people.
i don't know much about love but i
do know i have been broken repeatedly since
twelve and those pieces have always
healed
just
enough for me to jump
back
into it all.
people are crazy for it.
once you've written all the
poems and finally met the
handsome writer
(and left him)
there's still
just
this
silence
waiting to be
broken.
there's always silence somewhere
or sound
somewhere else.
you can't be in two places at once but
maybe i can be in
every room if i'm just made of
enough compassion. i
guess that's the real love
we're all looking for and i
guess i wrote love
better than i ever received
it.
that's okay, it's probably another
lie but we can't blame the
demons that tell us about
the perfect poem and
how it won't make us
hurt anymore

because

doesn't all
art hurt in the
end?

i say goodbye to hope
but hope still finds my
shadow and
paints it poison for
just
a moment
longer.
we are all
slaves
to something.

- Charlotte E.E. Griffiths
@C.G.POETRY

POEM - punchline

Wed, 06 Nov 2019 10:06:00 +0000

and it's kind of funny
the way i'm back at some television, blue light
screen of diversion from devotion in high
definition and i'm
switching through all
of the channels
he worked on.
this love moves similar
to the snakes i've known; slow
and warm and deliberate
over itself until it has made
no sense
of insignificance; delayed gratification
to perfect satisfaction of
absolute nothing - the true
dance of life. i
guess what i'm trying to say
is that irony is almost always
a good laugh and happenstance is
a close second to that. i fell in love
with over twenty separate names and my
story is known in every bar and
concrete floor (stained bloody)
and i hoped i'd find the one in
primary school. this
new look of brutal advice given to bemused boy
barely aware enough to see my
eyes fall on his lips and cheeks and
nose, in the same way i did for a
boy who now makes ads and
sells his soul in other ways,
is the best
look i have had and
though i laugh for
days
until i am wet with
tears and wild with
hysteria
and i cry
some days at the
bitterness of it all
i still
come home and i
kiss every inch
of myself for
getting
the joke.
is there any greater punchline
than our own?
- Charlotte Griffiths
@C.G.POETRY

POEM - piece of the pie

Sun, 28 Jul 2019 05:20:00 +0000

Charlotte Griffiths - piece of the pie

everyone's still arguing their
opinion and making
plan to attack and
i'm just smoking a cigarette
with the local
drunk
on a coffee break i've
overstayed and
i'm speaking my
honest truth.
there's not a lot
to people, really,
just a desire to be
heard,
respected and
i get that;
i respect and
i hear and
people listen
if you do the same
for them
(most of the time)
and those some
times are
worth it.
people have a lot
more to show than they
pretend. they don't really
need as much as
they want.
i want people
to stop freaking out about
each other.
i need people to love
each other and
we need people to love
each other.
we all agree on that,
don't we?
down at the
core
we need something
real and
we're all chasing
it, aren't
we? we all
want a piece
of that pie
for sure
(i'll take mine
with a cup of
coffee and a fresh
rolled drag,
thank
you).
-Charlotte Griffiths

POEM - don't ask me (please)

Sun, 16 Jun 2019 02:54:00 +0000

Charlotte Griffiths - don't ask me (please)

i forget about you most days in big
age of adult. things get easier
like that.
you don't bother me and
a part of you knows i'm
in another world
entirely
now and
i don't think
about missing
you anymore
(that's how it goes
isn't it? that's how
the cookie
crumbles
apparently)
and this world
goes
on
(we all go
on).
i stop drinking and you take
up my drug of choice on weekends
because weekends seemed
appropriate to you
and i am
no longer the same
girl you
knew at
all
(i made sure of
it) and eventually
i cut all my hair off
in the bathroom
mirror because
curls were
never fucking
cheap and you
think about proposing
to your new life.
sometimes
people ask about you
and i tell them
that all the boys i
loved sold
out
somehow,
i'm not too
bothered with
it.
i still drink
sometimes
very rarely
when
there is no one else
to run to and
the cat isn't
looking at me.
sometimes it
sits on my lap and i
doze off but sometimes,
when it's so late i
can barely see the stairs
or the letters i
think about
the boy i
loved then,
back before
i knew what
love was
and i read the
chapbook and
i weep
for what a fickle
game love
is
(sometimes).
- Charlotte Griffiths

POEM - (i tried)

Sun, 16 Jun 2019 02:50:00 +0000

Charlotte Griffiths - (i tried)

i tried to forget.
i tried everything
the coke, the coffee
the cones
the fifth or eighth
drink,
i still hear your name
every time i walk into a
new room;
i still
think of you
every day.
i watch life spin past
i dispose of old goals
old dreams for
new one;
girl, alone, runs about in
your mystery cards
trying to
snub it out
and
succeeds.
i watch her suck and
swallow and she holds me
up, holds onto any
chance of
survival and
i drive home, every single time,
wondering where in this city
you possibly are right now and
why it is we playing this
game so
long.
i never win at it,
not once.
- Charlotte Griffiths

POEM - consistently cruel

Mon, 10 Jun 2019 01:53:00 +0000

Charlotte Griffiths - consistently cruel

there's not a lot to find when you
stop looking. i think you
wanted me to convince you i
saw only reason to stay
but i didn't
(still nothing but
you in my eyes)
and i have to drive past the
reservoir most neon nights and
i can't
keep being that
girl, the one wrapped into
steel barriers, watching for
death. i still
have to go on somehow.
i wonder if you think of my
cigarette warms in autumn, how they
lit up red cheeks and wide
eyes, how they filled you
with hope
but
i watch you get better
without me and there's nothing
needed from
small boxes, small
package;
you don't call, you
don't check up after
it all goes
south, you
don't need anything
from me
now.
that's how it is.
that's how it always
ends
(i'm always a
sucker for some
consistency).
- Charlotte Griffiths

POEM - white noise

Fri, 05 Apr 2019 01:06:00 +0000

Charlotte Griffiths - white noise

the gland in my own arm swells
until it is almost the size of a golf ball, the
rain falls and autumn kicks slowly
into cognition, only
just,
and all the while
i watch the calls come through
unanswered.
sometimes the editors leave messages,
sometimes it's just one of the boys checking
up but most
of the time it's just
white noise
called to complain about the
missing buzz or
pointless space now
re-purposed,
called
out
until the answering machine
picks up and holds the
distant drone of
life never started nor
ended
on the line
in the room, echoed,
in my mind;
insanity settles
so well
under dim stars
and dark
shadow,
fallen -
how i will always
fall for
honesty,
unabridged
(won't
you join me
in this?)
-Charlotte Griffiths