Trista Mateer Quotes

The poet lusts after emotionally unavailable people because she doesn't have to worry about commitment. The poet desperately wants commitment.

My father was the kind of man who would always pull over at the site of an accident to offer help even if phone calls had already been made, even if people were already there. It was his sole redeeming quality; he ran away only from the messes he made.

NowIamkeepingwindowsillplantsjusttoprovetomyselfthatthingscanstillgrowoutofneglect.AndIunderstandthereasonssheleft.
Itishardtokeeptryingtofixsomethingconvinceditisnotbroken.Itishardtoloveaheartthatisnotalwaysopen.

Justbadsex,justpoorrelationships,just missedopportunitiesandflowerssomeonenevergaveyou. Everybodythinksit'sjustspoiledromancethatbreaksyourheart.
Theyneverconsiderthebaddaysandthekitchenscissors andthewayrainlookssmashedupagainst awindowpane,thewaypeoplemillaboutintrainstations, thewayitfeelswhenyouwalkdowntothemailbox andalwaysfinditempty.

My hands are still shaking from
nights spent not knowing
how to want you.

I wanted to taste the salt on your skin, to press my mouth against the violent curve of you.

I keep rewriting this poem. I want it to make more sense. I want it to be less honest.

Youusedtoreachformelikesugarcubes, butnowyoukeepyourdistance -
thereisthatwordagain. Itplaguesme, followsmearound, digsitselfundermyskinanditstaysthere whenyouwillnot;
andyouareneverundermyskinanymore

I'm afraid of driving and wanting to crash on purpose.

This is an apology/ for the things I have to say about us/ to get over us.

Hurt me once: shame on me. Hurt me twice: shame on me. Hurt me three times: shame on me but fuck you. Hurt me four times and we'll get severed-head biblical.

I'm sorry that I am back and forth, push and pull
instead of effortless simplicity.

For Brittanie

There will always be men
who have fishhooks for fingers.
There will always be women
with wet, sharp mouths.
It is okay to get caught up in them.

It is not okay to drown.

Don't you ever let another human
being tear you apart.
Remember that you have claws
and teeth, too.

Remember that you are better off
whole.

WhenIstopgettingtrippedupbyyourcrookedheartandyoursmallhands,Iwillwanttogooverallofyourpoemswithwhiteout.Iwillwanttorinseyournameoutofmymouth,snuffoutalltheevidencethatIthoughtthesunandmoonofyoubecausetheworldwasnotenough.

Not all gods are born.
Plenty of us rise.

My pain has always deserved a voice and I will not deny it that, but I won't devote my life to it either.

LosingyouisapoemIstillhaven'twrittenyet. IneverthoughtI'dhaveto.
EverytimeIpickupapen,I'mnotsayingwhatIneedtosay.
MaybeIshouldhavespentthelastsevenyears stackingupmetaphors insteadofmakingpromises.

It is simple. You believe in the triumphs of love despite growing up in full view of its defeat because you are brave.

I'm afraid of never loving someone as much as I loved the last person who broke my heart.

I will greet you with a mouth full of barbed wire until you learn to stop coming after me with your hands.

You said: "most days, I pity you more than I love you". I just love you.

Tonight I wish I had someone's body pressed up against mine. I am glad you are not here to see this. I

Iamtheonephysicallyremovingmyself fromthisplaceandyet itfeelslikeyouaretheoneleavingme. Iwillneverunderstandhowthisworks

I'm still trying to figure out who I am alone so that I know who I am in front of other people.

Walking away from you feels like not taking care of myself.

IfeellikeI'vebeensleepwalkingforthelastthreemonths.Iamsickofthelengthofmyhair andthereasonsIhavetokeepmynailsshort. Ikeepforgettinghowtobreathe. Ikeepforgettinghowtobekindtomyself. Ineedtoremembertoberatemyselfwithmy insidevoice,topickmyselfapartquietly insteadofmakingsuchabigfussaboutbreaking. LastyearwhenIwenttoseethedoctor aboutwantingtobloomtheskinonmywrists, shetoldmethatIjustneededtomakechanges. "Everybodyfeelslikethisatsomepoint.You arenotspecial;thisisnormal;
everythingwillbeokay.

Love was a museum where we took down the art that was there before us and played masterpiece with all the empty space.

I am different more often than I am the same.
I don't know how anybody falls in love with me.
I don't know how anybody keeps up.

You are not defined by the people you walk away from, and you are not defined by the people who walk away from you.

there's something about emptying her guts out to people who don't ask for her name that doesn't feel good but it feels okay

Your abuser's past does not absolve them of their abuse. Their depression does not absolve them of their abuse. Your relationship with them does not absolve them of their abuse. How long you've known them does not absolve them of their abuse. Your love for them does not absolve them of their abuse.

You are not required to be small.
You are not required to be pleasant.
You are not required to be conventional.
You are not required to be accommodating.
You are not required to be submissive.
You are not required to be merciful.
You are not required to be quiet.

ThenightyoutoldmethatthemorepeopleIkissed,thedirtierIwouldbecome(likealittlePlay-Dohgirlwithhercolorsallmixedup),wasthefirsttimeIwonderedwhyanyonewouldeverwanttoputtheirmouthonyourskin

I promised no more poetry and I'd rather think of this as a confession: you are still the first person I want to share new things with.

Even a match remembers the moment before it was struck.

Ithinkmaybepartsofmearestucktoher,dugintohersideliketreeroots:ruthlessly.Butjustbecauseyougrowtogetherdoesn'tmeanyou'remeanttostay.

I do not tell her that sometimes it feels like compromising yourself is part of growing up.

People expect all stories of abuse
to be loud and angry
but they're not.

Sometimes they're quiet and cruel
and swept under the rug.

I taste like salt. You taste like toothpaste. There's no poetry in that. It's just life.

I still remember you
as a little girl
who overwaters plants
because she doesn't know
when to stop giving.

You can call it a sin when we kiss
and you only hear the word unholy
in your mother's voice.

What a slow way to die, baby.
Day after day after day.

I'm sorry for the poems.
All the shouting I did about your mouth.

Tell me that you've spent a great deal of time
gazing at stars, thinking that sometimes things look
better farther apart. That constellations are beautiful
only because we have the space to connect the dots.

You came and you left and I'm just looking to quick dry cement it, press and bend it, fold it up and tuck it away for safe keeping. I know that it's reaching but I just want to leave your name on a page somewhere and never need to come back to it.

Istillcarryyouontheinsidesofme: cavepaintingsonrib-caging. IfIwereapeach, youwouldbethepitthatholdsmealltogether. WhenImetyou,Iwassomethingsmallandwhole; Idonotknowhowtogetbackthere. YouhavethewarmestheartIhaveeversetupcampin.
Istillcarryyouontheinsidesofme: thecontentsofmysuitcaseheart. Iwilllugyouarounduntilitbreaksmybackandthensome. Ifeelsometimes likeIhavescatteredmypieceseverywhere, butyouarethepieceIdonotknowhowtoleave atthefootofastranger'sbed orbetweenthelinesofafree-versepoem. Iwantyoutoknowthatlovingyou isfreeing;thatlovingyouis likeholdingmyheadunderwaterandcomingupnew againandagain.
Istillcarryyouontheinsidesofme. Thiswillnotalwaysmakesensetoyou

Regardless of whether you desire it, love is what sits at the core of the world. It is stronger than greed and hate and jealousy and pain. What brings us together will always be more powerful than what keeps us apart.

For everyone I meet with your name
I'm sorry.

I don't want to be another name on the list of angry women in our family.

This is what the poems are for: telling other people the things I can no longer tell you.

Youcameintothislifewithastarvingheart.Iknowbetterthananyonethatyoucannotfillitwithfencepostsorchinapatterns.Youcannotfillitwithpaperbodies,peoplewhoseskinripsinyourpalms.
Forsomepeople,youwillbetoohard:anunmanageablepuzzle,allsharpedges,andsnarls.Forothers,youwillbetoosoft:alwayslookingtosetupcampsomewheresafeandwarm wherethewindwon'tknockyoudown.Youcannotbuildyourhomelikeahouseofcardsinthemouthofaloverwhobreathestoohardatnight.

so the poem hurt you.
it was supposed to.

i loved her more than i loved you and i'm sorry that you knew it.

loved a man for years who said her eyes looked like the ocean, because she always wanted to be somebody's poem, somebody's simile, somebody's lackluster metaphor.

Imaginesomewherethereisapoemthattasteslikeourgoodbyefelt.
Bitingdownonfoil,swallowinganunexpectedmouthfulofoceanwater.
Toomuchofagoodthing:cottoncandy,sodapop,lickingchocolateicingfromthejar.
Acidicthroat.Astomachache.
Ihavegivenuptryingtowriteit. Idon'tneedtoholdontoitanymore

love has little to do with blood relations and more to do with who you choose to bleed for

It's just that I am selfish and gas is expensive and it's hard to tell the difference between wanting to die and just wanting to sink for a while. It's just that I knew a boy once who said those words to me only when he wanted my undivided attention and my legs spread in the back of his car. It's just that I thought it was one thing to want to die and another thing to pick up kitchen knives.

IDON'TKNOWHOWTOTALKTOYOUWITHOUTFEELINGLIKENOTHINGIHAVETOSAYISIMPORTANTENOUGHORWISEENOUGHORGOODENOUGH.IDON'TFEELGOODENOUGHANYMORE.YOUDON'TMAKEMEFEELGOODANYMORE.IDON'TMAKEYOUFEELGOODANYMORE.

And I never wanted to tell anyone but the poems because I was the one with the pink garter belt and the thigh-high stockings. And I was the one with the little black dress.

The thing about embracing your own chaos is that it never becomes clear when you need to stop.

she doesn't remember running straight into her grandmother's birdbath when she was a child either but she has the scar to prove it well she had the scar to prove it. but she misplaced it with the rest of her skin somewhere. it's strange all the things you forget about when you can't find the scars to prove they happened anymore.

I am as reliable as public transportation. I have hands made of guardrails and a train station heart; it is full of strangers always trying to get somewhere else. It's not a final destination.

I'm trying to remember to make room in my life for the person I am now, not just the people I have been.

They catcalled me until people couldn't separate my name from sex.

Like everyone called a woman, they say I had no childhood. They say I rose from the sea fully formed, forced to bear the weight of other people's desire. It's not the truth, but it's close enough.