I Would Leave Me If I Could: A Collection of Poetry

by Halsey

  It’s been easier the past few months

  when I would hold my tongue

  ’Cause when I write it all down I have to face it

  But when I hold it inside I can pretend it’s okay

  I haven’t called my grandmother in a year

  ’Cause she’s the only one I know

  Who tells me shit I don’t wanna hear

  But I need to hear

  I’ve been in the gym these mornings

  It takes me 7 minutes to run a mile

  And 7 seconds to run from my problems

  I’m working on my lung capacity

  Fun capacity

  Uptight bitch

  Take a breath and relax,

  it isn’t so bad.

  Keep drinking keep dancing

  Keep hopeless romancing

  They say that keys open doors

  But you handed all your keys

  To your friends and they dip ’em in a powder sack

  Screaming, “Bring on the black!”

  And every single second is like late-night TV

  A Skinemax freebie

  Watch the night sweats

  drip down his back

  Yelling, “Bring on the black!”

  My father said,

  “You’ll never belong to a man till I’m dead”

  So we just belong to a bag instead.

  Winners don’t lose, right?

  Except sleep.

  Counting sheep.

  Relentless beep.

  Of the hotel TV.

  Too high to react.

  So I’m up late begging,

  “Lord, bring on the black.”

  SOMETHING FOR THEM

  This is to remind you that you are a lover.

  That you melt at a glance

  at a touch.

  That you are a baby.

  You are soft and fragile

  and you need someone to tell you

  that everything is going to be okay.

  That you are an idiot

  and you are going to fuck up

  1 million more times the rest of your life.

  But this is to remind you

  that you are a statue, gilded in marble,

  and there is white lightning in your eyes.

  Change shape.

  Give in.

  SEVENTEEN

  It was cold for California

  when my phone rang half past 3,

  my little brother’s on the other line.

  He’s shaking like a leaf.

  At 17 years old, he lost his

  best friend on a field.

  There’s no battle in our history book

  compared to how he feels.

  Alabaster faces,

  all lined up, turning gray.

  I watched my brother hold a casket

  before his graduation day.

  The boy’s poor mother cried

  with screams that echoed through the town.

  Like a Siren on a shoreline,

  begging God to let her drown.

  So my brother crawled beside her

  and he got beneath the sheet.

  He let a woman hold him,

  so that she could make believe.

  She said, “Your arms are a bit smaller,

  and your hair has got a wave,

  but you smell just like my little boy.

  You’ve almost got his face.”

  So he lay there on the couch

  until the sky turned red and tan.

  And in a full-grown woman’s arms,

  my little brother was a man.

  I LEFT THE PARTY

  I looked through the window and saw the lights flicker

  like salt and pepper flakes across the Tokyo skyline.

  I saw the amber glowing from the floor lamp in the corner,

  warming the room with its thick embrace.

  I saw the pink in my lips and the orange in my eyes

  and the blush across my chest.

  And I wondered how could I have not noticed

  the ways in which you dulled my senses

  and stole the color from the world right before my eyes.

  Of all the wrongs you committed,

  the worst was keeping me from the beauty

  in anything

  that wasn’t

  you.

  I WISH THAT I WERE MANIC ALL THE TIME

  Be patient with me

  When my limbs become trees

  And my roots become reeds

  And the sounds from my mouth start making sense

  My mind is messy but it’s beautiful

  like I’m in utero

  I don’t say it often,

  but I’m proud of the woman that I turned out to be

  You might think I’m crazy

  Wild and young and free

  But really I’m just:

  careful

  quiet

  overthinking

  analyzing like

  It’s logic

  over loving

  and emotion

  brought me nothing

  but disaster

  so I hold my drink

  and sit right in the corner

  smiling.

  Wish I were a wild child like I say I am

  Wish I really meant it when I say

  that I don’t give a damn

  Wish that I were manic all the time.

  Think I like me better

  when I’m all outside the lines.

  But my colors bleed

  And they bleed bright red.

  I keep this pistol near my bed

  Inside my mouth

  so I can keep my tongue from tearing up my head.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  HALSEY, born Ashley Nicolette Frangipane, is a Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter. She lives in Los Angeles, California.

  www.SimonandSchuster.co.uk/Authors/Halsey

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  First published in the United States by Simon & Schuster Inc., 2020

  First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2020

  Copyright © Ashley Frangipane, 2020

  The right of Ashley Frangipane to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

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  The author and publishers have made all reasonable efforts to contact copyright-holders for permission, and apologise for any omissions or errors in the form of credits given. Corrections may be made to future printings.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Hardback ISBN: 978-1-4711-8907-4

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-8908-1