"listen to this song about me"
i want you to hear what i can't put into words,
what i can't bear to tell you myself
i'll let the voice of another eloquently describe
how my heart feels like there is a rope tightening around it endlessly,
squeezing the tissue out from between its coils,
stretching the walls thin and slowly strangling the arteries
if you listen to each carefully-selected syllable,
you may begin to understand
why attempting to tell you this myself will only bring me to my knees
it saddens me to know that others have felt so similar and even worse,
enough to write a song about it,
but i am grateful that i do not have to carry this weight alone
so listen, please
and maybe then you'll understand me

if no one will pay attention to me,
then i'll lock myself away and write more poetry
the vastness of the internet
resembles an intensely large ear
to which i may tell my secrets and heartache
without a body to belong to or a brain,
i needn't worry about how my words
are perceived;
just knowing they are received by someone,
something
is enough
i'll harp on melodically and tragically,
much like the eloquent language of an actual harp,
until the entirety of my current emotional state
has been examined, molded, displayed,
expelled,
exhausted
replayed

i was driving home when a flash of lightning reflected
in my rear-view mirror,
brilliant enough to pull me out of whatever zone i was in
it reminded me of the way that you enter my mind-
always bursting out of darkness, calmness;
never giving any warning other than a low, rumbling thunder
too soft for me to pick up on
not that this occurrence is at all your fault..
it's simply my mind's way of dealing with a subject
as dangerous, tainted, and flawed as you
subconsciously, somehow, i just know
that you should not be brought up gradually,
but rather quick as lightning-

a radiant flash and then nothing,
stillness

if only something so simple could actually take place
no, instead,
the flash remains, burning into my field of vision,
much like when all you can see is a blurry, yellow spot
after someone takes your picture
or when you can't take your eyes off of a sunset
because it is so beautiful, but you know it won't last,
so you watch it melt for as long as you can
before it slips beneath the horizon

it seems that the more i try to explain it, the more confusing it becomes,
so i will leave it at this:
you are the lightning to my tree;
you strike with the potential to make me burst into flames
and you don't even know it

if everyone can see it, then it must be real
if we can joke about it, then it's happening
i will tell myself this until the end of time
i'm hopeless as you've probably figured out by now
maybe you don't want to believe it,
and maybe i want to believe that you don't want to believe it,
but you do, and deep down, we are both aware
without actually speaking, i'll continue to express how i feel
without talking, i'll drill a tiny hole into your head
and slip a piece of paper through with every dream i've ever had
about you written down on it
because that's the closest i'll let you get to reading my poetry
and you only let me talk to you in your sleep

i want to be the goddess that i know is within me, but i feel like just another blurry face, a passerby on a crowded sidewalk
i want to display unconditional love and understanding because that's all i've ever wanted shown to me
there are so many beautiful things that i want to say, but i'll cry if I say them
their beauty overwhelms me
that's the effect I want to evoke
like a garden angel, the light I shed will illuminate all shadows that meet me
my voice will flow gracefully and gently like honey
people will shield their eyes from my beams, but i'll soon make them able to face anything
the warmth within my heart will be powerful enough to spread to others, and their warmth will spread too until there is peace or at least piece of mind

go ahead,
give up on me then
what are you waiting for?
i heard the warning, so teach me a lesson
i am sand and broken glass
slowly slipping through your fingers,
but you're the one spreading them apart

i really should have known
eventually, you'd tire
of grasping me so tightly

where do all the fallen petals go?
One minute, they're on display amongst the leaves and branches
And the next, they're falling to the ground
Where do they go after that?
Does the sidewalk absorb them in an attempt to become less grey?
Or maybe they are sent away by a magical force that we will never come to know
All I know is that it makes me sad if I think about it for too long
I mourn the departures of all things

i keep secrets about people in the form of poetry
i guess that isn't really keeping a secret at all
it's more of an anonymous expression of truth
except that the writer can reveal themselves
whenever and however they see fit
and the content is subjective to anyone who reads
take the subject and apply it to whatever you please
morph it into shapes that fit perfectly into the cracks
of your heart, your imagination, your unanswered questions
what's more is that you can then take the pen into your own hands
compose stanzas of what you cannot say out loud
liberate the heartache

talk to me, i say
but what is not said is what matters most
respond in ways that suit me
without any hints
keep your interest
and don't forget

my silent demands,
hidden motivations,
and careful, sweet inception

i mean no harm, always with some form of a smile
don't want you too reeled in,
but never detach completely
and never grow sick of it

if i keep up my end,
i think you'll stay
both of us working out of fear
neither of us knowing the other's intentions,
always coming back for more
of what we do not understand

there is hidden elegance in the grotesque
some are able to detect it, but most won't even begin to attempt
even the word grotesque is both horrifying and beautiful
a viscous, slimy drip from a rusty ball of barbed wire
a flawless rose sprouting up through a pile of moldy leaves
anything initially perceived as disgusting can become poetic
just as anything that radiates beauty has an ugly side
the latter is much easier to discover
for people quite enjoy the destruction of a saint,
but to turn coal into a diamond takes effort and motivation
one must have a strong desire to expose the potential secrets
within things that don't normally receive a second look
the people who are able to unearth these gems are artists,
taking the repulsive and placing it on a pedestal
they transform their pain into a painting,
their cries into a song,
the least we can do is listen

i tell secrets in the form of poetry
each of my subjects is a special fruit hanging from the limbs of my mind
once they become too heavy, i must pick them,
tear them open, and reveal their matter before they become spoiled
not for the world to see, but more so for my own relief
i'll place my subject right in front of me for dissection,
but only when it's ripe and i am fully ready
my subject transforms from a drunken pith into a gem,
from a simple thought into a sonnet
this form of expression is the only thing keeping me from endless suffering
writing frees the subject without its knowledge,
and it frees me from having to protect it any longer
for it is a burden with which i have a sporadic love affair

sometimes i think about you so hard that my head shakes
back and forth, "no"
disbelief that you're as perfect as i make you out to be
both our minds and hearts connected by strings
each time i tug away, you stand fast
and each time a vibration occurs along one of the strings,
i know you feel it too
i've gotten to know each piece of you, but not each part
the terrifyingly beautiful way your mind works,
but not your seemingly gentle, yet powerful body
see, i've gotten close, but not once close enough
i have this recurring dream of tugging at both of the strings
so forcefully that you'll spin towards me in a matter of seconds
such velocity will cause the strings to tangle with one another
and we will be forced face to face
to face something we've ignored since we found it
but for now, i miss you

i can find salvation in things other than god

if you want someone who's broken, here i am
you never communicate, so i'm left guessing
i'm competing with a screen,
so i'll log off and shut down
how can you not read me?
or maybe you can..
either way, i'm left in silence,
but inside, i'm wailing

thought i'd be fine to try it out,
but instead, i shut myself down
you took it all back and said it was a mistake,
but i know better than that-
nothing fake about it
and now i feel like everyone i never thought i'd relate to;
listening to songs i never thought would be about you
i always thought i'd be okay alone,
but what's worse is the thought of you
not being alone while i am

all i've realized is that life is colder than expected,
as lonely as winter, and even more destructive

it's hard to fall asleep without your touch,
even just one body part- our feet or our butts
everything that used to make me feel safe
leaves me feeling crushed

the headlines of my heart are a mix of fear and passion
i have this relentless need for something so real, something surreal
take me back into the dark and split me open
learn the curves of my mind, each crest and crevice
i know you'll find my truth deep inside
all along, I've been grasping the key so tight
while you scoured the floor in search of it
but this time, I'm ready
i want you to know too much

i promise that my words really do mean something
i know it's hard to hold onto a fist full of nothing
in hopes that it will one day bloom

it might be reaching, but is it crazy to assume that all those songs were about me?