It started with our eyes.
Mine caught yours,
and yours caught mine.
It was friendly
and innocent--
just a quick little glance.
I could not help but hope
that one day
my eyes would catch yours again,
and this time,
they would be acquainted
and we could gaze.
After came our lips.
Mine turned up into a shy smile,
and yours could not help
but copy.
It was friendly and innocent--
just a quick little grin.
I could not help but hope
that one day
my lips would talk to yours again,
with their language, and ours,
and this time,
they would be acquainted
and we could beam.
Next was out ears.
At first, we heard each other,
mostly short phrases.
It was friendly and innocent--
just a quick little chat.
I could not help but hope
that one day
our ears would listen to our lips,
and this time,
they would be acquainted
and we could listen to each other’s stories.
Soon came our noses.
We did not know each other well,
and neither did our noses.
Mine could detect the scent
of Giorgio Armani on your skin,
and yours, a sweet vanilla perfume on mine.
It was friendly and innocent--
just a quick little observation.
I could not help but hope
that one day
our noses would know our scents,
and this time,
they would be acquainted
and a blindfold could not stop me from recognizing you.
It continued with our fingers.
Occasionally, they would linger
and sometimes intertwine.
It was friendly and innocent--
just a quick little connection.
I could not help but hope
that one day
our fingers would be closely clasp
and this time,
they would be acquainted
and our left hands would both wear a ring on out fourth finger.
It ended with our hearts.
They were old and worn out,
but still loving.
The doctors said yours was slowing down,
but you disagreed,
and told them to listen to it
when I was around.
It was friendly and innocent--
just a quick little heartbeat.
I could not help but hope
that one day
our hearts would connect again
and this time,
they would be acquainted
and mine would be still and soundless, along with yours.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
There was a point
when i knew that i
was going to die.
And at that moment
i couldn’t help but
think of Hazel
and infinities
and breathing
and death.
I recalled the day
when hazel was sat
next to me and we
talked about
infinities. How
between one and
two there are many,
and even more
between zero and
two. Now, i can’t
help but think:
breathing is our
largest infinity. Like
the numbers between
one and two,
breathing never
ends. But like the
person who
eventually stops
counting the number
between one and
two, my lungs get
tired. And
eventually, they too,
must
stop.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
I cannot say much
about the first time we met.
But when I saw you standing there,
you took away my breath.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
I’d like to know,
where your thoughts go
when you’ve left them alone.
are they under a rock,
counting the time of a clock?
or behind a tree,
waiting for you to open your eyes and see?
maybe its floating in the air
and dancing through your hair,
or a small little speck
sitting on your neck.
perhaps it still there
but you don’t care,
so you gave it a smack
and pushed it back.
now it sits in your mind all alone;
a forgotten thought waiting for the day it regains its throne.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
Alone in the corner is where i sit
drowning, are my emotions in a bottomless pit
I take a deep breath and attempt to take two
my head is a jumbled emotion zoo
Three breaths
four breaths
i’m wishing for my death
Knees cuddles to my chest
i try to make my brain rest
Breath five
breath six
my life needs to be fixed
Tears spill from my eyes
and splatter on my thighs
Breath seven
breath eight
these feelings are what i hate
My emotional intelligence is becoming weak
my emotional danger is about to reach its peak
I beg for breath nine
i feel like a wilting vine
Gasping for air
my head feels like its been mauled by a bear
Breath ten?
when?
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
The night I attempted it
they said it was just a phase
I was not suffering,
it was just a hard day.
Little did they know
it wasn’t the first try
and I really did wish I could die.
I guess they didn’t know
all about me
and how i was an artist
underneath my sleeves.
But if they saw inside my head
they would know the truth
about that night
on the roof.
Because it was not a phase
or just a bad day,
my mind is a twisted
chaotic maze.
They would see
it happens all the time,
the depressing thoughts
that suffocate me like a vine.
Perhaps it’s best that they don’t know
the reasons
because every day to me
is suicide season.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:54 PM UTC
Human.
That is what we all are.
But sometimes,
we can be more.
We are heroes.
Courageous,
benevolent,
and sprightly.
We are monsters.
Cruel,
******
and avaricious.
We are mice.
Meek,
timid,
and reserved.
We are flamingos.
Peculiar,
distinctive,
and eccentric.
Sometimes,
I believe we forget
that inside,
we are all alike.
We may not have the same hair,
eyes,
or personality.
But our skeletons are similar,
and our hearts are the same.
No matter what,
at the end of the day,
we are all
Human.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
My handwriting
used to be
neat,
and bubbly,
and the letters
were looped together,
kind of like
how we used to
hold hands.
Now,
my hands are empty
and trembling,
and my handwriting
is messy,
small,
and carelessly scrawled
onto paper.
I used to wake up
in the morning,
with my legs
entangled
with yours.
Recently,
i have been waking up
with my legs
entangled
in plain white sheets
along with
my tangled
thoughts.
It seems like
only a week ago,
you were sitting
on my couch,
smiling,
laughing,
and talking.
I still expect
you to be there,
waiting,
everyday
when i come home.
But all that is there
to greet me
is the horribly hand-stitched
pillow
you made for me
last christmas,
and the image
of your face
with
your bottom lip
sticking out
as you complain
about sewing
and how
it is much harder
and painful
then you
imagined.
My walls
were once covered
in every picture of us
I ever owned.
Now,
they are bare.
Holding only one
picture of you,
but it is
ripped,
and burnt at the edges,
because
i burned them all
and changed my mind
when there was only
half a picture
left.
There was a time
when my ears
heard the words
“i love you”
come out
of your mouth
every day.
The only thing they hear
anymore
is muffled sobs
and whispered
“i miss you”s.
So excuse my messy handwriting,
and lonely legs,
and empty couch,
and burnt photo,
and lost words,
but life has changed
since you were
here.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
On Monday, i am invisible;
nobody seems to know i exist.
On Tuesday, i am a glass door;
visible, but sometimes forgotten.
On Wednesday, i am a three leaf clover;
nothing special.
On Thursday, i am a camera without a memory card;
there, but unwanted.
On Friday, i am a pea;
noticed, but ignored.
On Saturday, i am a fun-sized candy bar;
respected, but never good enough.
On Sunday, I am a queen.
I have survived another week in my life,
and it feels amazing.
Until ten o'clock at night
when i realize in nine hours i will be invisible again.
I try to enjoy my last moments as queen,
but it’s hard to pretend when reality hits you.
I cannot decide if i like Sunday.
It is like a bag of chips.
In the beginning, they are both pleasing.
You have no school for the second time that week, you have a deliciously unhealthy, but wanted, snack.
But then,
you realize there is school tomorrow, you realize you have been defrauded and the bag is practically empty.
They always end in disappointment.
I cannot decide if the good balances with the bad,
or if one is overweighed.
I cannot decide if i prefer six and a half days of disappointment,
or half a day of bluffing myself.
I cannot decide if i like being queen,
or if it is a waste of time.
I cannot decide if pretending is superior to knowing what i am.
I cannot decide if life is enjoyable when it is like a broken record,
the same situations repeating over and over.
Because before i am able to decide on anything,
i am too busy being invisible again.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:52 PM UTC
A picture is worth a thousand words,
but not all of them are happy.
To see unhappy is to think unhappy
leading to a day of stress.
A stressful day
jumbles your mind
twists your stomach
and clenches your hands.
A stressful day
is how to create
a thousand problems.
There is no better way that i can think of
to dump of all the stress
than to rid of the problem
with a cigarette.
As it pulls from your lips
and slips from your fingers
and falls to the ground,
take a deep breath,
in and out,
to release the stress
and your problems.
Look at the stub
small, white, and burnt,
laying at your toes.
Now smile and
relax your hands.
A thousand words
and a thousand problems
have now been left
as a conflict to deal with
for the cigarette.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC