I do not know it all
But I know a hungry scream
Of someone clinging onto the next
As they hold onto me
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
Nighttime is not lonely
Until everyone else is asleep
And you live in the city
And all the cars are busy
And the stars are drowned out
And social media creates different images
Snapshots of people's lives
Making it seem more busy then it is
And the mountain air is pushing the trees around
And i realize I am longing for the same hold
The wind has on its branches
And it is painful to see everyone fade into their dreams
When I am up
And I am up because everyone fades
And because I can not keep feeling that loss
and the moon is hiding behind the clouds
and I begin to see
how much I have relied on its glow
to illuminate me
and when my eyes start to close
and I lay my head down
and for a second I think I can do this
and then I see
everything I do not want to see
and then........
the nighttime is not lonely
Until you are lonely and it is nighttime
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 2:22 AM UTC
I am tired of having a broken back
Dragged down by deadweights
Arms sore,
Trembling at the touch of an empty room
Bruised legs,
From a brief brushing of a desire.
All making the house of my very being
Built on top of that same broken back
Constructed with these very sore arms
The floors in this home creak,
No foundation
After the flood that wiped it all away.
Now that winter has settled in, it is all frozen.
I have burned the walls of my soul in the process of hope,
And while building this home,
I have been choked by the hands of trust
Strangled by the notion that we can live in the rooms of people,
Safe from the wind on a January night.
I wish I could say I have never broken my own heart,
That I have not wandered the halls of those who have left,
Searching for some secret key that would magically open some hidden corridor,
Bringing me back.
I will not pretend that I have not taken a spill on frozen glass,
And been engulfed by the warmth of a fireplace,
So mesmerized that I could not see the home around me disintegrating.
I have been held by the arms of those flames,
Caressed by a fall on ice,
That seemed like water at the time.
Making me blind to the fact that you can not have soothing water,
On a freezing day.
Drowning my rooms with empty words,
The same blindness that allowed the fire to swallow all that I was
I always assumed this fire could melt the ice.
But I kept them in separate closets,
Breaking the locks on the doors that my tired fingers placed on hinges.
Separating any possibility of a marriage of the two.
Because in these barren halls,
I am either burning hot, scorching passion of marked desire.
Or I am solid, dry-ice, painful to the touch
Sending out warning signs to leave,
Because why stay when the closest you can get is an arms length away.
I can not be both fire and ice.
But I will try.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 11:17 PM UTC
Like a dark night sky,
Filled with glimmers of light,
Burdened with empty spaces between.
Or an ocean coast,
Tempted to meet the land,
Crashing cautiously.
A bee that floats in the summer air,
Dying from a danger,
That was never really there.
A shaking hand,
That reaches for another,
Expecting a cold touch.
Just like a newborn child,
Who cries and cries
Each different scream having a different meaning,
Each gasp of breath relaying a significant message onto any ear that can hear,
But still crying,
Because they do not know who knows what they know.
A toddler,
Who clamps down onto the sides of the couch,
As she scales the unchartered territory of using her legs to wander this earth,
The thrill of being able to move in ways they have seen others move,
But still not being able to release their hands,
And truly experience all there is to experience.
My friend in third grade,
Who decided to save 1 ******* from each sleeve of ritz she would have,
And hide it in her desk everyday,
Incase one day she did not have food to bring with her.
The days in middle school,
When someone tells you for the first time they think you are beautiful,
So you decide to wear your hair the same way everyday,
Dress in a similar fashion,
As to not tarnish their belief.
Highschool days,
Where you sit with the same people,
At the same seat,
Everyday at lunch,
And talk about the same 4 things,
To not wander outside the realms of what is known to be safe
In college,
When you rack your brain for hours and hours
As to why those friends left,
If that haircut is the reason why every boy stopped seeing that beauty,
If the couch really ever helped you from getting hurt
Or did it keep you from seeing all you could see.
keep you still.
Did the fear of losing,
The fear of not knowing what could happen next,
Keep you from showing the teacher the ants by your desk
That were not from YOUR snacks,
And instead of telling the teacher the truth,
You decided to silently watch your friend hide them day after day.
And as your silence grew into a habit,
You did not protest when all those people left
Or demand the boys to stop making tents in your heart,
Only to follow the line out the door and close it as the leave.
Surrounding you in a cage of closed locks
Because just like the newborn,
I do not believe, anyone knows what I know.
I will never truly experience all there is to experience.
One day I will not have any food for the day, and I want to be able to rely on the things I left waiting.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 10:57 PM UTC
Not loving yourself….
Is like…
Having an art show in a dark room...
Or the stars in the sky being masked by the billboard lights in Times Square….
A nice cup of hot chocolate to warm your soul….
In July….
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
Dark rooms take up the majority of my home.
Hidden corridors and secret passageways.
But not in the romanticized, fantasy way.
More in the,
Suspenseful, jump-scare, horror film way.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
One day it will stop.
You will stop seeing my stubborness as my cute attitude,
But you will see my father in it.
And when you see my father in it,
You will see my habit of getting angry at everything I do and others do.
One day you will stop seeing flowers blossoming from my lungs,
But rather my nails ripping out of flesh so anxiously,
As if it had been trapped for decades with no food.
One day all of the “I love yous” and the “you are so beautifuls”
Will stop
They will end
And I will be left here,
With so many more I love yous to say
So many more times I can tell you my soul
But no way of transcribing them to you
And i will be left to sit in my room
On a sunday afternoon
Writing a story,
About how with the next boy
One day it will stop too.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 10:39 PM UTC
I am a bridge,
not one place or the other
not a destination or a goal.
I am the journey,
the vessel that allows a safe arrival.
I am the metal, bolts,screws, tired people.
My ribs are the cables,
holding it all together.
My legs are the platforms,
sturdy and unmoving.
My heart is the road,
traveled, driven, connecting, winding.
I am the adventure that brings you from one and brings forth another.
The lingering servant at chains, allowing others find where they are going.
The divided pathways of entering and leaving all at once.
In a good week, where all is equal
or on a stormy night where all are fleeing in one direction,
I will never go with them.
I cannot help it,
For I am a bridge,
not one place or the other
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC