You see there is not much of me left to give
But I’ll give you what’s there because I know that I don’t deserve it, not because I think you do
I’ve wasted so much of myself already
that I don’t think it really matters who gets the rest
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC
Over and over I have tossed aside the things I love for you
And I’ve let go of dreams that I was just beginning to believe in and hopes that I thought I would always long for
Because I thought that maybe someday you would do the same for me
I stupidly thought that you might eventually learn to love what I love and see what I see
If only for just a moment
I’m old enough to understand
I know that sometimes I make mistakes
Mistakes that cause you to look at me with that I-told-you-so expression in your eyes telling me that I won’t ever amount to anything
But at least I admit I don’t have everything figured out
At least I have the guts to go out and do what I want
You’ve taught me all you know
You’ve raised me as best as you could and now it’s my turn to do things on my own
It’s my turn to prove you wrong
I may make mistakes sometimes
My seemingly fool-proof plans may not always work out the first few tries
But that’s ok
I don’t think people were ever meant to get things right the first time
And maybe not even the second, but I do know that sooner or later failure becomes something that only exists in the past
So I might fail, I might fall and scrape my knees more than once
But I know now that falling is only part of living and that being alive means having the strength to get up again
So don’t hold me down, don’t hold me back from what I love
I’m old enough to understand
Just let me go
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 3:08 PM UTC
I’m no good at hellos, I feel that introductions are often a lie
You never hear people say: Hello my name is so and so, and I’m afraid of being alone
Because people don’t like to admit that they fear anything
Being fearful of something makes us seem vulnerable
(Or does it?)
I think I somehow knew it was going to end up like this
There was always you and there was always me
But there was never us
I replay the first time we met, those awkward first glances and exchange of words
The beginning of many conversations to come
We didn’t know it then, but we would soon be listening to one another’s voices like they were the only sounds that made sense in this world
(When did we decide they meant nothing at all?)
I remember the last time we saw each other, those too-short kisses and drawn-out hugs
The promises of forever, that always seem so real in the moment
(But that I don’t think anyone really ever intends to keep)
We didn’t know it then, but we would soon be pretending that everything was ok even when it wasn’t
(When did we decide we couldn’t possibly make things right again?)
Honestly, I’m not afraid of being alone
I’m just afraid I might always be that way
This isn’t goodbye
This is just goodnight
Maybe I’ll see you again tomorrow, or the day after that
This isn’t hello either
This is two strangers passing each other by without saying anything at all
Maybe someday we’ll make our introductions again
But next time I’m going to say: Hello my name is so and so, and I’m afraid of losing you
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
The accounts of losing yourself were as follows:
i.
The voices of the people around you started to sound like a cassette tape in fast forward. You couldn't understand why they were talking that way.
Alltheirwordsstringingtogetherinunrecognizablehighpitchedgarble
ii.
When you saw your reflection in the looking glass, you began to see someone else.
You couldn't recognize the face in the mirror. you reached out to touch who you thought you were, and your hand slipped through the surface like a hand submerging into water. And that was the last you saw of your face (or at least, what you thought was your face)
iii.
So now, you became a faceless creature. You saw without eyes, hearing only static and white noise. You walked on abandoned sidewalks, tripping over broken glass and getting tangled up in withered weeds. It is there where you completely lost yourself. And no one saw you slip through the cracks into the crevices of shattered dreams and empty promises. No one saw you fall through paved over lies and stomped out wishes.
Somewhere along the way, you misplaced what it was to be human.
You became something else entirely.
You became a writer.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
there are times when i don't want to wake up
when my only desire is to sink into my mattress, and allow my blankets to swallow me whole
because it's just so much easier to tell my restless heart to sleep
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 1:33 AM UTC
your mouth exhales chilled words
like breaths on a cold day
your eyes freeze my soul in an icy stare
and all i can do is stand there,
frigid
because my frostbitten heart forgot how to care
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 1:32 AM UTC
I didn't have to tell you I was lost, you already knew.
I guess the way my lonesome eyes wandered over the pages of blissful and melancholy poems may have been your first clue. I read them, and quoted them out of habit.
Asking you constantly why people didn't talk like this anymore, why they insisted on using simple, dull phrases in their speech to depict their emotions.
You said it was because poetry was a lost art, and that describing how one felt had evolved into just plainly telling them so, without flowering it. Making it easier to understand. Strangely, I couldn't comprehend what you meant by that, but it forever made me wonder why people no longer wanted their words to be beautiful.
The second indication of being lost was the way I tried so hard to stay hidden, but always managed to become exposed. My insides always surfacing at the most inconvenient times. It got to the point where everything I said caused people to look my way.
Not because what I articulated was witty, or even lovely, but because the words I said were unusual and never made sense. Thus, I made an effort to keep my voice quiet. So at least then my insanity would only come out in whispers.
Thirdly, I think you became convinced of my inability to find myself on the day I climbed up onto the roof of my house and told you I was going to jump. I pronounced it was the only way I could ever really achieve my dream to fly, even if it were only for a few seconds before I would collide with the ground. It took hours, but you finally persuaded me to come back down. Promising that you would find me a pair of wings.
And who could forget the time you asked me my favorite color, and I told you it was gray. When you inquired to the reason why, I replied that it was because gray was all my favorite colors blended together. But that I liked it most because it was the color of your downcast eyes. I still remember how you halfheartedly laughed and promptly changed the subject.
I guess, now I can see I wasn't the only one who was lost.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 1:30 AM UTC
The world is not ours,
(but that doesn't stop us from wanting it)
Our bodies are not limitless; they do not last forever, though in this moment
I swear, I almost feel infinite
There was a time when I thought words were immeasurable
Those being said, those already spoken, and those yet to be spoken
They are, were and would forever be endless
Some are exchanged lightly without thought, and others are as thunder, destructive and forceful,
but somehow it doesn't matter how they are said, and to whom;
As long as those words put an end to the drawn out silence
(there is no need for them to be meaningful, or even tender)
I used to believe words were Everything
that language could offer us something unexplainable and undeserved
(As though it was not meant for everyone)
I used to think these things when I was young
(I still do)
Some poems exist inside of us, and others for all the world to see
But what the world sees, we are blinded to
These poems are not spoken out loud
Because no one wants to talk about their hidden, unmistakable flaws
It's a shame really
We listen so hard, but we never hear the poems we need to hear most
Clouds and rainy days are everywhere, with blue skies and happiness in between
(But what comes after the happiness?)
Our lives, it seems are photographs
Moments of joy, snippets of sadness
Beginnings of one thing,
ends of another
they are simple snapshots taken just to be forgotten
worn and faded
Beautiful, but so often left in a drawer
Outside our lives, beyond the drawers and would-be frames
The world keeps shifting, moving forward,
with or without us
Fall-painted leaves, white-blanket snow melting
into the beautiful bloom of spring and warm heart of summer
Trivial are our words
We write all we know, inking down our deepest thoughts,
But the paper stays blank and empty
Our words, despite how lovely and important we think they may be,
have no power over anything at all
The stars are so far away and out of reach, but even the stars
are no closer to Heaven than we can ever be
We don't know what matters
we complicate things, and make excuses
truly, we don't know what really matters in life
(Or maybe we just don't care about what matters until it's almost gone)
In summer we miss the snow,
in winter we miss the sun
We have become discontent and unhappy with what we have
So these are the three things I have learned,
One from someone I'll never meet,
two others from people I never knew:
Walk in other people's shoes, regardless of the size
See things through someone else's eyes, instead of looking blindly through your own
Write as if the words you write could be your last
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 1:21 AM UTC
you know that dream we all have?
the one where we're trying so hard to reach out and touch something,
trying to get somewhere,
or get away from something frightening.
that's what it feels like.
you want so bad to make my hurt go away, but you don't know how
and i don't know how to let you know it's not your fault.
trust me when i say there is nothing you could've done, or still can do to save me.
i'm too far gone for that.
it's like that other dream we all have
the one where we're sinking so fast we know we can't catch ourselves.
we claw at the ground, the air, trying to grasp something solid, something we can hold on to.
but nothing's there,
nothing is ever there.
we just fall.
this crushing weight upon my chest won't go away
and i'm too tired to push off the heaviness that's pulling me down.
you offer me your hand, and i can't take it
my fingers won't stretch that far.
i hear your voice shouting,
telling me over and over not to give up, to keep trying.
i slowly shake my head and close my eyes, allowing the sleep to pull me in
deeper.
can't you see i'm happy here in my dreams?
i just need to be alone.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 12:57 AM UTC