And my legs itch,
Inside, like ants crawling in my veins,
Like an energy being held down,
Held back.
The itch,
That never goes away,
As I try to remain still,
As I try to focus.
The itch.
As if I wasn't meant to remain this way.
As if I was meant to travel and move.
As if I was meant to change and evolve.
And the itch is not just in my legs.
It's in my soul.
As I look out a window on a sunny day,
Or sit within the confines of a stagnant building,
Or look at the sun twinkling on water,
Or look at the stars waltzing in the black velvet of night.
I itch.
I feel
the itch.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 12:13 PM UTC
There was a thunderstorm last night.
Today it smells like sweet petrichor,
Coating my nose and holding everything
Very Still.
But last night.
There was a thunderstorm.
Thunder rolling like waves crashing and breaking on the shore.
Lightning cutting jagged lines in the air.
And so much rain that the puddles look like oceans.
And the world is sweet petrichor.
And through the thunderstorm,
I thought of you.
Your hand in mine.
Your warm, sweet hugs.
The soft kisses that part of me will always pretend never happened.
And part of me aches for again.
Through the thunderstorm,
My thought was of sharing the time with you.
There was a thunderstorm last night.
One that almost shook the ground I stood on.
And I was not afraid.
But my fingers felt quite lonely.
And my thoughts resided elsewhere.
And now the morning's breaking,
And the whole thing is kind of hazy.
And the world's made of sweet petrichor.
And my thoughts still lie on you.
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
A shadow of stories told as a group,
Memories of times they were never alone,
A child wanders an empty room,
Remembering when it used to be a home.
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 8:31 AM UTC
Last night.
You said something silly.
And I almost said.
I love you.
Last night.
I typed the first three letters.
And a bubble popped around me.
And I was drowning.
Because what is happening?
And I deleted the first three letters.
Because I don't even know you yet.
And a bubble popped around me.
And I was drowning.
And I couldn't hear anything.
Because what is happening?
Last night.
You said something silly.
And I almost said.
I love you.
And I don't know what is happening.
And I don't know what to do.
And I'm scared it might be true.
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 8:27 AM UTC
Disgust smells of cigarette smoke.
A wisp curling into my nose and twisting my gut.
Woodsmoke always smells of home,
But cigarette smoke smells of disgust.
Disgust tastes like slurs dripping off a tongue,
With malice and hate.
Thick like honey, but not so sweet.
Disgust sounds like the shivers rolling down my spine as I try to flick it away,
Like a horse with far too many flies.
Disgust looks like a clenched fist.
Holding back an angry strike.
Disgust feels like smoldering embers.
Hot in the pit of my gut as I try to hold back the vile feeling
Of the cigarette smoke twisting in my nose.
And the thick slurs.
And the shivers.
And tightly holding back my fist.
Disgust smells of cigarette smoke.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC