am i in love with you
or am i in love with the idea of being in love with you

are you in love with me
or are you just in love with the attention i give you

do i love you
or do you just make me feel a little less alone
and i haven't felt "together" in a long time so i think i love you

do you love me
or do i just make you feel like you're worth something
and you crave my validation so you think you love me too

are we in love
do we love each other
do we want each other

or do we just need each other
to patch up the holes other people left behind

It's foolish to wish on eyelashes, stars, dandelions, numbers, and everything in between

The mere concept of grasping upon straws to achieve our desires in itself has become nonsensical childhood rhymes.

But if it grants me even the smallest placebo of solace in this unforgiving *******, then...

Star light, star bright,
First star I see tonight,
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have this wish I wish tonight.

It's Thursday, the 28th.
Time flies through the window
like the breeze, and I can't remember what day it is most days.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose—
But were always a rose.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

If weakness is unveiled
Could a foe be a friend

If you're skin read like braille
Could that friend be a lover?

—
Truth Remains
Sometimes I wish myself
Without eyes
Because
Outside of my illusion
I see only chains
Pain and anger
Disease and war
Poverty and hunger
I see fear
False premises,  like words that could ****

Truth remains,
Sometimes
I wish myself without eyes
Because
My eyes have seen more than they can bear
A curse as a gift
When reality bow before me
Kneeling on raw salty ground at my feet
Begging for compassion

Truth remains
I wish myself without eyes
Because
The truth is never gentle
It shakes, disrupts, rattles, destroys
It purifies, binds together, builds-
And quite frankly , my hands are tired

I wish myself without eyes
Because
Truth remains ,
My lips are tired of pretending
Wearing a smile large enough
For my intellect to drown in
But only when other’s eyes are focused

Truth remains
I wish myself without eyes
My love is wide
My vulnerability is harsh
Have me feeling lonely
At peace,
At war,
Aching
Knowing
Needing
Wishing myself indeed
Without eyes

Because truth remains
I wonder how
Beautiful life would be,
For an illusionist to be free of sight