Trying to be perfect
Wake up in precision,
Yet the goal is a precipice.
Scale the wall
Be yourself
Perfection is never the absence of a crack;
Rather it is embracing the cracks as you add a little more glue.

I am shattered, being pieced together

I start to embrace myself--to be confident every day--without anxiety, overthinking, or the crude part of myself that says I will never scale the wall.
Piece by piece
One step at a time

One day I will release myself from choosing what I know rather than what lies on the other side

alarm goes off
Wake up
Breathe
Step

I thought I could walk away from writing by falling in love.
I have not touched a piece of paper in so long, I forgot how it felt between my fingers, and even what it smelled like.
Now my heart is hurting and I run to the paper. A lover that simply sat and waited on a desk, collecting dust.
I could be rejected from paper, but He opens up to me.
'I have missed you,' He says.
His perfect lines as straight as before I left.
'Ive been gone too long. May I.....?' I pull out my wooden ink pen.
The paper suddenly sticks to the desk.
'Of course. Always for you.'
I lightly touch the paper with the tip, and my mind is already flowing out the hurt and pain. All my feelings have pulsed through my bloodstream, into my fingertips and to the end point of the writing utensil.
My pen scratches, and I can already feel the two of us sighing, releasing against one another

I'm drowning in the stiff upper lip silence of the room draped in black.
Mourning, they say. Mourning for loss. Sorry, they say. Sorry this happened.
She was young, so vibrant. There was light and life and joy in her eyes. There was so much for her, they say.
But I saw the way life embraced her and left her skin greying and her breath ragged. She wasn't okay and there wasn't anything vibrant about her and when I begged her to talk to me, or not to me, but to someone, to get help, to please keep breathing, she refused me.
Why was I the only one who saw her fall to pieces?
Why didn't they help her?
why is she gone?
I don't understand.

Sorry to tell you,
but we are not one in the same.
Bloodily tied by our fully extended limbs,
we hold onto different blame.
Attached by cordial hellos
and torn apart by distance,
we should never have to try this hard to find consistence.
Although time has become just a number, and hurt has become my armour
I will never forget your choices.

I is such a selfish letter.
Always I
Do this
Can
Will
Know
Only it is never just "I"
When you discover that two halves of 'eyes'
Make a vision
When they come together

I don't understand why I am breathing.
You are dead, and yet I am alive.  
Why?  
Even better. Could we trade?  
Could I see the beautiful place you are now and you, return here, with the family?
It would not have to be long, or I can schedule a swap once a day.
I know there is a balance,
I just have not found it yet.  
I am looking for the place of solace
Where bugs are gone and sunlight lasts forever.
The place where the grass is softer than and feather, and apples need no skin as they grow.

H e always knew she would be
E xactly as he saw dreaming of her body,
A nna was the name of his 1985
R olls Royce's of cars, a
T hunderbird
B lack, shiny,  with chrome size 18
R ims, sleek black tires
E asy money he made working
A ll stopped-- he wrecked, she went to junk
K icking himself wishing he had stopped at
                                               the stoplight