once there was a boy
with zipped up lips and scars on his heart
he met a girl
they never spoke
she saw the slashes on his wrist
but she didn't know how to communicate
what it means to care

i don't know if i believe in religion.
i know i believe in god
and i believe in good.

i believe in papers scattered across a writer's desk.
i believe in band-aids covering blisters on a dancer's toes.
i believe in the sweat on an athlete's face.
i believe in the love of a best friend.

i believe in the heartache that comes with breathing.
i believe in the pain that comes with living.
i believe in the scars that come with hurting.
i believe in the color red that comes with not believing.

12/27/2013

I cried in the shower.
When nobody was around to see,
except me - looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
But it was enough to make me cry harder, cry louder,

cry softer, cry unseen and cry unheard.
Cry out of sight and cry out of mind and cry without saying a single word.
Cry for the fallen who can't get up.
Cry for the tortured whose lives have been messed up.
Cry for a family I've never heard of.
Cry for the homeless and poor who just needed a little bit more love.
Cry for my friend who recently contracted ***.
Cry for him, because I wish instead it had been me.

I sat up in bed after midnight, writing a diary entry it read,
"No happy greeting tonight."

I laid down in the empty bathtub with the shower running,
spraying hot water, only on to my side.
The rest of me, freezing cold, exposed.
I played a song in the background, called Wounded.

There were three separate streams running down my face:
water, shampoo, and are those Tears coming out of the shower faucet?

It seemed like a perfect scene for a tragic movie.
It definitely felt 'unreal' enough to be in one.
I was spitting a lot.
maybe because the bitterness of words trapped in my mouth contaminated my palate.

He might have ***, Highly Likely.
and I always viewed him as invulnerable.
We spoke on the phone and he pretended to be strong but I can sense feelings.
I guessed it after all.
Only we might know so far.
Tomorrow he finds out.
Don't worry about me.
No ****** involvement - I'm not lucky enough to get a guy like that.

I feel a fraction of his fear and pain though.
I've been an idiot and a bad friend.

So no happy greeting tonight diary.
Please excuse my sorrow and don't take pity.
No worries, I think those were just Tears coming out of the shower faucet.
Like the single Tear I wake up with each morning ever since I heard he got it.

Sometimes it’s hard to breathe.
Sometimes the world closes in on your lungs like the
mountains need your breath and the ocean wants your soul.
Moonbeams of indefinite prosperity gleam down upon your skin like
a bridge made of children’s dreams.
They dance along your goosebumps, trying to calm your racing heart.
You cannot see,
you cannot hear.
All you know is the deceptively comforting pale, white walls of your world,
but you do not live in a world,
you live in a cage.
You have never closed your eyes and let yourself be
guided by the wind,
an everlasting pool of transparent anger trying to rule the world,
but never getting farther than vice president.
You will never know the deep blue waves crashing methodically onto the shore,
howling and groaning their way through a job that they will never finish.

Oceans can be selfish, you know.
They own 70% of the world and they’re still not satisfied.
Their deep blue rivers of fear snake their way under our skin and into our veins,
never content until we define ourselves by anxiety and pain.
Cages may hide us from the waves, but they also shield us from our own hidden hearts,
wallowing in the loneliness of pale, white walls with a transparent roof that yields
only to prosperity that is no longer indefinite.