I feel sick,
And I'm so sick
Of this.

Of never being
Up to par,
Of always being
The initiating party.

Of working myself
To points of break downs
And insanity,
And being judged
For any and all
Acts of self care.

I'm so sick
Of not being in control
Of my own life.

And I'm so sick,
I'm so sick of this.

I'm sick of waking up every morning,
And feeling like vomiting,
Because I'm filled with anxiety
For the up and coming day.

I'm so sick
Of dreading the start of my day,
And counting down the hours
Until I can come home,
And talk to you.

And I'm so sick
Of not talking to you.

I'm so sick
Of putting in so much effort,
I cannot meet anyone
More than half way.
It is bad
For my progress.

And now I have two minutes
Until I have to go
To that hell hole,
And get judged by people
For things I cannot control.

I am so sick and tired,
Of being sick and tired.

And I am so sick
Of feeling forgotten.
And I am so sick
Of only being valued
For what I'm useful for.

I am not my money,
I am not my chores,
I am not I am not I am not
Always going to be here.
I'm sick of waiting.

I only wait for one person.
And even they
Need to step it up.

If I had to choose
Between the green of the grass
And the blue of the sky
I'd choose whatever
Caused that glint in your eye.

Because the blue of the sky
Does not know my intentions
Behind words so bold
Such as "I wonder
If I want to grow old?"

I was so obsessed
In not becoming
Another bad memory
For you,
I had not realized
You had become
A nightmare of a memory
For me.

And as I recall
Good times and great times,
I am sad to say
That in the relay
They have been tainted
By the bitter black of your rage.

So congrats,
My dear,
You moved on barely a week
After you left me
Seemingly broken
And seemingly undone,
With nothing to my name
But the sandals on my feet.

But interestingly
Enough
I do not care.

I hope your new flame
Is good to you,
Beady eyes
And all.

And I hope that you are good to her,
Toxic rage,
Volatile guilt trips,
Cruel fists
And all.

For I found that,
Just as before,
I have always preferred
The green of life and living,
And the orange of the sunset
So much beyond
The simple blue
Of the broken shell
Of a robin that never got a chance
To be more than an egg.

I hate the storm of your eyes,
But I no longer fear storms.

Why, you may ask?

Call me Storm Siren.

Maybe you'll understand then.

I scream into the void,
I guess I do that a little too often.

But I still scream,
Just like I have a million times:
"BREAK ME. SEE IF YOU CAN DO IT."

I taunt.

I laugh, and continue, "I answer to no man or god, and both have tried to break me. I cannot be broken for long."

And I feel heat.
Fire seizing my feet,
My legs,
My torso and arms,
Engulfing my eyes.

I am burnt to ash,
Burnt to nothing,
Just an ember shimmering and glimmering
In nothingness.

But there is no song sweeter
To bring forth life again,
Than that of a bluebird's.

And as the soft sound of chirping
Fills the nothingness with a bed of grass,
And a tree for my Bluebird to perch,
My embers still shiver and shimmer and glow.

When the light goes out within my embers,
My Bluebird dives down from his perch,
And pecks at my embers curiously.

"Give her time," Whispers the wind,
The rustling of leaves in the trees,
The soft caress of the grass.

My Bluebird sits and waits,
bringing the embers cupped flowers filled with sweet water,
And shiny rocks that I might've taken a liking to,
If I were not ash.

And in time,
Under the constellations that dance within his eyes,
And the galaxies that play within his heart,
Painted across the sky for the wind, the grass, and that lovely little tree,
To see,

I am pulled from golden starlight and grey ashes,
Dark soil and green grasses.

A very high chirping is heard,
And fluttering and hovering, is a Hummingbird.

And though I am still a little damp,
And still dusted with grey ash,
I float and hover towards my Bluebird,
And though I once never answered to man or god,
I am happy to flutter and fly together.

And as he, a Bluebird, and myself, a Hummingbird, flew and floated and spiraled ever higher,
The darkness of the void
Began to grow saplings and blossoming flowers.

Nothing is broken for long.

If the hellhounds nip at my ankles--
(And they will)
Promise me you will put flowers at the foot
Of my coffin,
To cover the stubs
That they left.

If angels call for me--
(And they just might)
Hold my hand close to your heart,
But let my summer sunset voice
Fade away into the first night of a too-cold fall.

If the world tries to pull me underneath its cold, damp crust,
Then remember me as I was.

Remember me as spacey.
Remember me as guilty.
Remember me as filled with sorrow.

But most importantly
Remember the smile I smiled just for you.
Remember the laugh that bore your name.
Remember how my hand felt in yours,
And how bad it hurts to see it in his.

Remember my voice as it spoke your name, soft, sweet, and tasting like cool blueberries on a hot spring day.

And remember how I burned it to the ground
With hell hounds at my feet,
With angels at my throat.
Remember that I burned the bridge,
And spat blood into the ashes,
As this Earth swallowed me whole

And I was

Born.

First to die

Now to live

There is a distance
within my heart
there is a distance--
I keep you at arms length.

when all I desire
is to be within
your arms.

I'll show you the dark
twisted parts of me
the patterns I recognize.
but I can't show you the good parts.
I don't believe they'll last.

but you say
you want
to stay.

and right now
I believe that
you mean it.

and right now
I believe
that you will.

I'll never understand what happened.

I'll never quite get it.

Things changed so rapidly,
And I'll never quite understand how or when,
Or if I was even there at all to stop it.

In some ways,
You'll always be my mother.
In other ways,
You'll never be.

And as much as parts of me
Whole anger and resentment,
There will always be a larger,
Much more forgiving
Part of me
That does not.

That holds only love
And appreciation
For everything you did.

So go ahead,
Paint me black.
I will love you through it,
Because, well,
We both know
I used to be golden.

I can't really listen to that band anymore,
But that's okay.

With hearts of gold,
Comes the idea to always do right,
Or to at least always try.
And it leaves me too smart for my own good,
As he told me many times.

I am golden,
Like the sun,
Like the stars,
Like the light that could guide you home,
If you ever wanted it to.

But some people prefer silver,
And that's cool too.

I don't have to be the best
In the eyes of anyone
Besides
My Bluebird.

And to him I'm much more than gold,
Much more than a prize.
I'm his Hummingbird,
And that's worth more than any value
Any metal
Could ever have.

(Understand my intentions,
These are not my confessions.
Trust, though, that I've done my wrongs,
That's it. So long.)

Make believe
I'm a mess
If you so choose
If doing so makes you feel better.

Weightless,
Don't get me started.
There's nothing
That keeps me grounded,
Quite like him.

Down to Earth,
Honey no,
I've got my head in the clouds,
And my feet are running on stars.
(Rewrapping old scars)

And reality doesn't come crashing down,
When I go tumbling back to our atmosphere,
Because my reality
Is in the clear.

'Cause it's not like
I regret my choices
That lead me to here.
Whether it's left me with scars or fear,
I would say
I turned out okay.

Listen up,
If you would find it pleasing to hear,
Or even if not.
I'm a pistol
With the safety on.

My smile melts
The ligaments in your knees,
And my knuckles are scarred
From fights with things that also bleed,
So you're no different,
In all honesty.

But he kisses me
And it leaves me breathless,
And suddenly the violence,
And swift movement
Of the fight
And grace on my feet
Comes crashing down,
I'm burning in the atmosphere.

I'm left as a
Fragile thing,
A bird with buzzing wings.

Dust off scorched skin
And soot covered feathers,
I'm stained in ash
And the pale raised skin
Of scars I probably somehow deserved.

Who I used to be,
And who I am now
Are no longer the same.

I used to fight to survive,
In more ways than one
And today I have to bite my lip to keep
From smiling
At seemingly nothing.

And I kept trying
To keep flying back to the stars,
And I kept getting burned,
But I don't need heavenly bodies,
No,
I needed another bird to fly with.

Scramble the iridescent reds and purples,
With the greens and yellows,
Fluttering and flying,
I'll fly with him,
My Bluebird.

At peace with a life,
I never intended to live.
I never intended anything
Until now.

I fully intend
On sticking around
And staying with him
For as long
As he'll have me.

And I'll fight like the hell I've seen
To stay longer.
Giving up is for cowardly children,
They throw away what's broken
In order to get a new one.
Breaking it further so no one judges them
For throwing it away.

I am no child,
And I am now coward.

I want a life with my Bluebird.
And **** it all to hell
If I let petty displays of power
Rip that from my hands.

So let me inform you, kindly,
Of my intentions.

As a demisexual synesthete who writes too much and pays attention too little, I fully intend on staying here, hand in hand, wing by wing, with the bird that taught me (most likely subconsciously) that falling in love is the wrong way to do it. Fly, don't fall. All it takes is enough determination and desire to keep going in efforts for a life with another.

And my existence
is gunmetal grey
coasting between
raven black
and ghost white.

I am the taste of the oncoming storm on your lips
I am the feeling of icy wind on your fingertips

I am the smell of fire,
I am the sound of lightning breaking the wires.

and your existence is snow white,
calm and cool and completely planned for.

fate took you into account
when things were set in motion

you're the twinkling stars,
you're that knowing exactly where you are
feeling.

you're the steady ferocity of the lynx,
you're the cold, dangerous whisper of "don't move, don't breathe, don't even blink."

I am gunmetal grey,
and you are the endless color,
the spiraling reds and oranges,
and the bottomless blues and greens.

I was unseen by fate,
yet I am intertwined within yours.

Falling is easy,
Especially when infatuated.
Infatuation causes a false sense of trust.
So you allow yourself to fall,
Thinking that someone of interest
Would catch you.

But they expect you to catch them.

And sooner or later,
The weight of each other is too much.

They weren't actually ready to care for someone else,
You cared too much.

You were a means to an end to them.
Whether it be you were good for their ego,
Or you were an ****** just waiting to happen,
You didn't actually matter.

Don't worry.
I get it.
I've been there, too.

Falling is easy.

But flying is harder.

Flying is a choice.
It is making the conscious decision to let go,
To jump that cliff.
It's having enough control not to tense up
Every muscle in your body,
And brace for the inevitable impact.

Here's a secret, though:
The impact isn't inevitable.

Because when you fly, you're carrying your own weight.
And when you feel yourself faltering, you have someone who is flying with you,
Who will make sure you don't hit the ground,
And you'll do the same for them.

Because you care so much,
And even though you know the pain of losing them would be mostly temporary,
You also know it would permanently damage parts of you.

But, surprise, surprise!
They feel the same way.

You're more than hormones and pheromones and all kinds of other types of moans.
You make them a better person,
By being their best friend and so much more.

And trust me,
Flying is harder than falling.
You have to weather through storm after storm,
And cloudy days,
And lightning and thunder,
And lots of rain.

But you can do it,
For yourself.
For them.
For both of you, together.

Because, I guess the whole point is:

Falling is infatuation.

Flying is love.

And while falling is easy,
Flying is much better.

Why sleep?

Why is sleep what you agree on.

Why not something easy,
Something helpful.

Like genders,
Or names,
Or actions,
Or intentions?

Or how events actually occurred?

Or who we have sympathy for?

Or who we empathize with?

Or whether or not we empathize with anyone at all!?

But no.

We're going to agree on the fact
That I'm not going to sleep tonight.

Why?

Because I've had enough stress for the day/week/month/year,
Let's save me from some nightmares
And just not sleep.

But it's a little lonely,
And a little scary,
Being awake with just my thoughts.
At least sleep ends,
And I wake up,
And the world is awake.

Everything is silent
Besides my fingers on the keyboard.

But I am okay.

I am okay.

Bite back down
On the anxiety,
Bite back
Fight back
The fear
The nausea.

Just a little
Sick is all.

Fight back
Bite back,
I'll be fine.

Just the return
Of some insomnia.

I don't know this feeling.
This fluttering in my stomach,
This anxiously awaiting a message,
This feeling of mutual respect
And care.

I don't know this feeling,
Being told not to feel bad
Or told not be embarrassed.
Being told that I am endearing,
Not insane.

Of someone looking forward
To speaking to me,
To seeing me,
Asking if it's okay
If they contact me as soon as they can.

Warning me that they'll be busy,
So they won't be able to respond a lot,
But that they'd still like to hear from me.

Because apparently I am
"Sweet and cute."
And "absolutely gorgeous"
And "completely awesome".

Because apparently I have a
"Good heart,"
However scarred I believe it to be.

My therapist says
You cannot go from loving someone
To disowning every memory of them
In two days.

My therapist says
I was in love with the memory of the person you were,
Not the angry monster you've become.

And even though I hate that I started falling out of love with you
Very rapidly
Mid February,
And I only gave you parts of me to convince myself otherwise,
And even though I hate that part of me will always love you,
I am so glad that I have grown to see your faults,
And that your funny-face selfies
Are not longer endearing,
But irritating.

Deleting your pictures off my phone
Was painful,
But once it was done,
The freedom was so good and pure.

I do not regret loving you.
But I do regret not being the one that left you,
Instead of you leaving me.

But you say
I am a monster,
And that is fine.
I am a hurricane of life
But monster is a nice word too.

And she says I was selfish,
I wish she'd look in a mirror.
She really needs to.

But he sees my worth,
My value
And likes seeing me.
Likes talking to me.
And it's not weird.
I don't feel the need to occupy all his time,
Because I don't feel like he'll drop me
The moment he finds someone "better".

I have so many things to tell you,
Most of which are how happy I am right now,
And the rest are telling you to *******.

I'll be sending you a package soon,
With your shirt and the ring attached to the necklace your mom gave me.
I'm giving the necklace back too.

There will be no letter.
No kind words.

Maybe a nickleback CD and a book on how to not be a ****.

But otherwise, nothing.

It is uncommon these days
To be satisfied and content with life.
Last night was the first night in a month that my insomnia got to me.
I was scared I'd wake up in a bad place when I finally slept.

I woke up, and after the nausea from the nightmares passed,
I received  a message from him.
And a simple apology and good morning and being told that I'm endearing,
Well it made me so much happier than you ever did.

Because there  was always some type of double meaning,
Some type of venom lacing your words.

He's upfront, and honest.
I don't quite understand how he makes me so happy.
Maybe it's because I finally like myself,
And he helps me figure out more ways to find good in me,
And you only ever made me see the bad in myself.

Your hollow apology for that goes unforgiven, by the way.

It is uncommon to be so much as satisfied
In this day and age.
Don't even get me started
On the rarity of the happiness
I'm feeling.

Dear Sakura,

You were my oldest and most consistent friend. Remember when I called you  toxic because I cut you out to prevent you from feeling pain when I tried to off myself, because I didn't want you at my funeral?

Remember when I got myself help so that wouldn't happen again and when I got out of the hospital you told me that I only care about myself so we can't be friends?

Part of me wants to tell you to take a nice long look in the mirror.

Part of me understands how you misunderstood what being suicidal does to a person. They cannot care about others as consistently as you need it while they're trying to find consistent hope to keep going.

And another part of me, the most influential part, understands it was necessary.

I cannot chase you, my old friend and my now nothing. I cannot chase someone who never intended on staying around.

I do not wish you harm, or ill will. I wish only the best for you, for your life. I hope you grow up quickly, we both need to. I do not think poorly of you. I am a little confused on your decisions, but I cannot bring myself to truly care. It would be harmful to my well being, and if you still cared, you'd be so proud.

We had a good run. End of freshmen year to this past May. We had a good run, I promise. Just know there had not been a person outside of my brothers and mom, until very recently, that I cared for more than I had ever cared for you.

I am glad you told me off after I got out of the hospital. It was my not wanting to hurt you again that lead me to get the help I needed. Though it stings to know you probably think poorly of me, I cannot let myself care. The closest thing I had to a sister, and the closest thing I had to someone that could understand without words (though I was wrong, you obviously needed some words from me to explain), is gone.

And rest assured, I am okay with this. We had a good run, as I said, but that was the last one. As much as I loved you and our friendship, I don't see any type of friendship for us in the future. Maybe the bad blood will go away. But I am okay without you, as I am sure you are without me.

Best wishes,
Glass Half Full

Within a dream
Last night
I felt the terror
Of the bitter sting
Of jealousy.

I don't normally feel
Things like jealousy
Any longer,
But the pang of envious
Resentment was there and true.

I don't remember
The majority
Of the dream,
But the horrible negative emotion
That stirred inside me
Seems to have stayed
And is eating away at my insides.

If I were any
Of the seven deadly sins
Personified,
I would be Wrath,
Simply put.

Envy's vices
Have nothing on the rage
That builds within my veins
Based upon a
Green eyed monster.

And if I were the beast
My ire makes me feel like,
There would be no kind, lovable parts of me
Left but instead
Sharp needles and claws,
Guttural growls and sharp,
Locking teeth.

I do not want to be
The person this feeling
Makes me become.
Spitting poisonous insults
Like how some snakes spit venom.

A large vocabulary
Simmering down into
"expendable, vapid strumpet!"
And
"horrid glutton!"

No, I cannot allow myself
To fall down the path of
Pointless rage and begrudging resentment.

For it was just a dream,
Nothing more
And nothing real.

I've been thinking alot
Lately.

I've been thinking a lot
Especially
About something someone once said to me.

"I just want you to know
That the kind of love you deserve
Is unconditional.
You deserve someone
Who love all of you, every part.
Who doesn't require that
You change somehow.

Because all of these horrible things that happened,
They're a part of you.
They are woven deeply and intricately within your heart.
And this boy, I hope you know that he would absolutely
Take the opportunity to change these parts of you.
I hope you know that he would jump at the chance.
And you deserve so, so much more than that.
You deserve a type of love that is unconditional.
You deserve a type of love that loves and accepts and cherishes every single part of you.
Even the broken parts.
Even the parts that aren't very pretty to look at.
You deserve so much more than anyone would be selfless enough to give."

The last thing I ever said to him was that he was wrong.

As a child I'd stare fondly at the barn owl
That would coo outside my older brother's
Window.

My mother would go on and on
About how the owl was a demon.

I was four years old
When I befriended a garden snake in the yard.
I'd run out to the garden,
After ladybugs or in search of caterpillars,
And the little black snake would peer out from under a bush,
Awaiting a piece of frozen chicken I'd bring him from the freezer in the garage.

He'd slither over my bare feet,
And I'd ask him questions
That I never received
Any answers to,
But I was still satisfied
With his presence.

And one day,
I was five,
And excitedly came home from my first day
At a kindergarten I never went back to after September was over.
I raided the freezer,
And brought out half a chicken breast
But Luce wasn't by the hydrangea's.

Finally I heard the smash
Of metal on pavement,
And he had been beheaded
By a neighbors dad,
Using a gardening trowel.

I was not fond
Of the irony.

And in the days to come
I'd make friends with the crows in the yard.

And in the months to come,
I'd recognize a love for creatures other than my own.

And in years following,
I'd much rather converse
With things that would not respond nor listen,
Than beings who think they know better.

And as being repeatedly rejected
And ostracized
Commonly does to a person,
I had resolved that only bad things
Happen to people I care for,
And whether it is true or not,
It is not fair to attempt to protect them
At the cost of their feelings
And my sanity.

So if I'm just bad news,
Let me borrow a line from Taking Back Sunday:
"If I'm just bad news, then you're a liar."

I will never be the rising sun
On a rainy day,
But allow me to be the rain
For the roots of a dying plant.
Allow me to be warmth
On an especially cold winter's day.

Allow me to be the relief
To your pain,
Somehow.
Whether it be the ice that runs through my veins,
Or the fire within my chest.

You have shown me
That flying is more than possible
For the likes of me.
You've very much
Been a beacon of light
On a day that clouds were overwhelming my vision.

I wanted to hold your hand,
But if given the chance,
I'd like to hold your heart.

I remember the snide comment,
I went home and googled the term,
It made sense from where I had heard it from
Previously.

But I'd do anything,
To find you.

So why be a wallflower,
If only for nostalgia's sake.

And it's funny,
The shy part of me sat back,
And watched the wallflower wilt,
And the wildflower bloom.

All for the sake
Of nostalgia.

And it's funny,
How easy it was
To catch feelings for you again,
As though they had ever stopped.

I don't believe they really did,
Because meant to be is meant to be,
And I know I'm meant to be yours,
Whether I'm a wallflower
Or not.

I am tearful and apologetic words,
Like a broken record,
The tear drops play on repeat.

I'd stop it if I could,
But I cannot.

My voice reverberates visions of the past
And apologies bouncing off of walls.

Empathy and guilt envelop me
And I am found wrapped in a cocoon
Of forethought and hindsight.

Impulsively,
I asked hypothetical questions
And fear nearly constricted my vocal chords,
But the fire in your eyes
Warmed me to the point that the fear of rejection freezing my voice and myself
Melted into my blood stream.

And I feel as though,
You might have known
If I hadn't been so afraid,
And you hadn't been so wary.

But waking up in your arms,
And feeling the beat of your heart
And seeing the vibrant expanse of your sunset reds/oranges and sea foam blues/greens,
Makes up for any embarrassing moment
Or awkward fear and anxious hesitation
I might have committed.

I am thankful
That you somehow look past
All the tears that stream down my face,
And my cold front of apathy when I'm not necessarily pleasant,
And somehow see a heart
Worth keeping around.

You have ice in your veins.

You are the same
As the world is
When I wake up at 2:35 AM on a week night
And there's clumps of snow dropping from the pink-violet night sky,
And then sticking to the cold, unfeeling ground.

You are the same
Because you make me feel the same way.

Watching a blizzard's slow and gentle beginning at odd hours in the morning,
Is one of my favorite feelings.
I feel calm.
I feel content.
I feel, finally, at peace.

I'm not sure
If I've ever known peace
Anywhere
Aside from watching snow fall to the earth at 2:35 AM
And aside from the rare moments your laugh touches my heart,
Or your smile greets my soul,
And washes her clean.

You have ice in your veins.

You are all too familiar with the tranquil melancholy
That comes along with
Snowy winters.

You are familiar
With the peaceful, but lonesome, silence.

You are comfortable in it,
For it is your home.
For your walls
Are built from ice,
And no summer has ever been hot enough to melt them,
At least not for long.

You are the snowy winter.

But I am the pink summer.

I am the peak
Of colorful and pesky
Wildflowers.
I am the sunset
At nine o'clock at night.
I am the breath of sweet, fresh air
That stirs all your hormones together,
Making you feel warm and happy and excited and giddy and alive
But most of all
Free.

I am the smell of gasoline
And charcoal.
I am sunshine storms
And the warm rain they bring.
I am bonfires
And bugspray
And camping trips
And awkward-but-memorable-outdoor-***
In a teeny little tent,
That almost always ends in giggle fits,
And feeling so entirely, and finally, whole.

I am heat exhaustion
And hurricanes
And itty-bitty green inchworms venturing away from their
Leafy trees
For the very first time.

I am passion.
I am feeling something with your whole heart.
I am bravery.
Meaning, I am being absolutely terrified, but doing the thing anyway.
I am feeling so much of one emotion at a time that it is the only thing you can feel.
I am the butterflies in your stomach,
If they were ever there at all.

I am warm
And free
And wild
And loving
And always, always there.
In some way,
Even if just a memory.

I am always fleeting.

I am summer.

You are winter.

You are hot apple cider,
And cocoa with too-big-marshmallows,
And flannel pajamas
And surprises
And christmas tree ornaments that I love for no other reason other than that I love them and I always have and always will.

You are cold winds
And painful, but important, memories.

You are the feeling of stability.
You are finally having some type of normalcy,
Away from the chaos.

We are polar opposites.
So much so,
That it makes us the same.

I know why summer is your favorite season.

But did I ever tell you how much I love winter?

In
One two three
Out
One two three.

Oxygen isn't as important
As pretending it's fine.
I feel this weird shattering
In my chest
It's not depression
I'm sure,
It's the last of this
Little hardened iron shell
That I wrap around myself
Shattering utterly and entirely.

The rust and steel is
Falling apart
And I realize
You're about to see
The most vulnerable part of me
And I'm very
Very
Afraid.

Not of you
But of the shattering parts
Of me.

I think of warmth washing over me,
As a blush creeps up my spine,
And spreads across my face.

Scarlet would christen my cheeks
On a day void of color,
If I were to hear your voice
And feel your breath against my skin.

But instead I am cold,
My bones and neck are stiff
With a lack of movement.

And I look towards the window
And sigh at the grey and threat of rain.

But my heart is light,
And I keep trying to reach
For you though
You aren't here.
443 miles away,
It's not that far,
But I can't afford a train.

And pain
Destroys my abdomen
But laughter lights up my face,
When I think of us and conversations.

And I adore
So much of you,
All of you,
I wish I could display
It in a proper way,
But when have I ever
Been considered
Proper?

From dragons
To sword play
To dresses and boots
And rain and mud,
I'm not what you'd call
A proper young lady.

I am very much a lady,
But behaving
Has never been my particular
Well,
Pattern of behavior,
If you will.

I am here,
With open wings and a fluttering heart
Waiting anxiously
To fly with you,
If you'd have me.

To think,
Today we are flying,
Maybe one day we'll be nesting as well.

I was the crashing waves,
I was the rip tide,
I was the storm--
The ebb and flow only ever tamed
By the moonlight in his eyes.

But you

You were predictable,
The way you moved so lyrical.
You were both the tree sprout,
And the atomic bomb
That ripped its' roots out.

I was the crash of water into flesh.
I could heal, I could bruise;
Either way, the feeling was always fresh.
There is no soul I won't one day possess,
There is no dream I can't hinder the progress.
Toy with me,
And the oxygen in your lungs will be suppressed,
But, hell, nevertheless...

You are land,
You are plants.
You hold still
Your instability.
But in this/ your insanity
You have no deniability.
You did this to me,
You must finally
Hold some accountability.

Tectonic plates shift
And tear
They rip
Year after year.

What comes from the sea
Can always return to the sea.

The end of you,
The end of me.

My waters will swallow you whole.

At night i am
essentially blind.
and at night
I long to be held by you.

last night I was
and tonight
I will be.

and I want so badly
to be brave enough
strong enough
to do all that you can do.

they call that burning fluid
"liquid confidence"
it only made me tired
and warm.

I want to tell you that
I want you
need you
but I am not brave
enough to make those claims
when you're looking me
in the eye.

but it wouldn't
be a lie
if I said
you are all
I desire
and all I need
and want.

I was so scared
to jump that cliff
but look at how well
I fly
beside you.

There is a shadow,
there is a whisper
there is the hint
of something else.

the nighttime screams
in my eardrums
repeating songs
where I came undone.

and who I used to be
just isn't me
and everything is changing,
and maybe that's good.

I am glad to be
part of you
I am glad to be
yours

but I live in the space between
meant to be
and reality
so find me
buried in old songs
and the broken spine
of your favorite book.

I am the sweetest, warmest sip
of your tea,
and I am the the best bite
of your favorite food.

I am simple human pleasures
like the smell of the rain,
or vague, stretching pain.

I am looking deep within your eyes
and finding golden ore
among churning blue skies.

you are the lightning that fills my veins
and I am the light
growing at the end of your tunnel.

About twenty seven hours
Until I see you.

And only one more night
Until we spend the night together.

And only one more morning,
Until I wake up to you.

And less than twenty four hours
Until I change into the dress I want to wear.

There's only one day, three hours
And fifty nine minutes
Until my hand will be in yours again,
And I'll be able to see you,
Really, actually see you.
Colors and all.

I know I am far from perfect, and I know I can be a little over zealous at times.

I also know you have most likely yet to decide that these are problems.

I know I have damage and I know I have scars.

I know you don't see it as damage, and I know you don't mind the scars.

I wish I could describe how much I love you rightly. I wish I could describe it with words and colors and sounds you'll understand.

I know I will fail, but that does not mean I should not try:


I love you with all my heart can contain.
I love you more than I have lived.
I love you more than there are flowers that bloom
I love you more than people pray for rain to come soon

If anyone were to say
That I love you less,
They do not know all I wish to confess.

I love you more than
The burdens I bear
Weigh down on my shoulders.

I love you more than I love the smell of fall
I love you more than the familiarity
That is the smell before it snows.
I love you more than all that I know.

I love you so very much,
That my love for you is more
Than any loss I've felt.

And if I were
To lose it all,
I would be fine
As long as it is you
That makes me fall.

Have you ever been
To where I was born?
Have you ever found yourself
Without a rose in sight,
But you still had a mouthful of thorns?

Did you ever sit in the silence
As the wolves sang to the moon?
Did it hurt when you realized
No one is going to sing for you?

Does it hurt when you remember everyone who came into your life
Just to go?
Did it make you sad,
When you found that the only familiar voice
Was your own echo?

Love, who am I to you?
No, please, just: who am I to you?
Am I the sunshine you wouldn't wait to hold onto?
Or am I the melody that's always been the only one to really know you?

Have you ever found yourself
Sitting where I was found?
Did they ever hear the breaking for themselves,
Everytime they let you down?

When was the last time
You decided not say that you're fine?
When did you feel "I love you."
Was real, and not just a pretty rhyme?
One that we beg for,
After every night
After every fight.

Welcome to Lonely.
Population: Just you... and just me, too.

Because there are moments
Where you feel defeated
Because the past
Feels like it weighs more than you can lift.

And when I dream,
I dream of those who tried to destroy me,
And I am not to be destroyed
By any God nor man,
I am much too stubborn for that.

Though when I dream,
I sometimes dream of the day I'll finally lose you,
And I say finally because that day is sure to come.

And I have seen hell,
And I have greeted Death,
And I have defied him
And denied his offers.

Have I ever told you
Of when I was a child?
When I was admitted into the hospital
For two weeks or longer
Because I was so sick
That if I had gotten there in later
I wouldn't be here,
And I would never have met you.

And since that brief encounter
With death
I had forever since been confused
And fascinated by Death.

Maybe Death only steals us away,
Because he is lonely.
That is a thought I once had.

That Death is terribly lonely,
And it has skewed his selfless thoughts
Into selfish ones.

But he releases us,
Into Otherworlds
Upon teaching us
What we had to learn from here.

There are parts to my life
In which I have seen hell,
And I have felt it.
In which I have stood up to face it,
And it has left me bent in a way
That I'm not sure if I can go back
To how I was before.

Sometimes i feel like you can't see me
like I'm only visible when I'm useful
or when you want me to be.

and sometimes I can't tell if that's my past talking
or my insecurities.

and I know I'm not smart or funny
or interesting or fun
or--
(feel free to disagree with me anytime now)
--anything more than broken.

sometimes I can't remember if I used that
word to describe me first
or if you did.

and I guess I'm just tired
of being so not-good.

and you told me that you somehow
still want any part of me
because aside from my brokeness
I'm still good.

sometimes I wonder how that works

sometimes I'm just too tired.

B-/W-itches
Burn to the ground.

But I guarantee,
I'm the best at burning bridges,
So show me to the shambled mess,
And I'll ignite a fire
So very bright.

Because I'd rather suffocate
Than hear their names again.

I'd rather drown on the smoke
From when I burn the bridge down,
Than let petty brats walk along the planks again.

I'll burn that bridge
With them on it.

I'll ignite a flame so bright,
Ignite your plastic promises,
And throw the embers to the wind.

So I'm technically certifiable,
And you're the type that I want to keep around.
I'm the kind of person
That holds onto letters and movie ticket stubs
And drawings with hearts on them.

I'm not great at letting go,
But I'm sure as you've noticed,
I'm fantastic
At getting attached.

And I'm the kind of girl
Who doesn't stick around very long,
Because losing people is unbearable,
But I'm also the kind of girl
That sticks to her word
No matter what.

And what if I made a promise,
To both you and myself,
That I'm going to be around
For as long as oxygen sifts through the breeze?
And what if I told you
That's the only promise I need?

I'm shivering
And wrapped up in your sweatshirt,
And you probably fell asleep
(Not like I blame you, you were tired)
But I can't seem to tell if I'm shivering out of being cold
(As per usual)
Or shivering because I'm so excited
To love you.

You promised me
You're not going anywhere,
And maybe I'm a little sentimental,
But listening to music that makes me think of you,
Helps me come to terms
With how much I trust in you and that promise.
Everything is telling me that this is right,
And safe,
And I don't normally place bets
Because I generally lose,
But I'll write it out now,
Because I bet we'll make it.

Give me something/anything to hold on to this moment/you.

I saw you,
Once.
You had a name,
Once.
A home,
Once.

You were held within my womb,
Once.

But you never got a breath of air.
You never got to know your name.
I never even knew you where there
Until it was too late.

I had you for five weeks.

It was too short.

Today, I said goodbye to a fertilized
Chicken fetus
Living in the shell
Of an egg I cracked.

Two lives
I never meant to take.

I held a funeral for them
In my back yard.
Burnt what we had,
Wrapped in paper, cloth, and incense.

Gave him a name. A headstone in our yard.

I wish I had done that for you.

I'm so sorry.

Sitting within the darkness,
Watching sparks fly by.
Sitting within the shadows,
Watching lights flicker in the distance.

Sitting within the twilight,
Watching something flicker towards me.

Bright sea foam blues and greens,
Warm and soft oranges and reds,
Spiraling towards me
And familiarity fills me,
And suddenly I'm trailing after this light.

I follow and I trail
And then the darkness recedes
As though it's terrified of the light,
And there's an open field where finally,
For once,
I can see.
I can feel.
And everything is warm and bright and real.

For once I'm here,
And I'm excited
And I'm so ready to be yours,
To be wrapped within your light
For all there is of forever and always.

But I love you more than forever,
I love you more than always.

Thank you for being my light,
My love,
My Bluebird
That I can fly away with.

Thank you for letting me fly with you,
I cannot wait to fly away with you.

Sunshine
Softens
Blue skies.

I was born
Under a waxing gibbous
Moon
I was born within
Darker days
But light was just overhead.

I was born in a blizzard
I was born within a storm

I was the lost cause
That found themselves.

Be the sunshine,
Or be the storm.

But either way,
Be something.

There is light,
There is dark,
And no,
You don't have to choose
Right now.

I am the sunshine.
I am the rain.
I am the promise
Of brighter days.

Tomorrow will be sixty three days.
Sixty three days
Of wanting to breathe as deeply as I could.
Of enjoying the feeling
Of the sun on my skin.
Of knowing I'm not horrible.

Tomorrow I will still have
Thirty seven days to go,
Until I get to one hundred.

And now I'm counting down the days,
Until I get to see you.
I only have to go three nights,
Two days,
Until I see you again.

I am so glad
That I made it.
I am so glad
I didn't break.
I am so glad
To enjoy the sound of music again.
I am so happy
To be alive.

Right now I'm crying,
Because it's a beautiful feeling,
Wanting to live
And being in love.

If I can make it passed
All the torment I've made it through,
To get to this,
With you at my side,
I know I can do anything.

Actions speak louder than words.
Let me show you my gratitude and humble pride
Until the day after forever.

Victor Hugo once said
To love someone is to see the face of God.

And that quote has really stuck with me.
I'm not really a religious person,
But I am a hopeless romantic.

So I'd like to believe
That even if there is no conscious higher power,
Like I'd like to think there is,
That there is at least fate,
Binding us to something,
Somewhere.

I guess I find comfort
In belonging to something,
Especially if that something
Is a someone
And that someone
Is you.

Have you ever heard something that makes
your heart sink,
whether it be pain or rage or sadness?
and your heart sinks right into your stomach
and you only want to pretend you didn't hear the
name
that

makes your stomach sick
and destroys your idea
that everything is okay
and you don't need to outdo anyone
or be better
or seek some type of vengeance.

and you want to light fire
to your flesh
or light fire to them,
but you won't.

and you hate the fact
that your hatred of the past
and this person
and who they were to someone you love
is so strong.

but it's okay.
I am yours now.
now and forever.

no one else is me to you
and no one else could be you to me.
and I hope that remains
within the times
my hatred gets the best of me.

You are the words on the tip of my tongue,
The ink on the ends of my fingers.

You are the
Beat--
Beat---
Beat-
Of my heart.

You are the fire in my throat,
And the steadfast in my stare.

You are the the ice on my wrists
And the soul that I miss.

You are the whole reason,
You are my only season.

You are the burn in my eyes.
You are the truth to all the lies.

You are the space in my brittle heart that never cracked,
You are the wings on my back,
You are the ground beneath my feet.
You are just everything,
Everything to me.

A month,
A year,
I can wait.

It doesn't take a toll,
It can't,
In comparison.

I've waited so long,
To be held in your arms.
I've waited for so long
To be yours,
Keeping your memory
A burning secret,
Imprinted in the flesh of the back of my brain.

Like ink scarred into skin,
You lasted longer
Than anything else would.

And I tried to get over it,
Move on from a crush unrequited,
But who am I kidding?

I was never the type of person
To crush on anyone at all.

I loved you
From day one.

So I waited for you,
Three years,
And then seven.

And finally,
After eleven years,
I can whisper
"I love you,"
And the sweetness in your voice
Will say it back,
And you are honeysuckle in the summer,
And crunching leaves in the fall,
And apple cider in winter,
And the promise of renewal in spring.

You are all things,
Waiting on the promise
Of the season to change,
And the change in me.

I've waited so long,
Knowing that you're mine,
I can now wait
As long as necessary
To hold you in my arms,
Each and every night.

As long as you
Are
Mine.

Only so much
For so long.
You can only last for so long
Before it all bleeds together.

I've never been fond of
Love triangles in literature,
To me love is more of a tangled thread.
There's not much choice to it, really.

You cannot fight your heart on who you love,
You can only choose whether or not to act on it.

And sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night,
And you, laying there, resting peacefully comes into my vision.
And even when I can't feel my lungs
Because I'm breathing too quickly from the nightmares,
You being beside me is like a wave of calm
Washing over me.

And I know none of this makes sense,
I don't have enough coherent thoughts
To really write today.

Ah, the result of trying my hand
At a novel.

Storm clouds.
Grey.
Black.
Flashing lightning.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5--
Rumbling thunder.
It chills your bones.
Shouting.
Yelling.
A man's voice.
A child's soft, muffled cry.
Cold skin.
Chills
Spidering up and down my spine
Over and over and over.
A woman sobbing softly.
Flashing lightning.
1. 2. 3--
Rumbling thunder.
Cold wind.
Rain.
It falls in sheets.
Feels like little blades of ice
Piercing my skin.
Screaming.
Slamming doors.
Cars driving away.
Gravel.
A child wailing.
It fades into a soft, distant whimper.
There aren't enough tissues for all their tears.
The wind picks up.
It howls.
Trees bend to its' will.
Some threaten to fall.
The rain comes down harder,
Faster.
Like sheets of bullets.
They're so cold,
I almost don't feel them.
I almost feel nothing.
And nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing

And then: You.

And then there was you.

Sunlight,
Straining through Autumn clouds.
Yellow and red and orange leaves.
Birds building nests,
Chirping back and forth.
Squirrels foraging for food for the coming Winter,
Scurrying up and down trees.
Warm spiced apple cider.
Silence,
Except for the soft, colder breeze.
Except for the purring of a cat,
The slight kneading of their drowsy paws.
Except for the soft snoring of a dog,
His occasional half-asleep woof.
Except for pages turning,
A pen gliding its' ink across thick parchment.
Typewriter keys clacking.
Silence.
Except for your footsteps coming through the front door
And down the hall.

Nothing.

And then there was you.

There never was anyone else.

Don't tell me the odds,
'Cause I'll beat them.
Don't tell me the rules,
'Cause I'll break them.

I'm all about being the best I can be,
And to do that I can be none other than me.

So don't tell me the odds,
Because odds are meant for beating,
And if you tell me the odds,
That'll be our last meeting,
Because people say
Soulmates aren't real
And people say
Divorce rates are at a record high,
But I don't give up
And I don't say goodbye.

So give me a chance,
Give me a choice,
And I'll always choose you.

Sh-shivering.

Shh,
Quiet.

Sh-shivering
Cl-clattering
Of te-teeth.

Shhh.
Quiet.

Sh-shivering
And cl-clattering
Of te-teeth
That sink into flesh
And I sh-shiver
Wanting your hands
To trace across mine.
And my te-teeth
Cl-clatter
Softly,
While I sh-shiver
When your hands trace across me.

And I'm so c-cold
But you seem to be
The thermodynamic equilibrium
I've needed
For a really long time.

Sh-shivering
Turns to
Elongated vowels (among other things),
And I'm not so cold,
Anymore.

And I want my hands
Held in yours,
And I want to be held,
By you,
And I want your lips
On my lips
My neck
My forehead
My back.
I want to feel your breath
In the crook of my neck.

I don't like
The physicality of it all,
I never have.
Take away what it means,
It's a little gross.

But lyrically speaking,
Elongating my vowels
And going back to my shivering form,
Is quite eloquently the best way to express
What I can't seem to say right.

Love isn't right enough. It doesn't feel like it's quite enough.

So I sit here,
Sh-shivering
Trying to think
Of the best way to tell you,
That beyond cl-clattering teeth,
And qui-quivering knees,
And sh-shaking words
That there's something more to this that makes me believe in something,
And I don't know how to show you
Or tell you
That flying with you is
The best decision I allowed myself to
Fall headfirst into.

They call me.

Waving to me from the up-turned leaves
On the trees lining the street
Before a storm settles in.

They call me.

Humming softly after sunset,
Ushering in the blue of dusk.

They call me.

Whispering along the howling wind
That rustles the grass and bangs the shutters.

They call me.

Coming down on me like a firing squad
The rain pummeling into my back
As I desperately try to remember.
As I desperately try to forget.

They call me.

You were the one who warned us.
You were the one who taught us.
We were shown everything.
Told everything.
How to protect ourselves.
How to fight back.
What your weaknesses were,
Because you thought they were ours too.

You were wrong.

They call me.

You didn't realize who we were.
You didn't know what we were,
Or why.

We never meant any harm.
We didn't choose this.
We never got a choice.

To us, choice is nothing but a fairytale
That we've become too old to believe in.

They call me.

The songs of the Old Religion
Rumble towards me
Within the fog.

**"We are the granddaughters  of the witches you weren't able to burn."

You took to the air
As though you were born to fly.
I have trouble staying airborne,
Probably because I was born to run,
Seeing as I've got running away
Running through my veins.
But I'd like nothing more,
Than to stay.

Parents bury their children,
Children bury all they have left,
And I'm sitting here crying over a boy
Who lied when he said he loved me.

Crying would be the wrong word,
Fuming would be better.


Men go to war,
Watch their friends being torn
Limb from ******* limb
By other humans,
And this is supposed to be
A civilized society?

It isn't.

And I'm sitting here,
Groaning and whining over the fact
That I can't stop vomiting,
And that the room won't stop spinning.

Little kids freeze to death
Because they have to sleep in their parents cars
In the middle of winter
Because their parents can't afford a home
And the shelters are full.

While I sit here and type out a poem
About how ******* rough my life has been.

I struggle with not being able to tell
If Right brain or Left brain is in charge,
And depending,
Which gender I would prefer to be referred to as.

I struggle with seeing colors constantly,
In and with everything,
To the point of sensory over load.
But some people never get to see color at all.
They don't even get to know anything more than darkness,
And even then, they don't know the difference.

Some people cry because the person that likes them isn't the right one,
And now they're left alone.
Some people rip their skin apart because
The person who touched them didn't ask permission.

I know.
I've been there.

But it's all trivial,
Isn't it?
Because there's always something worse.
Because if it's not happening to you,
It's not that bad.

Right?

Don't call me trivial, again, darling.
You wouldn't ever want to be where I've been.
I've been to hell and back.

So please, darling,
Fear me when I look into a fire and smile.

I hate watching your addiction
Tear my family apart.
You've been doing so well,
So please put the bottle down.
I've asked you so many times,
Please just stop.

Stop complaining to me
About the people who are trying
To help you,
And put that bottle down.

And if you don't,
Please don't ask me
To sit back
And watch
You drink your life away.

Please just stop.

Storm Siren's don't say much,
We usually observe.
We usually react,
Rather than instigate.
But when a storm siren
Wishes you well--
It would be best that you do well.

Please, may you be as brisk as the wind,
May you be as bold as thunder,
May you be as swift as lightning,
And may you be as calm as the rain.
May you know you are loved more than the rain
Falling to thirsty ground.
May you know you are admired more than the lightning
As it pierces the earth.
May you know your voice is more awe-inspiring than the thunder
As it mutes thoughts.
May you know you are stronger than the wind,
As it cuts through forests.

Storm Sirens call forth
The storms within your soul,
The flash of light and crash of thunder
That mute your thoughts and your inhibitions.

Storm Sirens hate storms,
But when a storm of a person,
With galaxies for eyes and gold for a heart,
Crashes through their senses and
Walls they built brick by brick,

Even the most up in arms
Storm Siren
Will fall to their knees
In awe.

I miss you,
And I'm up in arms
Over something my brother said.

See I've have things I
Struggle with
Almost constantly,
Like because I have a handful of mental illnesses,
Does that make me bad?

Or do my illnesses
Make me insane?
Or does my illness
Mean I'm held
More or less accountable
For things I can't control?

Having been abused,
Does that mean I'll repeat the cycle?
Or does it my mental illness
Make me so?

I'm up in arms
For having been accused
Once or twice
Of using someone as a punching bag,
But she fails to remember
The majority of our Junior and Senior
Years,
When she would gladly rip into me
All because she felt it was right,
During her time of month.

Not to say it was right,
It wasn't right,
For me to treat her poorly
As I tried to survive,
But either way,
There were ways to end a friendship
Better than her falsehoods.

And I'm up in arms,
Because I'm on the defensive,
And I'm scared I'm not my best,
And I know in real, grown up love,
So they say,
You're supposed to stick by someone
Even at their worst.

And I'll stick by you,
Easily.
It won't be difficult for me.
I've seen some things.

But I don't want you
To ever see me
At my worst,
So I'm up in arms,
And I'm scared,
And I'm considering
Getting the deep insides
Of my medial temporal lobe
Removed.

Just remove
The limbic system.

I don't know.
Nightmares and memories
At every turn.

I have to go back
To that hell hole
For half an hour tomorrow.

I'm honestly terrified.

With each blade
Shoved into the flesh of my back
I am more flexible
In my breakage.

My skin feels hot to the touch
As the fire beneath burns closer to the surface
Than ever before.

I push myself.
To stand.
To walk.
To do anything,
Just move, ******

You knock me down.

I do not get back up.