Kiss you in the places you have numbed. Choke you till you cough up an "I love you".

Between the hours of 4 and 6 a.m you can hear the earth whisper its favorite secrets. The sun always yawns awake, while the moon shy's away. They both live in this moment. Simultaneously fluffing the clouds underneath their cheeks, one falling asleep and one waking, they huddle on top of their pillows and listen to the earth tell its stories. A lot of times I am awake, and they soothe my worries away.  They accompany me when the walls hush me. They never turn me away, even when their parting. We huddle together and we balance our heads and listen to what the earth has to say. Sometimes it's sad, and she weeps. The tears fall hard across the pavement. We try an offer her tissue. Other days its gruesome and the coldness hurts my bones, we offer her warmth. Some days its lonely, we offer her our company. Some days they're happy, we offer her gratitude. No matter the story we listen. & she too listens. There's days I can't sleep so I tell all that runs through my mind, she doesn't judge and neither does the moon or the sun. Nowadays I feel lonely, but I know they're there and they offer me comfort, but somedays I turn them away because I don't feel anything. I feel empty. I turn numb. Numb. Numb. Numb. I feel misunderstood and even I don't understand what should be understood. But they never leave, they visit me from the hours of 4 am to 6 am and even when one shuts its eyes and the other opens one, I know they're there and they're rooting me on. Earth says I don't need to understand how I feel just yet, but sometimes I wonder how long is 'yet'. But to live in the now, but for now go to bed.

I now give my love out freely, it's your business what you choose to do with it

There's a time where children's laughter is carried by the pump's water.
Where the music floods all corners of nyc.
Where even the train is on beat.
The sun shines hardest in NYC.

Sometimes its beautiful outside.
The sun shines for miles and miles. The clouds swim without a current. The grass sleeplessly kiss my ankles. I can hear my heart knocking in my ears. I stand still & feel mother gaia cradling me. I think no moment like this will ever exist.

wrote you love letters for 8 years and on the 8th I said I was done. I know one day someone will fall in love with you, but never with all of you.
I did that.
One day it'll be someone else's turn to rub their fingers across your forehead while you dip in and out of sleep. You'll sigh,
You'll say " Iove you" but you'll be caught off guard when it's not my voice that doesn't say " I love you too" I am lost love, for all my lovers.

Making stops from the sun to the moon
Who'd say i'd fall in love with you.
I'll land my feet on its dusky grey surface
Tell em Haze sent me,
Message you that i need better communication,
More assertion, more voice.
I'll skimp through 900 degrees,
I need the feminine energy to suffocate me
& i'll assert my drive across the reds
I'll write love letters to demos & phobos,
While i hang from the rings.
I'll take responsibility for falling in love with the stars, the moon and everything about you.

If you ask me about me, I can honestly and painfully tell you I fall in love with people whom never been loved. I always want to pour myself in the mouths whom never tasted love. I suffocate them doing so. I drown them in it. I bury them. I love harshly, dangerously, strongly because loving them with the efforts and knowingness, that I too was never loved. Never understood. Never heard. I want to stand in for all that never was in their lives. I see deserving in them, deserving of all the love within me. My love is gluttonous.

sometimes memories can make anyone seem alive no matter how long ago it was.

There's things I never want to feel again. Not for them. Not for me. Not for no one. Not for no situation. There's things I never wanna see cause it'll be hot flashes of what used to be. Things I used to do. The person I used to cater too. The person I used to be. The person whom I've shed. That ain't me. Thats dead. Those aren't my feelings. Those aren't real. They're not real. I've healed. I've healed. They were. Believe me they were. But not no more. Those feelings don't belong to me, they don't right? Not more, no sir. The one with untended emotional wounds and unmet needs. The one you never tended, prioriorites you didn't feed. They don't belong with the new me. With the new year. With the new skin. They belong with the broken. The old me with kinks, swollen bottom lip. The teary eyed, the big brat. With the small hands that fit perfectly into yours. That's the old me with the old you. May they rest in peace. But they keep me up on nights like this, tell em please stop calling me. Please ** stop calling me.

I still write you love letters with my favorite pen.

In my favorite book, on my favorite colored pages.

Purple.

I still walk to the post office in Hope's of sending them out.

I send em out to the universe instead of you,

cause you no longer appreciate the colors of my love for you.

You showed me the skies has different hues, from the purest blues to the darkest purples. This one for you, who turned the sky upside down in one cue.

This is for who I touched and I wanted to disintegrate on their skin. Whose touch electrified each hair on my body. Whose words echoed between each ear. For the one whose palms faced upwards and I spilled across like the stars with effect and no real cause. I felt like glitter in your hands. I felt like the universe in your presence. You made me the universe before I even knew I was. For those countless nights you made wishes on my stars. For those early morning you gently embraced me when I was dusk. & it was you who cooed my high tides when I was lost. You made me the moon, the stars, the sun, and sometimes earth.

It doesn't burn my throat fast enough. It doesn't rebel against the other acids in the pit of my stomach. It doesn't make me want to clench my jaw and inhale profoundly. It leaves me alleviated. Leaves me in a trance. It's quite strange. Your absence affects me more than your presence. I'm always looking for answers that don't require to be answered. Yet here I am. With a triple distilled bottle of Tequila in one hand, and a flimsy phone in the other. I know you're not the type to ask who made me like this, but rather ridicule me for my abusive behavior. For the tactics and niche I picked up making me yet, so defensive . I'm unlearning it due to inheritance. I know you're not the type to care what traumas you tend to trigger, but I am the type to figure out what wounds are still fresh and what scars still remains. But who's to say I can differentiate, using it tactically or using it sadistically. I'm so attracted to what's so broken, and it hurts to look in the mirror because I reflect such brokenness. I leave my hand and foot prints on your sand and run away like I never moaned or whispered the sweetest lies.
Wrote to myself awhile ago: They're going to ridicule you, for how you love. I like that about me, I no longer hide anything.

Because enough is enough. If he is for me then we will find a way past this but I did it. And I do not feel happy nor sad, just numb. And I am well aware that tomorrow it will hurt more than ever. It will be splinters on my chest, iceless in every breath I take, and sting on my eyes for every blink I may take.