Mirrors and islands
Mirrors and islands
are all that I see

And the static fills my mind
eats it up like silence

It hums a constant note
glaring in and out
audible, barely
deafening.

The static fills my mind
and devours everything beneath it

I read once about an ancient practice
to repair broken things

They would take the shattered pieces
of bowls, jars, glasses, pottery,
and fill the sharp cracks with liquid gold

Translucent, shimmering lines
along jagged edges.
Highlighting the imperfections.

Showing that in life,
that which has been broken,
may be made beautiful all the same.

deepest fears hide
behind veils and stone.
gruesome horrors
that only certain eyes can see

the shape that stares back
illuminates the ragged edges
of inner terror

we search for those whose eyes
have stared into the same darkness,
those who understand.
who bleed with the same knowledge
born from self made truths.

gallows humor is only funny
to those who have the same eyes as you

i left that place,
called home and haven
and a piece of me broke off.
lost, in the disarray of moving

leaving untethered threads
in the empty space
of that safety

i feel the ghost of its presence
moving through the halls.
fading laughter, greetings,
remnants of the warmth that used to envelope me when i crossed the threshold

blindly, grasping at air
i search for the piece
i once had, in silent wishes
and hopeless longing

it’s unfair really
that every spare thought in my head
is still of you

you’ve long since moved on.
i often feel i meant nothing
but my heart remains
wishing

idiot girl.
stop dreaming.
the past is done
it is what it is

but still

i cannot **** that last bit of hope
that part i do not want to die
i fear if i do
a part of me will die as well

and yet

i cannot shake the belief
that i am just another name
while you
are the only person i’ve ever loved

unfair really
leaving me like that

shouldn’t have surprised me though
you can’t change who someone is
and at my core
i’m nothing special

dreaming

in quiet moments
i find myself wishing.
for a future,
i feel i will never own.

a garden
green things growing.
the scent of dirt,
heavy in the air.
and bright spots of color
resting everywhere.

a kitchen
carefully labeled jars.
spices we’ve tested.
the favorites dwindle,
showing our collective tastes.

a wall
covered with paintings.
blues, yellows.
bright and dark.
all showing pieces,
of parts that make us whole.

a morning
slow, unhurried.
a feeling of contentment.
brought with the sun,
and a love shared.

in the quiet moments
before the dream,
wisps away.
i find myself wishing.