I trace your veins
with my finger
pretending I am learning
your body like a map
and your veins
are strange roads
I've never been to.
Feeling lost
is an uncomfortable situation
yet looking into your eyes
is when I feel the most comfortable.

Dear you.
I will not give your name any power
by repeating it.
You are just you
and nothing more.
I honestly feel bad for you,
you must be suffering
to steal a girl's innocence
for your own sick pleasure.
Dear you,
I will overcome you.

We live in an ocean of agonizing existence
Some have found a boat and would take it for refuge, who wants to get one’s feet wet when emotion is too deep and cold? Some can manage the treading, their hearts light enough to float, and hands free to take in the water and the air at once. But yet there are some in the waters less calm, where the breeze turns to raspy tempest and the dance of the waves is no waltz. They sink constantly lower into an ocean as bottomless as their heart within, where nothing can touch the surface.
what hurts more than a heart that cannot feel? When the floaters and sailors take of you and your joys and tragedies and you cannot even tell them it hurts because you understand emotion too much to fall in love with it again. I was in love with a world that had lost all sight of me.
and so I ran.
For in the rush of a run in its humble exhilaration, there is new life.
When the ice in the air in the winter in the lungs is melted and evaporates. When the muscle in the leg in the body of the you is commanded, is tight, but defies and works and relaxes.
You have nowhere to go but you are going. and it is miraculous wonderful.
And stop. I spotted a playground, deserted for the frost had taken it captive, and a swing invited me in. I looked around… and the world stopped.
Silence. White cold and precious silence and nobody there to break it. Beauty. The one true, undeniable beauty of nature and serenity and life.
Now that was the moment.
I realized that there would be an infinity of these moments of wholeness and totality of love that would fall into my life and I will be a fool to give it up.
And I felt again.
The first emotion to come back to me was revelry.
It was dark at the bottom of the ocean and night’s about to fall on the surface as well but I cannot grasp the prospect of anyone ever being ****** down by that whirlpool again.
So I ask you my darling if you would get off your boat and take someone’s hand and squeeze it like you squeeze the sour sting from a lemon. And there will be sweetness. There will be a waltz, there will be windows in the sky and we will make an island of humanity. I don’t know what crazy song is singing to me now but there is hope that it will be righteous.
And for the first time, I can feel it.

Poetry?
*******.
These are words
in a mess of spilled ink.
Words that spiral out of my head
onto lined paper.
I am not poetic.
I am a mess of unfinished thoughts
and empty words
driven by madness.

Rock bottom feels too much like my bed lately.
And the smell of beer on my breath is too familiar.
Who is this person I'm walking around as and when did I start wearing masks?
I'm given unfathomable mercy for my mistakes and I keep making them.
The same ones.
I take the same knife and rip openings in my chest to breath in the poison I've been mistaking for oxygen.
I'm dying.
I'm walking down streets with my eyes closed with the assumption that someone else will stop this car from hitting me.
Why am I on this street anyway?
The same street where I lay homeless and abandoned before I had been saved.
AND THE BEST PART
Now that I have been saved I keep walking down the same street as if I was looking through the same eyes I was before.
It's much harder to breath wearing a mask, and much harder to see when I look through eyes that are blind to what this world really does....
**** me.