I never liked poems,
Boring things in English textbooks,
Boring to read,
Twisted verses,
Something I could not feed,
My brain,
But since I tried to write in vain,
Now to me a poem,
Crafted by me,
Is my totem,
It traps my insecurity,
A sacred gem,
It's written beauty,
Maybe I liked it,
Because it's something,
I could do from my heart,
Something I can turn to,
To build words,
Out of the blue.

you don't understand at all do you
not truly
you think
I'm a liar
that I still hold the knife
that
stabbed you in the back
[and in the heart]

kinda speechless
that you feel that way
think that way
believe it
untrustworthy? misleading?
false emotions?
can you not read?
here let me try again
maybe I can make it like braille
feel the words

it's like when the clouds stormy eyes
welled up and let fall the
tears of weekend rain
soggy, we laughed along with the thunder
and under our waterfall we let the windows
fog
tell me I lied then

or picture if you will
standing by the tree I
always parked by
it was a starry night, but we didn't see it
we were too focused on our faces
except
why is it I was the only one
drowning in the sadness that overtook my eyes
shaking with each strained, choppy breath
clutching that gray shirt like a life jacket
do you think that was all
for show?

haven't you looked at
my collection of black and white
silly letters scribbled down as fast as possible
trying as hard as I can
to leave it all
on the paper
but it's as if each word I write
is a tattoo
slowly invading every part of my skin
it's sinking in, it's staining everything
do you think this agony I speak of
is fake?

if so
if I am that liar with the knife who
led you astray and "******* you over"
let you down, kicked you around
if you can't seem to
open your eyes
and notice
just how much I love you
just how much I always have

then you don't deserve it

ill run miles for you when I know I only
have the strength for one
but don't you
dare
watch me run
if you don't even grasp
that I stabbed myself in the back
led myself astray

you have a right to
hate the wound
but if you can't see
what I feel
one day
I will learn
that I have to let go
and I will

then all these silly letters
all for you

well. go ahead and throw them away
on that day
they will carry no life
anymore

this skin
a highway for your fingers
where you drive them down
this asphalt spine
and you stop
catch your tires in
the pits of my skin
the place where i picked and picked
until the blood came out from
the tender asphalt
but you just kept driving
you finally reach your destination
and we take moments to recollect
your skin / my skin
your car / my road
we are together.

I'll keep calling
and calling

I'll keep walking
and falling

and somewhere between
the clouds
and his arms

I'll know
I'll know my home

for the first time
it was the last
I had no reason to stay
nor be away

for the first time
it was the last

my last
'In between'