as the rain pours down on the streets and my clothes
and the cold wears me down to the very core
all i can do is remember and remember
the texture of your skin on the tips of my fingers
the softness in your hair, the harsh words you said
and the sensation of my blood on my hands

it wasn't the first time, and it won't be the last

there will be another house, another home
three bedrooms, two bathrooms
just like the last one, a different number
a different street
a different harshness underneath my feet
and my knees, but the same cold porcelain
and the same homesick feeling
i've felt for as long as i can remember

the thunder talks to me
and tells me to be afraid
of it's glory
and power
and boom.
it tells me that if I don't want to see the lightning,
then I must close the windows and draw the shades
and turn my back.
The thunder sounds
even when there is no storm.
the thunder is always there within my heart,
warning me of the lightning,
telling me
to close my eyes
cover my ears
stay inside
and stay afraid.
always.

I see butterflies.
I see colours.
*And I see you.

I held a knife to my face
and was tempted to cut
layer by layer
the ugly, pink stained fat,
because then my face would look skinnier
and I'd be so deformed
that people wouldn't dare call me ugly.

She confused him, that creature of The Wild.
He belonged to her, without a shadow of doubt.
But she was the moon to his sun, The darkness to his light.
She was the yin to his yang, and the throes of fire that consumed his sea.
While he conquered worlds,
She stayed trapped in her self erected prison.
And as her flew to the universe beyond reach,
She sank in a bottomless pit.
And yet,
He was drawn to her.
Like the cycle that held day and night,
And the inexplicable line between captive and Captor.
        One could not exist without the other,
        *But neither, could they exist together.

i want you to grasp at me
and dig your nails into me
and tell me you can't get enough

i want you to hold me
when it gets too cold outside
i want to feel your skin
against mine,

i want you to be well fed and nurtured
to be happy and healthy and well
and i want you to be proud of me

patience is a virtue i'm uncomfortable with
and i was never taught how to love
no house has been a home
so i try to find home in people around me
but people are temporary and fleeting
and i am temporary and fleeting
my mind wanders easily
and i can't find focus
"you've got to pull yourself together, girl
you've got to watch out for your health"
but all i can hear are my walls caving in
and only small things ring through
it's the year of the snake
once a mighty dragon
sly, calm, quiet and
lonely

One missed call but no voicemail.
I would say we're playing phone tag but I can't shake the feeling that you only called so you can say you never gave up.

This isn't even poetry anymore but did I ever write poetry about you?

I wrote poetry about girls and the weather and sometimes both and I write angst filled strings of thought about you.

Call again, I'll hear the phone ring this time, I promise.