I miss the warmth that comes from being held.
I miss the gentleness of arms wrapped around my waist,
and the feeling of a rough cheek pressed against my neck.
It is not you I miss, though I did once.
It is the sensation of safety, of time stopping, of being loved.
Some may miss passion, the moments of losing themselves in someone else.
Not I.
I miss falling asleep with the sound of another beating heart in my ears.
I miss listening to breath other than my own,
and forgetting for a while that anything and anyone else exists.

Everything happens for a reason, and people change.
But sometimes the reason is that you're stupid,
and often change is for the worst.
What then?
Bad decisions are made by all of us, aren't they?
      Mistakes happen
      It's part of growing up
      Learn from those experiences
      This too shall pass
Or so they say..
But what about when we learn from mistakes,
and ignore the knowledge gained?
And we were never told that for it to pass,
we would have to move.
You can't just stand there.
Yet we do. We stand in place and we ask,
"Let me be pure, but not yet."

Ils critiquent afin que je sais que je ne suis pas extraordinaire.
And oh, how I know it.

There is a rage that fills me so quickly that I think I might just choke. My fists clench tightly, involuntarily. I want to slam my clenched fist right into your face. But I don't. I know it would just cause more strife. But the urge to hurt you is almost overpowering. I can feel the anger and the hurt sitting in my chest, right on top of my diaphragm. It keeps me from breathing properly. I know I should let go of it, **** it. But in a way it feels so fulfilling to cling to this emotion. I feel like I am on the brink of doing something stupid, of losing control, of saying what I think.
          Were you ever scared to jump into the pool as a child? Did you stand on the edge and prepare yourself again and again? Did you FEEL yourself about to jump, every muscle tense, even holding your breath, but the part of your mind you can't oppose said no? That's what this feels like. I am prepared to let all hell break loose. To give you a piece of my mind. Every other cliche you can think of. Why the hell do you make me so crazy?
           And when you are done with your anger you discard it. It disappears as if it never was. That makes me crazier than your anger, sarcasm, condescension, idiocy, inability to comprehend. I am not done being angry yet, **** it! Let me be angry. Don't take this from me too.

My dreams ran like sand through the fists that I made.
There they are.
Orbiting around me just out of reach.
I want to hold on.
But I have lost my hold on the things I want and love.
Circling around beyond my grasp.
Strange.
Distant.
Empty.
Translucent.
The sensation of being detached.
I realize I am losing myself as well.
My fears are pulling them away.
My dreams, my loves, my very soul.
At first, in a panic I struggled.
Lunging and grasping at air
I wanted it back, what fear had taken.
And so I fought.
Gathered every shred of what I had inside.
I reached out to reclaim myself.
To clutch tightly a piece of the life I had, in my hand.
To pull it back to my center.
If it had returned to it's place, the rest would have followed.
I would have conquered the fear that tried to conquer me.
Relaxing, I would have allowed my life to flow and ebb.
Around me, but in control.
But I failed.
Miserably.
In trying to get it back, I lost even more.
Doing what I thought was my will, I did theirs.
I watch it all fade out into the darkness.
I won't try again.
Let it happen, I don't care (but I do).
And so I sit.
Writing this pathetic missive of a failure that didn't have to be.

Frustration.
But why?
I chose this.
Chose control.
Chose an easy target.
Chose to pull the strings.
But when it's not a game.
When it's not subtle.
Frustration.
When I don't get to play the puppeteer.
When the puppet asks where to go instead of being led without knowing.
Frustration.
Self-awareness is a ***** sometimes.

I wash my face in a sea of tears
a sea I often travel.
I should know it well for all the times
those cold black waves crash over.

Yet strangely, every time I am immersed
in this sea of darkness
the waves pound harder, the night seems blacker,
finding light more hopeless.

As if each time I fall
I'm plunged a little deeper.

haunting melodies, unspoken prayers
rising high, riding on the wind