the hands of emotion were able to eat away at my heart
the eyes of longing were able to scare away the ones fearful of commitment
the tongue spoke languages of affection that drove away the ones who enjoyed the cold
so i stood alone,
creating my own warmth
with hands to myself, eyes closed, tongue on paper.

it was always hard to find a beginning.
an alpha for an omega, something that could never be found, partially because my brain was overstocked with thoughts i couldn't organize into sentences.
i never knew where to begin, because everything came all at once or nothing at all, and i couldn't put words to feelings and feelings to words, and actions to thoughts, and thoughts to actions.
there i was, trying to remember what felt so wrong, if it was the way i had done things, if it was everyone all around, or if it was the way i forgot to pray in times of emptiness and in times of wealth.
i was giving myself away, searching for the feeling i couldn't name, searching for the feeling i vaguely remember, rummaging through people and places that could possibly remind me of what fulfillment felt like.
every time i come close to finding an alpha, it feels like i only go backwards, constantly going from forward to reverse, not knowing what will set flames to something new, instead of watering down what is constantly flickering in the present.

i had to constantly remind myself of the way we all lived our own lives, and we each had our own veins and arteries, and we couldn't share everything like him and i did.
there were things that we all shared, like the same stars and the same sun, which we could admire when we were apart from each other,
but we couldn't give into sharing blood and heartstrings, sharing the power to control each others emotions, sharing seconds that turned to hours that continued onto months.
we had created an unhealthy system of burning each other out, we claimed each other as I'm yours, and you're mine, to the point that we looked back and were raveled into knots.  
i had to recall what i was before the entanglement, and scurry back to pick up pieces of myself i had left behind to be with you,
and now i rebuild myself everyday, telling myself no one completes me, we never needed each other, and i myself am whole, with no missing pieces.

the holes in me felt gaping like the darkness that i laid in, an indistinguishable black that could swallow everything around into nothingness.
and there i was, so afraid to feel again, remembering how "i love you" felt like a rush of blood to the head, and you used these feelings to pry holes into my being.
and here i lay trying to sew myself up, with no thimbles nor light, and i continue to poke myself and bleed

count the pages of words i have written over feelings that have turned into ashes, and find a number that is everlasting.
to look back at the words my mind could string together and knit into a pattern of infatuation and frustration, and remember everything threaded together for a reason, to create pieces of where i am today,
yet these pages keep forming, and they seem to be eternal,
fingers will yearn to write about the one who gives me the feeling music creates, about the steadiness i sit in, while watching everyone else bloom into seasons, about the lessons i'm learning that send chills down my skin, where i learn that people don't mean what they say, and barely say what they mean. when the value of words deteriorate to a playful game to keep one around, to twist definitions to please the mind and manipulate one another, to learn that the value of a phrase means nothing to one person as it does to the other.
i never wish to stop feeling and pouring, threading, and knitting,
for i know what my words meant in the moment and outside of it,
creating a touch of sincerity in the world of mixed emotions and illusions.

so i breathe freely again,
slipping back into my old flesh,
discovering the places of myself i had missed.

we untie the strings of our hearts in hopes we'll learn to tie each others tighter,
yet we end up in knots,
knowing each month will tie a little tighter,
thinking it will make us strong,
but before we know it we forgot what its like to be strong on our own,
and we are forced to unravel our knots,
but our strings have become tired, crimped and frayed,
and here i am splitting, into smaller pieces of what i was before