empecé a ver me en el espejo hace un ano
verdaderamente buscando y efectivamente encontrando
cosas que podía cambiar para que me quisieras más.
empezó con mi cuerpo y siguió a lo diminuto, el número de pestanas que tenía y lo largo de mi cabello.
me acuerdo sentir que no era suficiente para ti
que tenía que rogarte por tu atención...poniéndome como las chicas que veías en tu celular o la que estaba en tu wallpaper del teléfono. un día sonaba ser ella. pero nunca fui...entonces me sigo viendo…tratando de encontrar que me falta para que tu corras detrás de mi
para que sienta que soy la única que quisieras mirar por la eternidad
para que sería fácil que me digas que me veo bonita….sin tener que preguntarte.
lloro por no ser suficiente, lloro porque sé que hubiera podido tener más de ti…sé que no te esforzaste, lloro por el miedo que sientas lo que sentiste por mí con alguien más, lloro por imaginarme como se verá ella cuando sea que aparezca, lloro por saber que tus ojos nunca fueron ni serán totalmente para mí

i used to get flowers every month. they sat at my table and withered away but at least they made me feel something. it's been almost two years since dead petals grazed the table. i stare at an empty vase and wonder if i am capable of being loved. the way i love you. i feel so heavily but you are not there to balance it out. there are empty words and looks that mean nothing. i haven't seen love in your eyes in months. you may think its an over exaggeration but i've seen it many times in others. so instead i feel heavy. every tear swallowed like the two ton weight that anchors confidence. instead of feeling empowered and independent i feel belittled. not worthy of admiration, looking in the mirror, bending and ******* in pieces of me i wished were different so i could be more for you. the absence of your words i searched for was deafening. i became immune to others compliments because if it did not roll from your tongue it did not matter. i told you everything about me, undressed my stories and untucked my fears. but you are still buried, clothed, a wall and a guard between your soul and mine. at times you still felt like a stranger.
a stranger i love very much.

i wish there was a way to draw out how i feel,
the tornadoes inside of me and the tangled ***** of yarn in my head.
the knots that form, a failed crochet, a product of walking in circles with my eyes closed. the colonies of goosebumps that race down my spine, searching for a finish line, for when my words are matching up but i can't seem to form a specific thought.
threads of this were movie scenes, an essence of cinematography or the warmth of a color. brush strokes i had visualized but never translated. melodies that made me feel but i could never explain how. inside of me were messes. dried up paint from a palette i never used, only created because i liked the colors. words i strung together, poking my fingers with the needle each time i didn't have the confidence to say how i felt. the fear of what others may think when they know i feel so deeply. there was an entire sky full of stars, dotted with each sentence i couldn't seem to spit out.
i couldn't overcome the fear of saying how heavily i feel even though i love you so much. there were moments where i bite my tongue til it bleeds so i don't tell you words that will never reciprocate.

i used to write about people that provoked me to feel a specific way,
no matter if that feeling lasted a week, a day or a year.
there were people i'd see in waiting rooms in doctors offices that ignited pages of words i had never unveiled.
i don't know if it is part of becoming older, this feeling of nothingness. losing hope in the spark of others, realizing they all are figments of what we hope for them to be, an embodiment made of illusions.
blowing out candles yearly has dimmed the lights,
the loss of wonder for the ones around me and the ones i have not yet found diminishes.
wondering if what i dreamed of is even alive, if all i ever wanted was drowning every second i got older.
love used to feel like the pain in your face from when you've smiled too much. now it feels like a home with no furniture, full of echoes.
i hear lyrics written out, about these girls who mean so much, who make a man seem vulnerable for the one he loves. saying if life was a movie, she'd be the best part. and i doubt myself, wondering if i don't possess what it takes to make someone feel this way. if i'm lukewarm and halfhearted, if i would ever experience a love that would change a person's heart. if someone could feel as sublime as i did, a grand optimist bursting with wonder, instead of the bitter realist i am becoming.
coming of age is not something i asked for.

i wanted to feel submerged.
the feeling underwater when you hear nothing but its song.
when your eyes are closed but you know exactly whats around you.
the serenity of water coating every beginning and ending of me.
at that moment all i could think of was breathing.

giving myself away was the worst pain i have ever gone through.
i remember being caught in a web of words, trusting everything you spoke was true. staying up when my eyes begged me to shut them, to comfort you. giving away time like it was never mine in fear you'd be angry it wasn't spent on you. you knew i was naive, innocent, inexperienced. you told me i believed life was a fairy-tale, that i trusted everyone too easily, and that you never trusted anyone but yourself. you knew i gave everyone the benefit of the doubt, believing everyone was innately good. you heard my aspirations, and when i met them, you kept a straight face and discouraged my excitement because it would mean distance between us.
you got me my favorite things. things i always wanted, but you held no interest in. a record player, to play music you never allowed in your car. a polaroid...which later seemed for only pictures of you and i. i will always be appreciative of the thoughtfulness, but i believed these items did not buy me. they seemed to be there as a reminder, for all the "things" you've gotten me. as to say the items were a trade, and you expected me, entirely, swallowed up into your world in return.
i remember crying after a year a half. i had gone through the greatest physical and emotional pain simultaneously. my first surgery and my greatest betrayal. i'm pretty sure the neighbors heard. food didn't enter my system in a week. there was so much manipulation and mind games racked up from you, and to this day i learn more and more that your love for me was far from perfect like you claimed it to be. you put me on a pedestal and tore me down every time i stepped down from it. but you never even came close to what you held yourself up as. i lost myself. it was a difficult and confusing way back.
you crawled to me a couple times later.
giving myself away is something i will never do again. i have never felt a feeling of vulnerability or intimacy with anyone because of you. i built up a wall so high, being afraid that the world is just like you. i never want to find another you. so i wrap myself in me. hoping i'll be enough for now.

a dark room and a dim light,
the constant sound of the ac unit was comfort,
the thought of everyone around slipping into their dreams,
lights off, mouths shut, eyes seeing absolutely nothing.

nothingness was beautiful, she held a constant hum that was my lullaby, like the hands on a clock dancing closer to a new hour.
she inhabited me, cleared my heart of emotions that have sunken in these tired eyes, people that never left my head for years, feelings tied to individuals who stirred confusion in my mind.
there was something so peaceful, in feeling nothing for no one.
no desire to intertwine fingers, a forgetfulness on how to look someone in the eyes. cherishing silence more than conversation. letting go of strings that were wound so tight around those i tugged for every day. and never knoting new ones to people i met.

actions became empty, but i became full, picking up all the pieces i left behind for others.

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

the words could never come out of my mouth,
and as much as i have written them over pages, and laid them down millions of times, my mouth cannot seem to utter anything close to what i think of you. hands cannot seem to reach for what i've always wanted, you became something made of glass, something i only admired from a distance, glistening. fingers could not fan out, i could never seem to risk seeing reality, fearing to fall out of this dream. the nervousness of failing on something my mind has daydreamed about for ages. the silence that was projected, caused by a mind of flying thoughts, of whether i'd regret doing nothing more than regretting making a move. i lived in fear for every wrong move i could ever make, trying to solve the mystery of what your mind really thought of me and why there were moments you disappeared. i tried to search myself to see if pieces of me were wrong, if maybe there were components i was lacking, if being beautiful like the girls with the glassy eyes and structured faces would've given me an advantage.
my mouth became a cage for the words i'd never say to you, and my hands will lock, eyes scared to fix themselves upon you and create more feelings that will be jammed into lumps in my throat.

my dad deals with an exhaustion that i have never endured. stress and heartbeats, computer clicks and international affairs. bank statements and car payments. medical bills caused by trying to pay the bills.
my mother deals with physical exhaust, legs lined with spider webs of purple and green. the pain of losing a soul inside of her she never saw. the weariness of countless years without a good nights rest. rugged hands from abrasive chemicals to clean messes we made. the wonder of "where did i go wrong?" when her daughters were out of line.
my sisters exhaust was beginning to be mine. seeing life through the eyes of others. the successful, the wealthy, the lovebirds on every corner with rings and a heart that sings.
it was like standing at the window of the electronics store.
tv monitors depicting lives so untouchable, held by such ordinary people. she asks herself "how did they do it?" and "why haven't i gotten there yet?"
its the most crushing walk of life, when the expectations you once held are now on the floor stepped on, disintegrating into patterns of sameness.
i am far too young to experience the exhaust of the ones around me, but my fuel is being lost on being a second choice, an afterthought, and 11PM phone call after the day is done and all that is being sought after is satisfaction. i do not want dates in a drive-in because i know your mind is already on the backseat. i do not care for an empty house, because i no longer crave to be craved. i do not belong in backseats. i do not belong in cars, i am the destination you seek through the windshield, the blow of the wind that drives the passenger to sleep, the home itself, the structure and the stucco, strong and unyielding.

i could write till my fingers locked up and i'd still never make sense of this feeling

time feels like a dali painting,
dripping down my chin , oozing into a wasted space.
i wanted to feel what a day was like with out your name ringing in my head, and solve the mystery as to why you resided there for so long.
to be unaware of your existence would be surreal, a euphoria for my tired mind, a serenity for this relentless desire.
my emotions have exhausted over the same person for eternity, clocks disintegrating like quicksand, wondering if i'll ever be enough, if anything will ever live up to this waiting, if its true when they say "good things come to those who wait", right now i'm feeling deceived by such a theory.

once you're gone people will remember things they were blinded to before, but one thing will resonate, like sound waves that never fade. its how you made them feel. what you stirred inside of them. what you provoked that not every individual could. i'll wish my remembrance to be echoes of laughter and vibrant emotion, thunder full of passion, an outlook resembling fresh air. a melody full of rhythm and soul, i wish to fill lungs with winds of tenderness and mouths with sweet gooey nectar. ears with flowers blooming so rapidly they become hanging gardens. eyes fixed on the one above. a new perspective, heights i'll forever wish to show you.

consumed by the thought of love, the way i used to think of it, what i used to think it was, the blind spots that came along as side effects.
the touch, the way eyes met in a different way
i was so afraid to write about love, feeling weak in the knees, the way it provoked me,
the way i melted into it, how i became a puddle in the midst of such a powerful emotion.
a connection i pushed away, biting away and itching my skin,
i wanted to feel good on my own, to feel the greatest peace on my own, to rise in love with my own life instead of falling for another, to ascend and never descend.
the pool of vulnerability, something so hypnotizing, the shade of blue it portrayed, yet the aftertaste of blood in my mouth, from the times i bite my tongue to not say those three words. to not use that four letter word.

"i love myself, i love myself, i love myself"
you repeat it in your mind, thinking saying it enough will program your eyes to be satisfied with what appears in the mirror,
banging your head against the tile, convincing yourself that the thoughts you once had are no longer inhabiting your mind,
that you feel so secure in the skin you once wanted to tear off,
that you will kiss your scars goodnight and sing yourself lullabies to sleep, that you will be the one to nourish your body with the love it needs, that every situation will turn into a blessing,
you repeat it in your head, banging your head, over and over, and over, until you're so numb to it all, you shut down what its like to have feeling at all, and you stand in this false illusion of self love and positivity, until everything turns into nothing, leaving you completely senseless.

they say you become like the five people you are around the most.
i was constantly scared of finding undesirable pieces of me that were originally from someone else, their constant presence creating opportunities to create a magnetization between bodies, intertwining energies to create a few sparks, either benign or destructive.

the reason why my mind spent so many years on you was because of the admiration i held up to the way your mind appeared to function. the way you carried yourself, and the perseverance and joy for life you captured within. the knowledge you perused and the curiosity that fueled your interest in the beauty of cultures. the passion you cradled in the smile that spread across your face when you talked about something  you are passionate about. your qualities were pieces i would be delighted to find in myself, if our energies were to dissolve into each other, i would not be quick to separate myself like i have done with others. i did not want to romanticize you, and at this point there was nothing superficial about this infatuation, i did not want to write Shakespearean sonnets over your flesh, i wanted your soul to be the influence and muse to write like pablo neruda and paint like pablo picasso.

i had been finding it hard to let myself sleep.
my body has asked for it, eyelids turning heavy and letters becoming blurry, a mind slowly melting into a liquefied puddle of what i was feeling, trying to describe what i was experiencing inside constantly.

i remember when we did not sleep all night, we stared at each other and only blinked to shut our eyes to listen to a song better. you spilled words of admiration, knew how to unravel my strings and convinced me that i was beautiful. you told me you could've treated me better than exhibit a and b. our voices continued until sun mingled between the blinds, but for me that was the least of my worries, because that was a conversation worth sleep deprivation. you pleaded for me to leave the person who was not treating me right, and a couple weeks later you turned out the same.

i remember exhibit a. he also kept me awake, we stayed on the phone every night until the patterns of our breaths were peacefully asleep, and i heard him rustling around in sheets, our dreams intertwining into a life he chased with me. he tried to wrap me around his finger, and had a ring to prove it, and i guess mom was right when she said "everything happens for a reason" because it was lost one morning in new york. many hours of delayed sleep developed into the "love is blind" syndrome, and i lost myself in a cloud of fog which was your grasp. at one point you returned the ring and i keep it, dreaming of a coming of age moment where i throw into the ocean, to be calcified with meaningless treasure.

i sleep with half shut eyes, wanting to expel the memories, rewind a tape and push everyone away, grab sheets and bury my head inside, hoping these clicks on keys can sing me to sleep.

i live through photographs of perfect bodies and walked among worshipers of flesh, the ones who looked at curves and nooks before being drawn to a mindset.
i could not help but put down my own body because i did not follow the criteria for the checklist their eyes scanned the room for.  there was not really an area of me i could be proud of, except the person i am on the inside. i wanted to cocoon sheets around my body and feel eyes drawn to what i'm made of.  
i wanted someone to touch the slopes of my mind, kiss the laughter echoing within me, eyes fixated on the glimmer within, to constantly think about the way i am instead of the way i look.
sadly i knew no participants in life were like this, so i stared into space night and day thinking about the way i needed to drink another water bottle, tallying the ones i had already finished.
if i would be fine if i had sugar twice in one day,
if everything was going to build up in me and i'd become even more undesirable to they eye, if all the fat would go to the wrong places, and never fill me up to look like a woman in the eyes of mankind. being desired was the new admiration. i craved recognition for the person i was, but physicality was the only concern with the crowd, men receiving a social trophy for having the woman most lusted after.

you serenaded a soul with words my ears have never comprehended,
overused the concept of love, wringing the word out until it was left dry, there was a hope in me that the author in you would display himself for me as well, that your stanzas correlated to the feeling between us.
i was searching for the words in your mouth, my hands sinking in like a dentist on a mission, hoping to pry out the sudden surprise of a few letters from between your teeth, something to make me feel like there were still things to discovered, that you were not going to be like the others, but everything fit wrong, like when i had not worn my retainer in a week.

its been chasing me for six years.
a wave that i fear will turn into a tsunami,
something i thought i could mend with other people,
finding hands with fingers to intertwine with,
lips that kissed the crevices of my mind,
words that crawled up my veins and pumped something new into my heart.
any element that could contribute to the dam i was building,
a wall to stop the waves from coming again,
where i would never think about ceiling fans and ropes again,
something that would tell me wrists and scissors do not belong together,
a first aid to bandage up my eyes from envisioning what i constantly saw.
every time i had a connection i would hope this was the light at the end of the tunnel,
drove through boys who did not perceive me as worth while,
kissed lips i'd never see again, intertwined fingers with hands that did not fit right, heard words that did not heal anything.
i was running away from myself...all i had done created nothing but memories that push through the walls of dams, making sure the waves came back year after year,
and now i fear to face the truth, that the only one that can mend this current is myself.

i remember the feeling of weightlessness.
i wonder if you're up there experiencing it too,
suspended into clouds and hanging gardens,
veiled in beauty beyond my understanding.
there are moments when the weight of my heart knocks everything down in sight. when the lids of my eyes feel so heavy, when the words my mouth can form are not enough, when these keys are the only thing my fingers yearn to touch.
i miss you even though you never existed, and my eyes create rivers i wish i could teach you how to swim in,
to watch you grow into another piece of the fractions i am built upon.

i told myself i would not stain these pages with words about somebody else again
leafing through old writing reminds me of the countless people that have provoked feelings,
that make my mind string together words that become stanzas as long as the time i spent thinking about their being,
pages i wish i would find in journals of others, printed with letters dedicated to my name,
a way to bandage cracks that have insecurities leaking through,
an oasis of words to caress my soul in the middle of this desert,
and i continue to write about those who will be temporary,
those who will never feel the same,
those who will never fall as hard,
those who i look at through the rose colored glass,
those whose faces i seek in a crowded room,
those whose eyes meet mine and my heart meets its peak,
those who i will never get the courage to tell how i feel,
those who will become another chapter to read,
those whose beauty will live on between the ink and the lines, between crossing my t's and dotting my i's,
forever captivated in a wave of infatuation, kissing the shoreline of their essence.

i remember the way you fell asleep.
the pattern of your breaths would turn into my peace

like a turntable,
your voice spins like a vinyl inside my head,
the vibrations of your laugh echo a melody,
my smile becomes a reflection of yours
i'd wish to paint you the way my eyes envision you,
you'd admire such an art in the midst of not knowing the muse.

there are poets that sing you to sleep and there are poets who ready you for war and i want to be both.

me acuerdo cuando soñaba en largar me del lugar endone naci. encontraba todas las razones por qué odiaba este lugar y era la canción que mi mente cantaba día y noche.
ahora que me voy por seguro, estoy descubriendo los lugares que voy a extrañar,
los lugares que me dan alguna razón de vivir aquí,
que me hacen el corazon latir con esperanza,
un motivo para extrañar un lugar que nunca aprecie.
en unos meses ya no te tendré, y voy a acordarme de los petalos de flores, los besos del sol, el olor del mar, y la música de las palmeras en el viento.

you think you’re in love and this is the one and this is it. you may be right, but before you move heaven and earth and split the sea down the middle to make it work, take their hand in yours, turn the lights off, turn your computers and phones and the tv off. shut yourself off from the world. is this someone you can sit with in the darkness? is this someone you can sit with in silence? is this someone you can spend hours doing nothing else but counting the distance between lightning and thunder? because life is more than a forever of picture perfect moments - it’s darkness, and silence and interludes in which you hold your breath. forever should not feel like forever, it should feel like no time at all; it should feel like a blink of an eye; an interlude between the lightning strike and a thunder.
-marina v.

i remember the nights i prayed for things i have now.
each time my eyes open in the morning to see the sunlight kissing the blinds, i know its a step closer to whatever is held in the ink stained pages of my story.
i tell myself i would rather focus on falling in love with my life than falling in love with a person,
that love was a word so overused for one another,
that i was not searching for my other half because i'm not a half.
but i know one part of me yearned to be cherished,
and knew falling in love with the journey included falling for people that made you feel risen.
people that make it known that my presence and absence means something to them,
individuals that make me forget yesterday and dream about tomorrow,
a person who will forget about checking the time when i'm around,
grace and mercy reflected off god,
because i belong to a patient god.
not to a hurry up and fix yourself god,
but a be still and let me heal you god.
not a why do you keep doing this god,
but a god who gives me the keys to break the cycle.
god is patient, and he is pleased to take his time with me.

someone who will be so soft and gentle toward my loud heart,
i'll be glad i kept it open,
and they'll even make me wonder why i ever thought of quieting it down.
a person who will see me, not who they wish me to be,
not the version of myself that makes them the most comfortable, not the one that is the most convenient to them,
but the genuine book without bindings, without edits, without covers.

somebody who could think about seven billion people experiencing this day differently, but would never want to trade places with anyone else after living a day by my side,
someone who i can turn to and truthfully tell them "out of all the things my hands have held the best by far is you"
a person that will tell me everything, not just talk about the weather,
someone who will make me their muse, pages smeared with words directed toward me
someone who i can write to at the end of a lifetime and mark the paper up saying
"i fell in love with the way you touched me without using your hands",
and i know that there are all kinds of love in the world but there is never the same love twice,
and i will be sure that ours is my favorite kind.

i could lay awake trying to solve expressions, equations, puzzles and mazes
as to why things never worked out between us,
between a whole list of people i had become temporarily mesmerized with,
a short infatuation in which my mind convinces itself that these people have no fault, that their actions are pure, that they mean what they say, that they yearned for consistency.  
the incandescence of the person they portrayed in my head dies out, and soon enough they turn into a silhouette i brush by, a figure i used to know, someone who knows the bits of me i could give away, a little bit of my light fading away with them.

my mind soothes the trembling thoughts,
and reminds itself that these people were not for me,
we did not speak the same language,
we did not sing the same song,
their fingers did not trace over keyboards lovingly,
the sides of their hands were not smeared with ink,
their bedside tables did not hold journals that housed pages lined with emotion,
they did not yearn to caress they keys of a typewriter to create a sonnet to soothe the soul
their thoughts simply superficial,
sentences with no structure,
a pathway toward something strictly physical,
not enough to feed my hunger for words.

love held a different definition in the tongue of each individual,
how did we fully understand when the word came out of a persons lips, often being spewed and overused,
a verb, a noun, and common phrase held commonplace to their language.
to love an object, to love a place, to love something that cannot be seen, to love a breathing being.
a rite of passage, a word used for manipulation, to make way onto physical touch, an Eros type of love, as shallow as the feelings that come along with the word,
my mind created puzzles and algebraic expressions, trying to decipher the meaning of each individuals use of the word "love", if it was fools gold or simply overused, if it created a set of expectations that came along with duties, to become a possession instead of a partner, to be completed, rather than just complimented. actions never seemed to match the weight of love.
in a world where love held a different connotation in every culture,
i wanted to love freely, i wanted love to be a word that was part of a language we saved for each other, where i could see who you are today, and could not wait to see who you are tomorrow.

i told myself i would never take the time to write about one person in particular again.
i told myself that i would never write about one being again because it allowed them to become significant.
i wanted to be as cold and distant towards these people so i did not rely on anyone.
i wanted to convince myself that i didn't need specific people to make me feel confidence and joy,
that one person didn't matter more than the other,
because i knew people walked in and out, like passengers on elevator rides, some engaging in small talk, others exchanging gazes not knowing one day they'll be lovers, and others just side by side, staring at their feet, in hopes they won't have to interact and just arrive to the floor they pushed the button for.
i spoke these words to myself because i saw what i didn't want to become, i saw a wreck of emotions, a wild hurricane with a drink in her hand, a ***** tonic one night and a stella the next.
the way she lived was convincing herself she was put together, living for herself, and nobody else, but in reality she clung onto people, hoping they would go along her windy journey,
and when the people with potential left, rain came out of her eyes, storms so heavy, tropical depressions at the steering wheel, car seat covered in tears, a cloud over her head for days, and drinks became medicine.
i was a spectator, sitting on sidelines, listening through walls, hearing storms at midnight, witnessing side effects from her self medication, and i clung onto these thoughts, telling myself i'd never be like her, remembering everything was an elevator ride, and no one was here to stay, and it's nothing personal when someone gets off at a different floor.

i had tried to turn to ash every trace of you,
every trace of anyone that made me feel less,
any person that made me feel like a crumb out of the bites they had taken from life,

i ended with a pile of ashes and dead flowers,
purple marks, slices they had taken from my being,
an empty call log and bible verse text messages from my mother,
someone else's t-shirt in my drawer,
and a hoodie and jersey in a packing envelope under my bed.

i didn't need visuals to survive.
skin trembled in need of touch,
ears empty needing voids to be filled
it was hard to believe i'd set myself on fire for someone who consumed me,
but ashes piled up into a being made of fragments from previous fires and burnout relationships,
hardening into the chills that skimmed skin when i heard beautiful words directed towards me,
the way music transformed my soul, each different melody something so eclectic, the feeling of finding unlimited rhythms that moved my core,
initiating thoughts that each person was as unique as these songs, and i was endlessly discovering them like the harmonies ears fell in love with daily, individuals will come in through one ear and out the other, but some will synthesize and tremble my reality, and i will eternally seek the one who will stay like the song stuck inside my head, the one that rings in circles and plays perfectly behind every situation.

i waited for the moment of reciprocation,
wishing life was algebraic expressions,
knowing what you do to one side,
is done to the other.
i listen to the song you played over and over,
not knowing the meaning in the moment we were together because my mind was stuck on your hands on the steering wheel that will drive you away tomorrow,
remembering you'll turn into just another boy in a table of contents,
and i'll be the book you opened but never read,
just a page turned, looking at illustrations but never caring to read text.

knowing there were other people on the other side waiting for mutual feelings from me made me feel sorry,
but it didn't feel fair to try to give them my attention knowing my mind would still be wrapped around the vibration of your voice and the way you kissed and the parts of me i could comfortably unveil even though we had never met eyes until a few days ago

we all sat on this ferris wheel ride watching the one we yearned for take in a view without us,
while they were the only view we ever wanted,
eyes locked on something so unreachable,
yet we'll grasp tight till we loose hope.

bottles sprawled, linen sheets, old mascara, crumbs and leaves
i lived in a mess.
every week came a time where it drove me to places my head couldn't hold onto,
but every time i tried to fix things all i could do was sit frozen,
hands fidgeting, eyes locked, legs tingling, mind on overdrive.
the hollow feeling inside desperately looked for people like you,
knowing i didn't need to be completed, rather, complimented.
no prescription worked better than you, someone that made me feel so at peace with my life, whom i could sit in sand in silence, and feel so full,
a new breath of life into lungs that have been struggling to cycle old air.
made me feel brand new in three days, spoke words that made me work my brain, made my stomach feel like a maze, made my body feel like treasure, made goodbyes something i'll hate forever, knowing miles were the murderer of these lungs,
back to choking on old air and silent tongues.

the same people that planted flowers in my garden were the ones who were leaving me in drought,
digging holes and dropping seeds, leaving open insecurities, never coming back to tend or water,
forgetting about the beauty that could've grown

the same people that had made me feel happy and significant were the ones that tended scorching sunshine that created questioning and dispair weeks later.

empty promises and unfulfilled plans,
faded memories, withered people
and dead flowers

i wake up with this feeling in my throat,
and go to bed with it again, scratching like sandpaper,
aching for fresh air,
i try to keep myself going,
to do what is expected and necessary,
but i find myself stuck,
fingers frozen, throat closed, eyes glazed with uneasiness,
mind overstocked to the brim, closing in, people ran miles around my brain, circling a twine filled with questions that will cut circulation in my veins,
images of memories unwind, the feeling my face got when it was hard to not hold a smile, the warmth of another, the thrill of affection, the belief in one another, the vibration of words that held hope, to make hearts vulnerable and eyes light up.
the temporary people who have passed by and created reels for remembrance, each one leaving me as cold as the next.

after flipping through 10 digit sequences and never finding the right call,
insecurities rose as frequent as the sunrise,
and i created a wall with murals on one side, and brick on the other,
making sure whoever rang me would only hear the voice of a simple cold "hello",
i did not want to pick up the phone and create fires for people who were going to water me down,
expose my murals and let spectators decline and walk away,
i'd rather know they saw nothing and left because they never witnessed the real version of me, only taking in brick walls, hearing dials instead of voices, ears listening to the robotic sound of answering machines and not the melodies from within me, staying awake only to watch the sunset, but be gone before the sunrise.
it was frightening to think some drifted away after eyes peeled from brick, saw murals, took in melodies, read words painted down endless roads of feeling, stayed for the sunrise, and picked up the phone to find me on the other side,
the shaking feeling resonated inside, the wondering that would never end, are pieces of me missing, or were there too many?

there I watched, the moon leave and the tide become unsettling, knowing waves would turn into knots and eyes would become foggy,
everything returned to the way it began.

you walked in and I realized the purpose of every frustration I faced over a failed relationship and people who faded away,
And even if you might not live onward in my life I'm thankful for the tiny moments that carried heavy weight to bring light into my eyes and remind my being that there were still people that felt like fresh breaths of air even after one single person took your breath away.

and when we meet, where can I find the words to tell you that this couldn't be a one time thing,
because my body could no longer accept fragments and blinks,
peices of emotions, chunks of hearts, files of information,
because I wanted to find a symphony, not just a few notes to create vibrations,
wanted your fingers to become magnetized to me; and mix up something other than butterflies

life had become a yellow-pages phone-book, a directory of names and numbers i'll never need but still keep around,
flipping through pages in hopes of finding what i was searching for, but finding the unknown places i never knew existed, like "Cartridge World" and "Indian Kitchen"
and the numbers that used to mean so much to find, mean nothing in no time, and i'm left with millions of area-codes and combinations of numbers that become encryptions, like the people i couldn't seem to figure out, or the ones that hung up the phone without saying goodbye,
life sounded like the leafing through pages and dialing numbers, the phone-lines and the voicemails, waiting for people to pick up the phone, and leaving messages in hopes of a call back, and listening to voices that radiate warmth one moment but turn cold the next, fearing every single dial will be a wrong number, and i'll never get connected to the right call.

they say you tend to create art in times of pain,
times of shame,
when you flick the light switch and forget the bulb has been dead and you can't reach high enough to change it.
when you call the one who runs laps around your mind, and those empty dial tones feel like the steady waiting in your life, wondering who, if anyone, will pick up the phone.
when you hold the pen up to the paper and forget the words to the emotions oozing out of your being, and paper was your last resort, in hopes someone would listen.
these moments tend to become reaccuring, repetitive, circulating though blood and marrow in my body, becoming a force made to stop time,
hoping I'll look back and understand why every puzzle piece is shaped the way it is, and I'll be the one picking up the phone

it was getting harder to find the light

i'd like to tell myself it didn't hurt at all,
that nothing was sorrowful, and you were transparent,
i should've listened to the overpowering insecurities in my head,
who devour the moments of beauty i manage to collect,
the sound of your words became deafening and all i wanted was to hear the magnitude of your thoughts,
i stared at pictures of her and tried to figure out what made her more alluring, seeking reasons for me to be less compelling, questioned if there were pieces i was missing that you found in her,
i retraced steps and wrote out maps, built bridges and came crawling back,
i was lost and there you stood,
creating and collecting temporary bliss and falsehood.

overdoses of assurance caused dimensions of fiction, illusions of devotion, wanting to shake myself out of hallucinations of affection and warmth, but i'm fastened in the bleakness of reality,
arms wrapped around me turned into cages only you hold the key to,
hands turned into something made to touch lustfully, tracing longing around skin,
tongues turned into snakes; manipulating words that will never hold weight to you, yet were universes and stars for my being,
words didn't anchor meaning,
the value of "i love you" disintegrated.

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.