It's funny how
when we are young
we believe we can do anything.
Our youth has lied to us,
making us think
that we will last forever.
One day we wake up
that the bed we lie in
has become our new grave.
We thought we had
so many days,
so much time to waste,
and then one day we find
that time has drifted away
like the air between our fingers.
Thoughts as I approach my 30th birthday. I still remember the first poem I ever posted on this site almost 10 years ago. Time moves so quickly.
There's a certain sense of knowing
in the way you look at me,
a sense of trust, of understanding,
unlike any seen before.
You threw all of your doubts and fears
into the ocean,
watching them drift away,
further and further out,
never to be seen again.
I grabbed your hand and stepped forward
into the unknown,
you were like a radiating sunbeam
that refused to dim.
Yet at the same time,
you burned a hole right through my chest cavity,
exposing all the darkest places which were hidden away,
the rooms that I had locked
and swallowed the keys to.
I let your fingers work as you
mended the broken pieces and
tossed away all the clutter of the past,
gathering dust in the corner,
yet taking up so much space.
After you were finished
you looked at me again
with a gaze that had not changed from before
and I knew that you were to be mine
I'm never enough in my own head,
could you please tell me that I matter instead?
There is a certain state of desperation You have kept me in,
it draws me back to You every time I misplace my footing.
You whisper to me to lift my weary head
out of the chasm
and stare into Your light.
I inhale a breath and contemplate the voice that beckons me,
it is so different from the others,
the ones that tear at the seams of my mending heart
and force the wound open again,
crimson with the bleeding, festering.
I cry out to You as the light begins to fade once more,
pleading for the gauze that will numb the pain I have willingly brought myself back into again.
You are my surgeon,
stitch me back together.
Healing is a painful process.
The cool air
the first instances
of the approaching
I only shudder
at the thought
As I walk
a gust of wind,
brings the stain
of your memory
to my mind.
it was just
move through me
only to exit
as you first
of the way
Every time I held you was like holding broken glass;
you just never saw the way I was bleeding.
I have always felt lost in this life,
but I felt a little less lost with you.
I held your hand in mine like a compass,
you were my true north.
You helped everything make a little more sense.