the world sits on the tips of peoples tongues
one day someone might talk a little too fast
and it will fall off
but until then we will be content to look for it in others eyes that we might happen to see while walking down a sidewalk

this is what searching for love is

we all hope to catch a glimpse of the world between cracked fingers
or within the echoes of thoughts we pick up from crowds
but I believe the best way to find love is to wait
wait on the edge of the room
wait between the silences
wait until the night has broken
eventually you will find the world rolling across the floor
with a mouth wide open
and eyes
shut

I wish I could have been what you needed
But sadly I am only a collection of chemical reactions between synapses that are just a little too far apart
Left to wonder why something that makes us so alive can **** us with one misstep

I think you must have smiled when you pushed me into the waves below

Drown me in the one thing that keeps me breathing
one last time

September 12, 2010:
I write you a letter
begging for forgiveness
redemption
a way to start over
the last sentence reads:
"I wish the rain would be enough to wash away my mistakes"

I never send it

September 13, 2010:
You break by heart for the 1st time (out of three)
via message sent at 12:03 AM
the last sentence was simply:
"I wish it could have been different, I'm sorry"

It pours for three days straight

If I looked down on myself from above
I would look like a feverish dream
gold bleeding out of my eyes like a cracked open door
and cheeks stained crimson as if being out in the wind too long
rushing breath stumbling
down my lips
I am running
while laying in a mess of heat
heart beating just a little too fast
to make me
"normal"

you bring me down to earth with breaths you whispered into my mouth
maybe you're telling me secrets with your eyes
while I am desperately trying to regulate my heart rate
beautiful doesn't even capture
your hushed voice
tell me again
how to cut off my wings
and be human
you look like a dream
a feverish dream
I don't feel alive
but perhaps
oblivion isn't so bad

I'll throw my head up to the sky
attempting to break the separation
trying to stop running
while standing still
on the edge
of where I could be
and where I am
take my face in your hands
and convince me

I'm not dreaming

I looked at you and I knew I was not magnificent
but then you turned to face me
and your eyes convinced me otherwise
the way you looked at me so quizzically
attempting to figure out the patterns in my eye movements
and the slight shape my lips take
when I said "hello"
it's beautiful really
the way you set your jaw
when you concentrate

Have I never told you before?

you are so deep
and I don't think I ever want to reach the bottom
I would jump
I would fall
if I could find an edge
if I could only find an edge

of you

If,
at the end of my life,
you were to ask me about the one thing I loved the most
I would answer
"Breathing"
because it was the one thing that
never
left
all that I have ever truly known
is the air in my lungs
and the ground at my feet

Imagine this with your eyes closed.
These are the labored seconds before you open your eyes to the day.
A subtle ache hums in your bones and it takes an amount of effort to pull your eyelids apart.
And the light rushes into your eyes.

Being in an abusive relationship is like waking up in a plain white room that used to be full of color, and you look around wondering when it got to be this way. How could you not have noticed the color seeping from the drywall?
Did it happen while you were asleep?
No, you think, this must be how the room has always been. You must have imagined the color, colors are silly anyway.
No one else lives in rooms that are full of color, this must be normal.

There is an emptiness in your back that will not fill itself with your skin no matter which way you twist or turn and you vaguely remember taking a part of yourself and giving it to another.
Hushed whispers curl around your ears and for a second you can feel someones breath close to your neck.
The voices are familiar, loving, they caress the skin and if you listen close enough you can almost make out what they're saying.
"you're worthless lovely" they say
wait
no
that can't be right

See, what they don't tell you is that abusers are wonderful, you don't fall in love with monsters, they can be your best friend, your neighbor, the person who sits next to you in class.
The whole point of being with someone is not to make you feel terrible but to make you feel wonderful and that is almost always how it starts out.
After that it just depends on which side of the door you're on.

The wall is as cold and smooth as marble.
And you lay with your cheek pressed against it, as if listening for a heartbeat. Spreading across your skin is a numbness that can only be compared to sleeping with your eyes open,
Don't pinch yourself, you will wake whoever is dreaming.

In health class they aim to teach us about ourselves and others and how to interact and how to make good choices and outcomes of our problems but what happens when your health class illustrates your past?
I have yet to count the amount of people who have came out of that room with tears in their eyes, because they finally understand.

I UNDERSTOOD WHEN THE FIRST COLOR I SAW AGAIN WAS RED AND IT WAS AT THE CENTER OF HIS EYES,
I SWEAR THEY LOOKED SOMETHING LIKE FIRE,
WHEN HE ROSE HIS HAND TO HIT ME AND EVEN THOUGH HE DIDN'T TOUCH MY SKIN HE LEFT SCARS DEEP BENETH IT THAT STILL HAVEN'T HEALED AND WITH HIS HAND IN THE AIR AND HIS WORDS LIKE THUNDER I PUT MY HANDS TO MY FACE AND CLOSED MY EYES WHEN I OPENED THEM HE WAS GONE AND I'D LIKE TO SAY THAT I NEVER LET HIM COME BACK BUT I WOULD BE LYING TO YOU

imagine this,
but open your eyes because in this room 1 out of every 3 people will be subject to abuse and I am not just a statistic but a reason to never shut them again,
I had too many people say that when I was sick every time before I saw him it was butterflies,
and I've had one too many girls come to me crying because they finally have a word to call their boyfriends,
and I have been to too many doctors to call my physical condition a random happening of events,
and I have too many reasons not to be silent anymore
it takes an amount of effort to pull your eyelids apart,
but let the light rush into your eyes

When I was sad
I asked you to hold my water
and as I emptied the glass into your hands
you began to cry
seeing me with the empty glass
the tears falling
into your open hands
you created a lake between the seams of your fingers
nourishing it with your own
and when I finally held my glass out again
when I had the strength to carry it
I asked why you were crying
you told me
"I merely hoped my tears were enough to make you see the glass a little more towards half full"

and that's when I knew I didn't deserve you

I used to break bottles on the ground
and the glass I would use to fill my words
just like people
glass never breaks the same
some will find its way into weapons
and others are simply
echoes in the night
some words are empty
and others are so full
that they spill all over the concrete
filled with water
or rocks
I want them to weigh you down
sometimes
and other times I want you to be able to stand on them
like I do
when I scream messages on street corners
blood dripping down my face
I will promise myself I will never write another empty word
and instead of filling my words with weapons
I'll fill them with sunlight
or unused happiness

I don't break bottles anymore
the only thing I can break well
is myself
and
silence

I keep a jar in my corner of my head,
to the left
in which I keep all my fears
along with a couple unheard phone messages and some unused anger. Sometimes I'll go over just to look at them
sift
shuffle
turn over and over again
put them into boxes
take them back out of boxes
put them in other boxes
Most of them are silly really.
I fear either too much or too little,
But the jar completes the little room inside my head
so I keep it there.
I'll pull them out one by one.
I am afraid that when the sun comes again I will pale in comparison
I am afraid that I am not as much as you say I am
I am afraid after the winter you will no longer need me to keep you warm.

Inside all of us there lies something to be discovered
and I think the spark you put at the bottom of my lungs might be enough
to remember mine
you are a fire and I am ash
brand new, I feel sorry for eventually suffocating you
I hate cities
I hate people
but I love persons
I would get on a train right now just to watch
people spill like water into the underground
seemingly searching for something within the tunnels
some simply a way out
others a way in
some just to sleep
I saw a man with an airport under his skin once
and a woman next to him with clouds brushing lips with her fingers
they were holding hands
and I swear I heard the boarding call faintly as they exited
I hope he remembers to breathe
sometimes it rains on the subway
and sometimes you can't keep the sun out
people are always rushing to some
unknown endpoint
I'll sit in the corner and ride the blue line until they kick me off
far enough away so they can't touch me
but I can touch them
sometimes I'll close my eyes
imagine that this train is taking me home
imagine going down a snowy hill at 80
looking next to me, there you are
so I put on the brakes
"I only want to **** myself, I don't want to **** you"
I'll open my eyes
and see the life around me

maybe
I can
stay just a little longer

& as he turned to me his aura turned bright red
like blood making contact with air
I have yet to figure out if he wanted to kiss me
or **** me

the two are so similar
familiar

I turned the other way

today I saw a machine that can make human skin as if it was printing paper
and I thought about covering myself with new skin
just to see if it didn't hurt as bad
if I hid my scars a little better
today I was in so much pain I felt sick
and when you left I felt like crying
a boy died today
and I am speaking out loud
with a voice that sounds like broken glass
whenever I am alone I talk as if I don't have enough air
the voice in my head sounds the same
I talk about drowning a lot
but I don't know how else to describe the feeling of not being able to breathe
while I am taking in air
my body is pulsing because I have too many memories
and no one understands
I am so alone here
maybe that machine can make me better
maybe all I need is new skin
I love my body
but it doesn't seem like it loves me sometimes
it is keeping me alive
but I don't want to be
I have to keep reminding myself that I am not a parasite
I am a human
and I deserve to be
but no one ever listens to me anyway
not even myself

my lungs breathe without convincing
so why do I have such a problem getting off the floor
remind me
remind me
remind me to live

These days we seem to get advice from everywhere but you've probably never heard the part about how you should definitely find someone who thinks in metaphors.
Maybe you've never heard of the advice to find someone who's hands whisper way more than their mouths ever will
Find someone who doesn't just move your heart but moves your whole rib cage so that your facing in the direction of the sun
Find someone who knows that your soul isn't actually in your chest but is in your feet leading you down your path
A person that can tell you exactly what light SOUNDS like and knows that the darkness is more blinding than the day
Find someone whose eyes speak with a sound deeper than all oceans
and I bet you've never heard how you should find someone who thinks the sky is purple and the grass is blue just because you need to look at the world differently sometimes.
Someone who tells your stories with words that spill out of their eyes because those are the ones that count
let them match your tiny rhythms
let them kiss all the cracks in your skin
as they fall in step beside you
Fall in love with someone who thinks in metaphors
They'll understand

Now that I know the truth
Now that this is all over
I can finally write the words that I always wanted to say but never had the heart to
And everyone will tell me how nice they are
But they are not nice
They are true

"This will be the most wonderful mistake I ever make"

"I know, it will be mine also"

Fortunately
Unfortunately
I'll love you always

But that's what I get for falling in love with my best friend

"you only hug me in airports" was the last thing I heard her say
as she opened her arms
to her eldest daughter
and I was nothing short of amazed
when they walked into each others arms
I saw her close her eyes
if only for a second
drinking the moment through her pores
as if the rest of us were invisible
even to the night
that moment seemed to stretch
to morph
to erase years of pain
and close the gap of months
in a single step

together

I wonder if she heard the screaming in her ears
or the sound of glass breaking
the rain on her face
the night that she slammed the door on that same little girl
now an adult
but still small enough to fit between arms
I'll never know what happened between them
but I imagine it like lightning
hitting their chests in a terrifyingly beautiful fashion
and I was waiting for her daughter
to cry out
"no, you only hug me in airports"
and I'm not sure
if they will ever see each other
again
I wonder if they're happy
or simply

content

I'm not doing this to hurt you

I used to have a philosophy
Much like mass I thought pain was neither created nor destroyed
Merely transferred from one to another
Constantly circling
And I thought if I hurt it would take away the pain of others

Before I went to sleep I would curl up in a ball imagining that I was taking the pain out of a child's scraped knee,  or giving peace to a man's last breath,  or saving you from a couple more tears
I slept with a smile on my face

I'm not doing this to hurt you

All I ever wanted to do was good

I heard this theory once
that we have tiny red threads
coming out of the centers of ourselves
and they connect to other people
they pull us together during life

invisible
but existing

some call it fate
but when I think of fate
I see you
taking your heart out of your chest
just to look at it
set it on the ground in front of you if you must
to study the contractions
cross legged stranger
to yourself
I'll do the same
sitting across from you
I'll set my own heart on the ground
We'll flip a coin to choose which heart goes back in your rib cage
and I'll tell you that you are better off
with mine
and I am better off
with yours
my veins are still connected

invisible
but existing

maybe that is what they mean
when they tell us we are connected by tiny red threads
seeing my hand on your chest
they must think we're crazy
but I'll tell them I know two things:
1) I love you
and
2) there's blood all over the floor

the sky looks like cheap wine
mixed with water
that was always my uncles favorite drink
he said he couldn't risk dying
on his two sons
just for a party
and I respected him for that
if I was ever to drink
it would be cheap wine
mixed with water
as a tribute to his solace
he just needed a hint
of what he was missing
he used to drink when he was married
and I'm still not sure what happened behind those closed doors
but he came out divorced
with a liver problem

and when I die
compose a symphony in my voice
transfer my soul into a violin string
and my heart into a timpani drum
as long as I can be heard I will never be
truly
gone
you told me once you would name a gun after me
if you stumbled across one that spoke in my voice
and if you can hear my name in a gun shot
you can find it again in a broken chord on a piano
because
I used to be a composer
but every melody was about you
people rest in sound waves
and it's time I was found again
just like I found you

and when I die
bury me in sheet music
and leave me under the concert hall
so that I will never go without
music reverberating through my bones
I've been told my eyes are gold
if you look at them in the right light
but if you gave me room to breathe again
they might become the color of the land
I am rushing over
in bass line
one that you created
with your own two hands

and when I die
and you hear what you have created for the first time
I hope you fall to your knees
in a spotlight
on the stage you stand
because you have just realized
that I am more alive now
than I was when I was breathing

and when I die
I will not really be dead

now will I?

It was May
and I was drunk
and I was sitting on a rock somewhere far away from my mind
and my heart and all those other things that you need to survive.
I was thinking about the ocean
and time
and how much my feet hurt.
You see,
I had walked all the way out there
to look at the waves and lost my shoes
along with my mind and my heart and
they’re probably swimming out there somewhere;
I’ve just lost sight of them.
The ocean is funny and sad
when you hold it in your hands your fingers can either feel like they own the world
or as if the world can, at any moment, slip through the cracks.
Time is funny too,
and like the ocean,
you can only hold a little in your hands.
In other ways it’s not like the ocean at all,
trying drinking Time and I’ll think you’re on some drug that I’d like to get my hands on.
People describe time and the ocean similarly
and for some reason I think I’ve got it figured out
but I’ve got it figured out in only the way someone sitting on a rock in the middle of the night with no shoes and heart can.
They describe the ocean and time by telling us about how enormous it is,
they try to tell us how deep it is,
how wide it is,
how tall it is.
They can stand up and tell us facts about the beginnings of it and how they think it will end but when you look at the fine print both of them say that they have about 90% left to be discovered.
When you look out at time or the ocean who is to say how much your seeing?
Is the the horizon over there or is it just how far my eyes will reach? Can I predict the tides and the sky and the next person to stumble around the corner?
Maybe I should just go to sleep.