From nowhere

Like motes in the air

Notes begin to appear

Ethereal to the eye

Soft as the sigh

Of breath upon your face

Gliding over your senses

You feel their touch

Origin unknown.

Whether a force of rage

Or state of grace

For a time

You each occupy the same space.

Words can touch your heart

Or destroy your soul,

Obliterate your being

Or leave you whole,

And though the author

You cannot see

You get to know them intimately.

Though the origin of the author

Is often unknown

When words are shared

Your not alone.

Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me
Yes, it hurts me- a little bit, a lot a bit
but I understand.
You are yourself and I am myself-
You will do you, I guess I’ll be me

I still wonder though.
Who am I-
Why not,
What’s so wrong with being a part of me,
my life- who I am?
What’s so bad about me?

Is it because I’m not “pretty” enough
or “cool” enough
or good enough to you, to be a part of me? Associated with me?
Because I won’t just make you happy
I will make myself, my family, those I do- and don’t know happy
I will try and make you as well.

What counts as part of me?
Just that I’m nineteen, female, probably bi
born in Geneva, Illinois, raised in South Elgin, Illinois
but also raised in Westford, Massachusetts
both painfully boring towns; quiet, uneventful.
Does that make me as well? Is part of me South Elgin, Westford?
And then what else- what other parts of me?
That can’t be the only part-
So I’m also creative, loud, spontaneous
the part that makes me different
Is it so bad to be that part?

Part. Of. Me.

it sounds like a bad pop song. Is that why you don’t want to be
part of me-
Why is it that sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me?
Does that mean you won’t speak, look or think about me?
i don’t think that’s possible.
Am I really that much of a stranger?
I’ve known you for quite sometime -
You’ve known me
So can you even not be a part of me?
You can be yourself, as well as
Part of me.

so
yes
You are part of me.
As am I to you,
Just not all of me.
A single piece, maybe, a part,
that shouldn’t be too much to ask.
You can have alone time, but even then that doesn’t mean;
for the time alone, your part of me is gone.
What an illogical statement,

Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be part of me.
You already are.

It's a problem, you know,
when it feels like we can't talk.
I know
When the words escape me,
and the motivation was never there
to talk to you, that
Something is wrong.

Honestly,
if I'm being honest with my self
         not that it's easy to do
I'm not being honest to you.
But then you never were with me either—
were you?

It's over
         basically...
I'm ok with that.
I think I want it to be.

Then again—
this might be nothing more than
me making something out of nothing
         which is something I'm prone to doing.
But at what point is me making excuses for you
an excuse for myself?

And even if I'm totally wrong in
my assumptions of your intent;
it doesn't mean it's not a problem.
To me,
I need more
a reassurance that it's not all in my head.
But that's not how you think.

We are
         fire and water
         night and day
         yellow and purple
         hot and cold
         spring and fall
         tired and energized
         love and hate
associated with one another
But terrible together.

And I'd ask you if any of that was true
         those late night I love you's.
But if they weren't, then truth be told
I don't know how I would handle it.