With a breathless sigh, she took a shaky step.
A soft inhale, that never left.
I glanced at her,
Tears welling in my eyes,
Wanting to do nothing but cry.

Confused;
Almost worried.
Met with a blank stare
Only glimpses of what was left, aware.

Behind the wall, her feelings were shoved
I knew her heart was full of love,
It may have consumed her,
Being too strong-
She couldn’t shake the feeling, of it all being wrong.

To call it love wouldn’t be accurate.
Love is meant to be shared,
To show others happiness and care;
Love is meant for one than one soul,
Another half of a whole.

Beyond the mirror, I look into her eyes,
The same that refused to cry.
Thinking about her time,
She searched for lies,
Something she could blame,
Someone she could shame.

Instead, her heart continued to love
"If only I could fly away, like a dove."

Leaving the mirror, her mask came on
Her lips humming a melancholy song
As her reflection retreated,
She questioned if she was looking at someone she knows,
Realizing grief is love that has no place to go.

Doors open and close
behind them are places, little people know
they differ in meaning:
some to block out, some to protect
but to me, doors remind me of people who've left.

When the door opens,
we feel at home
then why do I feel so alone?
The door opens, the mask comes on,
trying to hide this sorrow song.

The door opens,
my freedom ends,
and all that's left to do is pretend.
Even if I try to make amends,
I know this feeling will never be cleansed.

When the door opens,
the hiding begins,
because this is when people feel free to come in.
Uninvited, unaware
of the tension that's left hanging in the air.

But when the door closes,
I sense something is wrong,
it begins the chorus of my sorrow song.

When the door closes,
it seems I'm at fault
everything seems to come to a halt.
No need to wear a mask,
nothing to hide,
but I feel even more empty inside.

With these doors, opened or closed,
I'm still hiding the me no one knows.
I try to be strong, but I am weak,
quietly singing my sorrow song.

As humans we’re conditioned to want more
Even if it’s unobtainable,
Even if it seems impossible,
We’re always driven by a want;
A desire,
A greed for more.

I feel selfish.
I know what I want-
Maybe even what I need-
But I know I can’t have it right now.

I feel selfish for wanting more.
I feel selfish because even though I know it’s unobtainable right now,
And that I should be patient,
Even though I know these things,
I still want more.

I’m selfish
And I hate myself for it

Dots, lines, symbols.
Everything is out of focus.
My mind can’t think straight,
My hands feel hot when they move,
My eyes blur with every tear.

I can’t focus.
I lose focus.

I try to think of the bright side-
The right side,
The side you hadn’t left.

I know what’s in my way
But I feel helpless.
I’ve tried coming up with solutions
But I know it’s never enough.
Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be enough.

Focus.
You have to focus.
Even if you can’t see what lies ahead,
Focus, or you’ll believe, “I’m better off dead.”

Hope makes you feel as light as a feather,
But it also binds you, neck wrapped in a tether-
A thin cord made out of leather.

I read the letters,
Filled with promises of forever.
And when I ask myself- if you’ll still love me through any kind of weather,
I’m afraid your answer will be “never”.