I write "you exist"
on the fragility of my wrist
because I need to remind myself
that this isn't a nightmare
and life has good parts too.

I need these words to fetter me
as if I were something solid
because I haven't felt that lately

I am the dead leaf
detached from branches
broken off from life

I am the echo in the mountain
too late
belonging to no one

I am the carving on the tree trunk
a reminder of a love already gone
fading, unnoticed

I am the falling star
burning, blazing
dead a million years.

I am nothing
but I exist.

I exist.

Static electricity is an imbalance
of electric charges

If your words are so weightless
why is it so hard to let go?

maybe love is static electricity

a transfer
in hopes of striking a balance.

erratic exchange
back and forth
insults and compliments
good and bad

static electric charge is created
when two surfaces contact and separate,
and one of the surfaces
has a high resistance to electrical current*

you got more than you gave
******* insulator
contact and separate

contact
separate
you left me, a hot wire
waiting to explode
starving for peace

and your lies are rubber balloons
sticking to my cotton heart

cloth grown thin from trying to scrape past
the rough edges of broken promises

and the more I try to wipe the lies
to see them clearly
the more they cling to me.

Like poison
I feel myself dying slowly
you are killing me
without even touching me,
the hair on my arms rising
from the chill of what you've become

I found a sketch
I did

of your face.

I am careful
as my fingers pinch the edge
feeling the straight line

one hand separating from the other.

I start from the top
and end in the bottom.
going the same direction as
us.

I am careful
as I rip away the shreds of you.

careful to destroy every semblance
to the face I tried to capture.

for the honesty that existed there
was one that my own hands
and eyes
added

and it is
in the mass of the irregular
white pieces
and gray lines

that I see the truth of you.

I grasp the pieces in my palms
and clasp
and feel
as they rest in the spaces
between my fingers

it is in this mass
of shapeless nothingness

that I begin to really feel

you.

like the legend of the phoenix, all ends with beginnings*
-Daft Punk

sometimes
my heart creeps into my mind
like young lovers' hands
reaching for palms and fingertips.

my mind tells me to forgive you
but my heart is heavy with pain

my mind tells me to accept what has happened
but my heart is full of memories

my mind explains the pain away
but all my heart does is feel

my mind tells me to forgive you.

it is seven twenty-four AM
there is a violin playing in the distance
and I am still haunted by you.

I am slowly letting you go though,
like feathers falling loosely
from my fingertips.

I watch you float slowly to the ground
where you can no longer hurt me.

I feel myself grow taller
as you lay beside my feet

and maybe someday a soft wind
will lift you slowly
into something else.

he knows it's justified
to **** to survive*

dark thoughts still come sometimes
but I think I'm going to be all right.

It's not that you're disposable or replaceable...he just chose to forget how special you are, what a good person you are, how beautiful you are inside and out. You are. You are. You are. Stop crying, you are. Perhaps he'll remember someday, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that you don't forget. You are worth it, beautiful. You are. You really are.

the truth is
I want to die
but the truth is
my death
would hurt more
people
than my life.

for in living
it is only I who suffers.

and I have discovered
that the greatest pain
is not in being hated,
but in being ignored.

and sadly
the only way for anyone
to really understand what I meant by that

is to live through a life
of being overlooked.

of speaking
and never being heard.

of wearing masks
so everyone can stand being around you.

of being constantly told
that you are fine
when deep down you know your truth.

of using tears
to clean your face
just so you can smile once more.

being frustrated
at your inability to articulate
these feelings into words,
failing to realize that there is no way
that they could understand what you mean

because what you experience,
this personal hell,
is not in their scope
of existence.

I could go on
but their voices have seeped into all my cracks
"it's all in your head"
"get over it"
"you're just being dramatic"
and I end up judging myself

feeling less like a person
and more like a thing
that was made wrong.

a misfit
a mistake
a dysfunctional
an oddity
an alien
a ****** up
overdramatic attention-seeker.

everyone has ****
why can't you keep yours in line?

everyone has pain
why can't you fix yourself?

just talk about it.

let it out.

it's easy.

what is wrong with you?
why can't you just tell me?

I hide tears away like illegal contraband
feelings that should not be indulged.

I wear smiles like special passes
so I can weave my way around society.

and all I really want
is a little patience
a little acceptance.

I'm not too much of a freak
that I cannot be loved.

I promise I'm not so bad.

just give me some time
I'll be good

please?