God, I need to stop writing about you.

But it seems my hand moves with your eyes
forcing me to forge letters with its movements,
and the words you say always sounds like music,
so by the time I look at my paper,
I've already written sheet music to last eternities.

I even went to meditation seminars in hopes of
finding peace within body and mind to get rid of you,
until I realized that you left a trail of your DNA
on the surface of my skin after the way you touched
every inch of me; its particles leaked its way
into the crevices and grooves of my brain.

And God, I just want to stop writing about you.

gd

Lately, it's been so hard to stay awake,

and       I'm just looking for signs
              to get me through these gloomy days
              I think about summer sunsets
              I think about us
              I think about how we were never
              really an "us" in the first place
              I think about disconnection (yours and mine)
              I think about the late nights I find comfort in
              I think about the early mornings
              that always start with dizzy thoughts
              I think about why it's been so hard to stay awake,
              when I have so much more to live for than this

gd

He's got me singing love songs, and I never
realized how foreign they became until
I was holding a brush in my hand, half-naked screaming
at the top of my lungs that maybe love is an open door;
an open door without an obstacle screen, and faulty locks.

And when the song ended on a high note, I realized
that I was so used to wallowing in the bass chords
of another sad tune to realize that this door was wide open -
past all the piano acoustics and vocal cracks between sniffles;
past the stressed fermatas and slow tearjerkers while I screamed

Mayday, please do not rain on my Parade again.

And in the first time in a long time, the sun is shining
and he looks at me everyday like you've only done once
or twice. And maybe, just maybe, I'm willing to break
the doorknobs you once taught me how to put together
just to keep this door slightly ajar a little while longer.

gd

She always told me to choose my battles,
but she was never really a fighter. She
was selective, and exclusive - creating
a stone fence around her kingdom, in
hopes of blocking all suffering and
trapping all the happening. She was head
strong, stubborn - liked to be right, even
when it meant doing something dead wrong.
"You keep your friends close, and your
enemies farthest," and that was how she
got by amongst those who were toxic. She
made homes out of rubble, and found
something magical when all and everyone
had left; it was a kingdom of only a few,
but it was hers. And she liked it that way.

                                   My mother always told me to choose my
                                   battles. And I never really understood until
                                   now. She was selective and exclusive, but
                                   she was cunning and realistic. Why risk
                                   warfare over the approval of one person,
                                   when you could spend your time creating a loyal
                                   army instead? Fighting for nothing but the
                                   upper-hand on some golden pedestal, I burned
                                   down the remains of my dignity and became
                                   a soldier I couldn't even look in the mirror. I
                                   fought to be the better person, all to risk
                                   becoming the complete opposite. I chose his
                                   battle, but I did not have to lose mine. So, I
                                   finally waved my white flag high, surrendered
                                   to the will of my own. And somehow that was
                                   just enough to win the war inside my mind.

gd

Newton told me that an object in motion tends to stay in motion,
but can he explain why my mind wanders
around the massive uncertainties of this universe
while my feet are kept planted in place?

He mentioned something about my mass and acceleration
creating some explainable force, but how can he account
for the way my heart flutters for miles
just by looking into his eyes?

What force am I creating
other than the force of utter, prodigal passion
that can neither be measured nor equated?
But maybe he got one thing right:

He mentioned something about every action
resulting in an opposite and equal reaction -
so is that why I go from feeling so much
to feeling nothing at all?

gd