Precursor:

I met a girl who ran from her own footsteps. The harder she ran, the louder the pounding, the greater the fear. She either couldn't stop moving, or became paralyzed.

and this is for you.

I wish I could write poems for you, but I can't quite pinpoint your soul on the map of my heart. It's expansive like the ocean- sometimes you're Christopher Colombus, and sometimes you are North America. Complex like the wonders of space. More captivating than a dying star on it's last stage of nebula spilling light and color into the cosmos as it kisses the darkness goodbye. Your soul is a locket and the universe is inside glowing against your human heart, and your eyes aren't big enough windows to see it all. Your fingers are secret entrances into the place that no one goes as you solemnly strum out your sorrows and joys. Sometimes you are the ocean, sometimes you are the bottle, and sometimes you are the message inside! Moving along with space and this thing we call time~ you are revered. A goddess amongst humanity for the sprinkle of divine that's touched you, kissed you, birthed itself within you. You may refuse to see the halo floating above your ether, but I promise its golden light shines upon those who forget that they are not alone. In their hurt you remind them that this is what it is to be human. You are what it is to be alive. Changing with the wind you fear your face is a facade.You are not who you were, and you don't know who you will be, and whoever said it must be one way has robbed you of the truth. Because constant consistency is for the complacent and change is the destiny of the alien angels that inhibit this earth, moving us towards a higher consciousness. Your secret language you hide between your bones is craved by those who are controlled by silence- bring them to life with the breath of truth you possess. Your fear makes you selfish, so steam forward full force, with self abandonment.
You, my beautiful.
You, my love.
You, are meant to change this world.
If I had to pinpoint your soul on the map of my heart,
I might guess you were an extraterrestrial threat- an alien-
born among us to bring heaven to hell. So let your burning heart go among this icy world. Don't fear the unknown, it's pertinent to your existence. Someday you will know, but for now, let your heart speak the things your mind cannot comprehend.

I find myself tongue-tied, and i have been for a very long while.
i'm not quite sure what i can attribute this to...
it's been a quality of mine ever since i've learned to speak.

     (where i've gone and
           the few faces along the way,
                    with eyes like distorted mirrors
                                     showing me my strange self)

i have trouble finding my place, yet i've found many places
i don't  know how to connect, though at times i feel connected

you have  me confused

                   s c    a     t       t e      r            
                               b      r a         i      n    e  d  

back and forth for so long, and finally landed separate,
fixed in each other's shade of the soon-to-be-forgotten past
because-- i don't have a because.
because i have too many becauses.

because i simply cannot

i can't place my finger on why.
i don't feel as real
                                     as i used to.
please understand


life is confusing because there are so many different ways to see it.
so one can never be too sure what is true.
about self,  reality, or other people.
there are a million different experiences of the color green.
i am seen one way, but i feel about myself something invisible.
and sometimes i don't feel anything about anything at all.

she
spoke as if she knew the world down to its heartbeat,
and could see through its bones.
she spoke as if her eyes were the only eyes,
and they saw all truths.
she was not careful with her words
and never stepped outside of her body
to see how imprisoned she was in her thoughts.
she obsessed over what she saw in others,
and what they saw in her.
for that, i think, she always wore the sun.

i'm in love with the way
we all crowd around each other
in flatteringly-lit places
with four walls
overpriced drinks
and some dark noise
as we keep to ourselves mostly
in groups of one or three

being social

but sometimes
you look into someone's lined eyes accidentally,
strangers,
as if to say 'save me, please. are you it? please be it.'
no one ever is
quite
it

then, we look away intensely at the floor,
or pick up an ash tray that is suddenly so interesting,
or ask to *** a cig
or something stupid.

as the night rolls into itself
and you find yourself alone in your unmade bed
again
to conclude yet another day,
now that you're so tired of
conclusions.

and nothing is quite
it

To be loved by one is a joy
To be loved by two is a delight
But to make the choice for your choosing
who you believe should have your heart
                             OR
who you want to have your heart,
is terrifying