It’s not about the money itself—
it’s about being happy
with the choices
I’ve chosen for myself.

But this,
I already knew.

So why did someone from outside
have to tell me
this truth
that was already here?

Because I still don’t know
how to validate
the ideas
of my own voice.

It almost happened.
I was almost good enough for him.
He almost took responsibility, our magnet pieces of love almost gathered,
Before the scene got all dim.

I never knew this would be my lesson,
In a closed book, an endless waiting session...
Now, the page turns on me and you,
The story is about to end, not with a goodbye, with the almost, in a blurry view...

miss me,
think of me at 3am
of how you said you wouldn't
leave
but what did i expect
with your words
clearly faker than you
nothing about us was real.
i see that she was right now
post-you is awful

i realised that i never finalised the finishing of writing this.. so here it is. it was done in part four but.. i felt the need to announce it. so..here. this is "obsessed."

its very easy --
to get obsessed,

getting obsessed
...but with writing?

it can hurt.

because it becomes
your only way
to cope,
to stay sane --

to be okay.

and its hard to
open up to people
after writing for so long.


and having paper
be the only one
who truly understands.

its difficult to be
vulnerable and open
about your feelings
and opinions
when writing them
is all you know.

not my best work, imo, but that doesn't mean it's bad.

They sit beneath the moon
in their newborn love
and spoon-fed dreams.

There’s magic in innocence
that is both a promise, and
a suitcase of unopened wounds.

His toothpaste left uncapped,
and her hairbrush abandoned
on his pillow are smiles
that have not yet become
the war of the roses.

There is no map for the future,
only forever spoken from lips
not yet bruised by reality.

I feel ancient with my weight of years,
sacrifices, grief, humor, loss, and love
broken in like uncomfortable shoes.

I hear them call through a screen window
to come sit with them…
With a sigh I step out the door,
and walk out into moonlight
that one night will shine through a curtain
on two innocents who discover the
lock on the suitcase is broken.