When I am
tired or
sad or
hurt or
drunk my
thoughts start
to appear in
my head with
line-breaks.
Strange for
someone who
never thought
she could
write.

letting go of someone you desperately fell in love with may be one of the hardest thing you have to go through in the process of life and love, mainly because most of the time, you don't want to.
 
you want to hold on to what made you so happy; to the person who filled up the void inside your heart. 
sadly, this will most certainly lead to your destruction; every thought, every memory of them claws at your heart and soul, slowly killing you emotionally, eventually leaving behind an empty shell of regret.

Your hands were your first language
and all formalities and expectations aside
I want you to whisper into my skin
spell words into my flesh
just like I spelled my name over and over
inside my chest when I first learned
how to make letters out of my fingers
at summer camp in 5th grade
last night you reminded me of that week
more than I'll ever tell you
you are running through thick forrest
you are sunlight through the trees
you are blue skies
and you are also thunderstorms
I have seen both in your eyes
don't ever be afraid to rain
I wanted to tell you
Both storms were on a Wednesday night
the water never touched me either time
yet seemed to soak my soul
arms around my knees
whispered words
I think you were too upset to notice
that you reverted back to the voice that projects from your fingers
sometimes I forget English is your second language
you speak it so eloquently
hands
around your face
as if speaking in perfect verse
fluttering

"what are you saying"

fluttering

"you're so pretty"
"you're so pretty"
"you're so pretty"
you whispered

"pretty"
"pretty"
"pretty"
I repeated
using nothing
but my hands

This is a poem about being uncomfortable in your own skin.
Think small spaces,
Too warm,
Too soon.
A car crash.
Being trapped in an elevator.
Shifty eyes,
pure white lies.
Unclear shadows on a foggy night,
salty wounds left open for much too long.

Think about demolishing something,
that is perfectly fine as is.
Think about finally making love to the boy
with the softest lips you have ever tasted
And has those eyes,
Those eyes,
that remind you of home.
Think about the buzz in the middle of your stomach
And your eyes that oh so dramatically
roll to the back of your head
When your closest ones
Pick apart and analyze every aspect of your decision,
Critique
By
Critique.
One
Immoral
Choice
To
The
Next.

This is a poem about mistakes that aren’t truly mistakes
And lust and blood and bruises
And passionate kisses and risky decisions
And sleepless nights and dour girls.
And broken mirrors and ripped pages.
This is a poem about what has become your life.

*-andrea

The clouds,
scattered and dashed by magnificent glowing orange
more vivid than the pain of love.
The towering oaks,
like black lace against a fiery distance
more intricate than human hands could weave.
My heart,
inspired, stilled, and heavy
more longing than ever before.
If I could only follow this setting peace,
to grasp, and hold, this ever fading brilliance,
to bask in this ever sinking glory.
But... this is the draw.
only but a moment of glory,
only but a taste of heavenly glow.
This... is dispair.
slowly, yet surely, watching heaven fade,
afraid to look away lest the beauty be wasted.
But is also hope.
Hope of the glory that will slowly, yet surely return.
Sometime it will cease to sink.
Oneday the color will only intensify, never fade.
Until then... we continue to long,
savoring in pain,
from taste to taste.

"you only hug me in airports" was the last thing I heard her say
as she opened her arms
to her eldest daughter
and I was nothing short of amazed
when they walked into each others arms
I saw her close her eyes
if only for a second
drinking the moment through her pores
as if the rest of us were invisible
even to the night
that moment seemed to stretch
to morph
to erase years of pain
and close the gap of months
in a single step

together

I wonder if she heard the screaming in her ears
or the sound of glass breaking
the rain on her face
the night that she slammed the door on that same little girl
now an adult
but still small enough to fit between arms
I'll never know what happened between them
but I imagine it like lightning
hitting their chests in a terrifyingly beautiful fashion
and I was waiting for her daughter
to cry out
"no, you only hug me in airports"
and I'm not sure
if they will ever see each other
again
I wonder if they're happy
or simply

content

I'm not sure if I am empty or endless
endless sounds nice
it sounds like I capture the sea and the mountains
and you
if you walked far enough
your veins being your only road map

it sounds like I am every color and every song
and I can touch stars if I want to
breathing in the dust of planets
and getting Saturn's rings tangled in my hair

yes endless sounds nice
but I am so afraid
In being endless you will only focus on the craters I am on the moon
and the caves I am in the land
and the black depths of the ocean
(empty)

I am so afraid
that you will come to me for a drink
and will leave just as thirsty
with no oasis
no resting place
no me; with or without you
(empty)

cease and desist in your clockwork ways
I want to scream loud enough to break the glass surrounding you
I'm looking down from above
watching your lights flicker
on
and
off
as you open and shut your eyes
automated movements
searching…
searching…
searching…
error
drunk on influence
lies dripping from your mouth
you are automaton
repetitive movements
tapping thumbs
looking down from above
just like I am

cease and desist in your clockwork ways
if I was to push you in front of a car would you even take notice?
or look in a daze
it is a tragedy to be just "fine"
I want to be terrible
I want to be wonderful
I refuse to be anything in between
fine is not enough
you are not enough
stop walking in circles like they tell you to
if you have to keep walking walk in a square
hell,
go for a triangle

cease and desist in your clockwork ways
you are not cogs
or coils
or gears
or tiny ticks
you are bones
and light
and energy
and blood
and skin
and I could go on forever
you get the idea
so start acting like it
if I am a lightbulb let me be the difference between a prison and a blank slate
trapped in misery
trying our hardest to express
audio visually
the tiny flutters in our hearts
because it's the first time we've felt something

if laying on a couch validates your existence
lay the hell out of that couch
until you can't feel your back or your legs
but **** you're so alive and well
and if laying on a couch doesn't
then what are you doing?
stop walking
start running
validate your existence by breaking out of boxes
running towards the sun
if you need a reminder:
you are alive
and you should start acting like it

cease and desist in your clockwork ways,
human