i’m trying to write a poem but —

the last words you said are the only ones that come to my head

i’m not a moving statue you can control with any statutes but i’m not a stuffed puppet you can tug at the heartstrings of, you can’t dismiss the blood in my veins or the thoughts running in my brain but you can’t **** on me dry or lead my thoughts astray, i’m not in black and white but i’m more than a colourful mess, i’m more than a broken child of the universe but i’m not, yet, a god or a goddess.

i’m the impersonation of a god when i need to be and a child when i want to be. i’m the personification of versatility. the duality, but at least three. i’m a moving statue if i will it, or a stuffed puppet with a beating heart inside of it. my hands are cold because they’re dry but the bottom of my throat is full of blood and warmth and life. the thoughts imprisoned in my head are waiting to be set free — with the aid of an outlaw on the outside — and into a dog-eared safe haven; a heaven, if you may, with black lines and white skies, colours chaotic and alive, it lacks order but it’s not a mess. it’s a multiverse. and i, an artist who mastered the art of to be and not to be, and the versatile state of instability, happen to be a god over there.

and it’s only because i want to be.

(free will is a triviality, though, isn’t it? you’re only a god because you will it, but the others — can they see it?)

i want to write a love poem, void of the bitterness that pulses through my arteries and the politics that latch onto the muscles of my heart, forcing it to beat louder and stronger, fighting and hoping to keep me alive in a world that wishes upon my death.

i want to write a love poem, overflowing with the sweetness of honey and the description of the high that comes before the fall; the sensation of being in love, the craves pressing down on my chest, the touches brushing against my skin, and the memories running in my head.

i want to write a love poem, but how?

how do i write a love poem about loving a girl? how do i write a love poem about a political statement? a crime? a sin? a taboo? a category men frequently visit on shady sites?

how do i write a love poem that overflows with the sweetness of honey yet remains void of the bitterness that pulses in my arteries? how do i write a love poem without bringing politics when the love i have in my heart is a political topic?

i can’t so i don’t.

i aspire to flow like a river of lava
with stones that float,
and rocks for foam;
for my words are set in these stones
carved onto these rocks,
and there they flow, there they go;
aimless and weightless,
adrift and afloat,
in spite of all the way and weight
my shoulders carry and my statements hold.

i’m sorry. i’m a phoenix with ash for blood. i’m a walking tragedy. i’m a travesty. i’m a shadow of what i dreamt to be. i’m a heartache shaped as a human being. i’m someone who survived but never truly experienced what it’s like to be alive.

i’m sorry. i’m a ticking time-bomb. i’m a veteran without physical scars. i’m a pretty vase stuffed to the brim with dead roses and spiky thorns. i’m beautiful and broken — shattered, actually, way past repair.

i’m sorry. i’m the collateral damage no one gave a **** about. i’m the byproduct of humanity’s downfalls and weaknesses. i’m the mess no one wants to pick up. i’m the dust building up on your picture frames.

and i’m sorry.

i’m so, so sorry.

i hope you’re reading this right now because it would mean that i’m still on your mind even if i’m not in your heart.

if you’re reading this, however, please stop. spare me whatever amount of dignity i have left.

and if you still haven’t stopped reading and you plan to read until the very end, then don’t ever let me know; allow me a safe sense of anonymity, will you?

alright. so. i miss you. you don’t believe in yesterdays but i missed you yesterday and you believe tomorrows are todays but i know that i miss you today and i’ll miss you in a different way; more painfully and more familiarly tomorrow and everyday.

i miss you so much and it hurts so bad but it’s okay, you know? take your time and take some space— take all the time in the world and take all the space you need; it’s all yours. i meant it when i said i’d give you the world and if you want time and space then it’s all yours. everything is yours.

i’ll miss you, though. i don’t know if you would care but yeah, i’d miss you. i miss you. but it’s okay, as i said, yeah? it’s okay as long as you’re happy. you do you and i’ll do me. and if you need me, then i’ll be there even if we’re worlds and aeons apart.

i hope that someday we’ll meet and things will be different. i feel it in my bones but i don’t want to lie to myself but it’s the truth... i think? i don’t know. all i know is that i miss you and that i hope you’ll never truly let go of me.

(and this isn’t about me, it’s about you, but i personally can’t see myself without you so please don’t let go. don’t let me go. don’t forget my name or my face and don’t let go.)

you put yourself down
just so you can lift me up
with a casual reminder,
a good thought,
a sense of solace,
a form of comfort,
you keep me on the ground,
safe and sound,
without holding me down
or pushing me around,
you’re close enough
yet so far away,
you hold my hand
so that i don’t float away
yet you still insist i fly my way,

and your words;
they’d hold me tight
as they swear it’ll be okay,
and your words, your songs;
an anchor for a flying ship,
a promise that it’ll be alright,
a glimpse of light,
a handful of hope
enough to get me through the night,
and your words, your songs,
your presence;
a sense of solace,
a form of comfort,
a promise that it’ll be okay,
and that i’ll never fade away.