sometimes, it is not about loving yourself

sometimes, it is about loving the other:
the one right in front of you, waiting to be loved;
waiting desperately,
not knowing how to make it happen,
because they've never been truly loved before - 100%.

sometimes, it is your turn to be selfless,
not selfish - and maybe even suffer a little bit,
because maybe you have been loved before 100%
and you know how AMAZING that feels,
and you want it more than anything from this ONE person,

but they just don't know how to give it to you;
they can't,
because they've never seen it before,
never felt it before,
& don't even know how to begin.

sometimes,

all you can do is show them the way,
instead of getting frustrated,
or angry,
or dissatisfied;
you show them the way,
by loving them 100%, always, whenever you are able,
and sometimes when it is far too difficult.

The beating heart in darkness took shape..
It was her..
The one we were looking for..
Her eyes were the color of everything..
They were the color of me...
She then swam through darkness out of the green lit pond..
As I sank and sank in its deep waters..

Her heart was like a falling star.. Only this star was not falling, it was slowly rising.. I was sinking to the bottom of this strange like darkness in a world of light.  Strange to say but everything was getting darker and darker in this abyss of darkness.  Right before I lost consciousness I saw a pale white light above..  I could hear my heartbeat..  It was getting slower and slower..  Just the thought of her being free made me smile one last time..  One last time for good hope..  I somehow knew it was the right thing to free darkness.  I felt myself drifting away..  The last thing I remember was my little brother and I making shadow puppets on the wall.. We stayed up past midnight laughing at our shadow puppets..

I touch the side of my face
as I shutdown my life,
my cheek is wet...
I stare straight ahead
as the screen goes black.
I sit for a moment
and cry.

You're out on the porch smoking again
and I'm in here alone hoping for the end
and slowly but surely we're both seeking death

I don’t have to make much of a sound.
I can let the sentences coalesce
in the air, a dual carriageway of words
interspersed with a laugh.
The names I store are few.
I don’t have to yank them
from the chest, swipe off clumps of dust -
they glow when they need to
like fireflies swaying in the night.
I dribble out my current affairs,
watery vowels from my mouth.
Am I boring you?
Voice like an elderly hoover,
interest tumbling down the stairs.
You’ve done more in five minutes
than I have in five weeks.
I blink, then I sink.
It’s OK.
The days of rapid chat
are six feet under,
flaws knocked out of shot,
not as blindingly bright.
I wonder where you were years ago.
We’d know more;
my gawky movements less present,
my mind not pulsing
with impossible possibilities.
Still I shudder at the distance between us.
Pauses plump as bubbles
that can’t be popped.
The flow halted
by my wodge of insecurity.
No bother.
I swallow what I can,
let the taste coat my throat.
If you sparkle
you can help me too
without being aware.
The sludge will vanish for a while.
You don’t even have to make
too much of a sound.