I never really let myself look back at it,
you know, since I transformed into this person,
since my heart relearned its beat,
and my eyes regained their sight,
and my mouth relearned a speech that could stand up for
the brain that's had to muster every ounce of confusion,
every spec of pain,
every seed of anger,
and release it until the look in my tearless and fearless eyes
gained light again.
I never wanted to lose you.
I just had to if I wanted to come back from the dead,
from the grave I made in my hollow bed,
formed with baby green sheets and a pillow for my headstone.
That was your choice.
I just walked away from a world that would never care.

Sometimes... I just really hate when you're the inspiration behind
the fingertips clicking on the keyboard,
when you're the reason why I let myself bleed into a poem,
when you're the motive in a desperate attempt for me to have something for myself.
And then I remember... that's how I escape the way I'd wrap
around your conniving little finger until it turned to blade.
I always find it interesting to see how fleeting my existence can be.
It's like a game, isn't it?
The drunken texts, the awkwardly un-awkward hugs, the hellos and goodbyes
that turn into absolutely nothing.
It's funny how I'm the one who can be normal.
And honest.

The hardest thing I've ever had to do is accept that you aren't you,
that almost everything you do is a charade,
you parade about wanting pity and remorse,
you love the sadness as much as you hate it,
you hate the deception as much as you crave it,
and I simply cannot do that.

Maybe I haven't fully accepted it yet.

I wonder when I'll be invisible again.

With every step
I can feel the cloud of heat around me
growing stronger.
It’s been so long since I’ve
heard my own footsteps here.
This is my favorite silence,
light buzz of dim lighting,
a door close every now and then
on the floors beneath.
I retrace every year before me
with the words I carved here.
This is embarrassing.
Every letter reveals a person
I feel I’ve never known,
pathetic in self-pity,
A mirror to my past
whose reflection I don’t recognize.
I’m glad she’s gone.
A while ago I tried to scribble away
some of my stories,
but my marker was so weak.
They are a part of me.
Beneath one of them
I notice a stranger’s replies,
but they are only that:
words of a stranger,
meaningless without an identity.
I remember why I stopped coming here now.
I stopped needing it,
because I couldn’t find my answers up here.
I’m not sure I ever did.
I guess you have to know what you’re searching for
in order to find it.
So, instead of prolonging this reflection,
I descend to fresh, evening air
and breathe in the thoughts
that brought me back to life.
That place only strangled me peacefully.
A gust of wind places it’s palm on my cheek
and utters,
“Chin up, dear,
the world needs you today.”
So, I walk away quietly.

If I would have done it,
would you have felt guilty?

If I would have done it,
would you have really even cared?

If I would have done it,
would you have mourned my life in silence?

If I would have done it,
would you have used it for your own attention?

If I would have done it,
would you have cried?

If I would have done it,
would you have come to say good-bye?

If I would have done it,
who would you be today?

Eyes wide shut,
Fists lightly clenched,
Images slow dancing across my blackened, rosy lid.
Roll over,
Feel the stillness
That unstills my every breath,
And remember to forget,
The negative forbid.

I wrap my arms around its case
And place my head upon its face,
Imagining a steady beat pulsing on my ear,
But retract my every thought,
And reject all that I fought,
For though I’ve clipped my sorry wings,
They do not fly in fear.

To fly without my wings
Will be my one and only feat
To surpass all of the tremors
And darkened, doomed deceit.
And to unwind all that is tied
To this endless weary cheat
Was the greatest forward stroke,
Melt the chains upon my feet.

Scrub to numb,
Worn to a strength.
My eyes no longer paint on it their salty, selfish tears.
Callused hands,
Cleanse away
The stain that uncleaned me –
My reflection on this cloth
As it so long appeared.

I won’t say it here, but it’s still within,
No fading, faltered fall,
And sometimes through my longing heart
I wonder if it’s stall –
Is this really who I am, or have I fooled myself at last? –
But this glimmer of light I feel whispers,
“Your soul has grown in vast.”

I can hear my lonely, happy heart.
It taps,
It thumps,
It pounds.
Keeps time to the pillow pressed to my ear,
A beat without a sound.

I understand nothing
But ask nothing.
With so many words behind these lips,
I never allow them to part.
I remain silent.
But for how long can I keep this up?
And for how long can you?
Or is this just an imagination crossed with paranoia
At its best?
...or, rather, worst?
Tell me, provoke me, show me, push me, press me, look at me.
Speak.
Because words get lost in my throat,
And I don't find them until it's too late.

Cool, wet ringlets form in my hair,
Sweet aroma of precipitation.
Eyes wide open to a world widely shut,
All I can hear is its splashing
against the warm, solid grass
and the blacktop beneath my running feet.
Such a vast and beautiful place this is.
So, I halt to throw out my arms,
close my eyes,
and lay my head back
to just feel...
To feel the crash against my skin,
to feel the sun and rain collide
to feel the breath of the clouds surround me,
to feel fully alive.

Is it wrong that I became so accustomed
to chaos swirling around in my head that,
even years since,
I find myself overzealous to run outside
every time the sky opens its eyes
to cry on us?
Somehow running through its tears
gives me an exhilarating boost,
stirring my consciousness to the oceans of blood within.
I can stand motionless,
eyes fully closed,
listening to its white noise for hours,
and the world suddenly stills,
time halts,
and for a moment…
I am indestructible.

I think I’m jealous of the sun.
All it has to do is spread the multicolored ribbons it has as arms
and settle over the horizon
to fill each individual who steals a glimpse in its direction
with an uncontrolled,
self-actualizing
knowledge of how small,
yet how incredibly crucial,
their existence is
to the universe.

I can’t build walls.
And I don’t have a switch.
So let this be.
Let this be.

Feel everything,
Yet I’m feeling nothing.
Just let this be.
Let this be.

Don’t look.
Don’t speak.
Don’t hear.
Don’t think.
Don’t yearn.
Don’t crave.
Don’t care.
Don’t cry.

Listen to the sweet, scathing sound of silence.
And don’t remember.

Just lock it up.
And let it be.
Time won’t alter anything.

I don’t believe in fate, that any soul is predestined for another.
I don’t believe in coincidence, that we subsist by some sort of chance.
I don’t believe in soul mates,
And I don’t believe in luck.
I believe in faith.

Daring divinity screams my name, and I cannot let myself escape.
Some unknown force guides my thoughts, my actions, my emotions, my desires
–My everything.

No, I don’t believe in fate.
I believe in us.

There is a plan,
And I cannot explain.
I just let it be.

I cannot flip the switch to off,
For I’m incapable of closing myself away,
Of dancing with death and absence,
Of walking with lonely and numb.

I cannot flip the switch to off,
Lest I lose myself once more.
Happiness isn’t achieved this way,
But the lying whispers of false satisfaction.

“Off” will never solve; It will only prolong.

Let me feel,
Let me bleed,
Let me fall,
Let me break,
Let me crumble,
Let me rise,
Let me fight,
And let the cycle run.
At least I know I’m living.

“Off” is the risk you take.
But I dare you to change your ways.

I've built up walls
And created a switch.
So let this be.
Let this be.

Feel everything,
Yet I'm feeling nothing.
Just let this be.
Let this be.

Can't look.
Can't speak.
Can’t hear.
Can’t think.
Can’t yearn.
Can’t crave.
Can’t care.
Can’t cry.

Listen to the beautiful betrayal of lies.
And don't remember.

Just lock it up.
And let it be.
Seems time has altered everything.

I didn’t believe in fate, that any soul is predestined for another.
I didn't believe in coincidence, that we subsist by some sort of chance.
I didn’t believe in soul mates,
And I didn’t believe in luck.
I believed in faith.

And now I simply search for some escape,
Some feeling other than
comfortably numb.

Maybe I really did deserve this.
Maybe I really am just stupid.
Because I believed in your promises.
Because I believed in us.

I don't know the plan.
I don't know my meaning.
I don't even know if I have a purpose.
But I don't care.
Just let it be.

I've learned to flip the switch to off.
What does it matter if I lose myself?
***** happiness;
Give me the lying whispers of false satisfaction.

"Off" may never solve, but it numbs away the pain.

I want to feel,
I want to bleed,
I want to fall,
I want to break,
I want to crumble,
I want to rise,
I want to fight,
And I want the cycle to run.
So at least I'd know I’m living.

But "off" is the risk I take.
Because I've tried to change my ways.

*Your heart belongs to you
And you alone.
Never be careless and naive enough to give it away.

Absolutely,
Positively,
Empty,
Meaningless,
Drunken
(or sober),
Futile,
Instinctive,
Faux-passionate
***
Will never satisfy
Past the animal moment
(if it satisfies at all).

I hope that you
See my reflection,
Sense my breath on your neck,
Taste the flavor of my skin,
And feel the sting of the tears the angels cry
Every time that you lock lips with another
Faceless
*****.

My plastic smile and rigid joints
Exist for your manipulation.
My trembling skin and the flesh beneath
Are simply here for your pleasure.
My painted eyes and callused hands
Live to seek your amusement.
My unsteady mind and elastic heart
Die to be under your power.
But don’t forget to return me to
My quiet, reticent place,
Return me to the toy box
Before I’m pawned to the inconspicuous.

With dignity and grace,
I walk along.

With dignity and grace,
I walk alone.

A mistake worth making?
I may never know.

A mistake worth feeling?
I may never show.

I've come to learn
That when we gain strength,
We end up feeling weaker,
Because no longer are we leaning on the power of other people and things,
But we fight -
And we stand -
Completely alone.

The trick is whether this is good or bad.

The sick, sweet pit
at the bottom of my stomach -
that makes me nauseous
when my throat drops down
so I can barely speak,
no audible whisper,
the one that nudges
every desire within
to call you and spill
everything I'm made of,
every word withheld,
every story untold,
because I miss the sound
of your presence in my life -
always comes
when I'm too tired to feel.

It doesn’t come on a horse-drawn carriage.
It doesn’t come as tall, dark, and handsome.
It doesn’t come with a prince’s crown.
It doesn’t come with magic fairy dust.

Forget the chick flicks.
Forget the old school fairy tales.
Forget the Nicholas Sparks novels.
Forget playing M.A.S.H. when you were six years old.

I’m not sure how it works
(Because, trust me, I wish I did).
But this culture has brainwashed our intelligent minds
To writhing pulps obsessed with “love.”
You do not love.
You love to love. And there is a great difference, my dears.
For when you truly love, you don’t feel it.
You do it.

And whoever told you that:
“Immature love says, ‘I love you because I need you.”
Mature love says 'I need you because I love you.’”
…
Well, they have foolishly blundered.
For you don’t “need” to be in love.
Mature love should say, “I love you because I love you,
And I have no explanation for why that is,
But I will always choose to do right by you.”

I don’t have the answer,
So I don’t ask the question.
But I’m not silly enough to believe what the world screams at me.

My iPod serenades me softly,
vibrating into my back,
up to my eardrums,
and around my head,
but I don’t hear it.

The steering wheel strums
the chords of sweet memories
beneath my palms
as though I can stroke them
between my fingertips.

I stare at the road before me,
but it is left unseen.
Point A to point B
is a miracle,
point A too difficult to leave.

Take a piece of my heart with you when you go,
and I’ll put you in its place.
I’ll keep it well protected with this shield
we’ve formed so slowly.
Put down your swords, and dry your tears,
for the best is yet to come.
Take a piece of my heart with you when you go,
and I’ll never leave your side.

Forever, we are full.

At a twisted hill and halt
a twinkle on my wrist
begins,
“Our friendship,
beautifully infinite…”
We’ve yet to write the rest.

Hi, I’m Kairee.
I have anxiety sometimes.
But am I really allowed to say that
if I’ve never sought help for it?
I googled the definition of “anxiety” today.
Google told me it’s self-diagnosable.
That reassured me.

To be honest,
I want help,
but mental health isn’t so important to our society,
and my insurance won’t cover it.
I can’t afford a hundred dollar appointment
once a week or every other week,
especially if it’s going to take months
or years
to crack me open.

Basically,
when a piece
or many pieces
of my life feel out of my control,
I can’t breathe.
I feel like everything inside me is going to explode.
I feel crazy.
I need something to latch onto
to stop my head from spinning.
That thing is usually work.

Today,
I went to work.
And now I feel okay.

I guess that will continue
until  the next time this happens.

Do me a favor.
Go find a mirror.

Look at yourself.
But more importantly,
See yourself.
Find the marks that line your face.
Wrinkles from smiles,
And stress,
And pain,
And laughter.
Find the scars that mark your skin,
And remember how you handled the ones on your heart.
Find the bruises that blacken your body,
And remember how you blackened yourself.
Are you someone you respect?
Are you someone you love?
This is your life,
And you only get one.
Are you who you want to be?
And if you aren’t,
Are you going to do something about it?

Break the mirror
The way you can break your habits.
Forget the seven years of bad luck.
Those who follow the rules go nowhere.
Those who take risks don’t look back on “what if.”

This is your life.
What will you do with it?
This is your life.
Will you tell the truth?
This is your life,
And you only get one.
This is your life.
You only get one.

I put a photo of my grandparents up in my house today.
They were married almost sixty years before my grandmother passed away.
I didn’t appreciate their love until I lost my grandfather last December.
I guess as hopeless of a romantic as I am,
I haven’t been able to grasp the possibility that it’s ever in the cards for me,
at least that kind of love,
And my problem is that I will settle for nothing less.

I was afraid of you the moment I met you,
and the more I learned about you,
the more I knew you would have the ability to hurt me.
I can still feel the way the heat of your arms enveloped me
the night I realized I was letting you into my heart.
I quietly rolled away from you and sobbed the softest but sweetest tears
I have ever tasted.
As terrified as I was,
I didn’t think you would ever break me.

Perhaps break isn’t the correct term;
Let’s just say I’m perpetually bruised.
I don’t think you can really be broken by someone
who didn’t even give you a chance to love them.

I’ve been avoiding writing about you for three months.
You see,
I didn’t think my words could do you justice,
I didn’t think my brain could describe
the knots,
and the butterflies,
and the confusion,
and the heaviness,
and the complete fury
that sometimes overwhelms me.
And every time I finally feel like I’m starting to get a grip,
every time I finally have a second to breathe,
someone pushes the fastest setting on the treadmill beneath me,
until I tumble backwards into the wall where I started.

I have so many words I want to speak,
but I hear nothing every time I open my mouth to scream.
Class isn’t a fun quality to have sometimes.

You don’t even deserve my words right now,
And I gave you the ones that mattered anyway.
I guess you just weren’t paying attention.
So let me leave you with only this,
but please make sure you memorize
every curve
of every letter
that forms every word
that means more to me than I will ever let you know:

You
are
better
than
this.

You
deserve
better
than
this.

­And
once
you
figure
that
out,

Don’t
you
dare
ever
forget
it.

I remember six years ago
like it was last week
but another lifetime.
I can still see the office
and the corner chairs in which we rested
as I interviewed for what would later become a home.
I can recall the nerves that buzzed in me
over the unknown territory in which
I was about to step foot,
and I can hear the voicemail
that made me giddy for the opportunity
to have three weeks outside of my lifeless desert of a brain.
But this out of body experience
confuses me when I consider the fact
that I can’t fathom who that girl was,
because she wasn’t me.

When we place our non-callused feet
on the floor for the first time as kids,
there’s no way of knowing what terrain
life will throw their way.
Six years ago
my feet were fresh off of burning coals,
blistered and overly delicate to any palpable sensation.
I kept walking on those coals for several years,
too stupid to turn and direct my own path
into something less excruciating.
One of those years is so far down in
an ocean of my own despair,
I could never dive deep enough
to bring it back.

In these circumstances,
you are faced with two options:
Keep stabbing your blisters,
or wrap your wounds to let the healing in.
Well, I wrapped, and I wrapped,
and I wrapped so hard that I cut off my own circulation…
but feeling nothing felt a lot better than anguish.

Eventually,
I loosened the bandage and let the blood back in
to continue on my way.
With my mountain before me,
there was nothing left to do but climb.
Every day is spent clawing my way through rocks and rubble
as the wind tries to knock me down,
but my muscles have swollen with strength,
and my blisters have roughened to callus.

I am still climbing,
but at least there’s a hell of a view from up here.

I’ve never quite lived up to the expectations
that bombard every millennial these days,
the ones knocking and gnawing at my skin
until they find their way in
and search through each crevice in my brain
until they find the right residence to lay their bed
and plant the insecurities that end up
destroying my self-confidence
and gifting me with the inability to succeed
until I have to scrape every piece of residue from the inside-out
just to get myself to a place where I can breathe again.

Yeah, I don’t let those in anymore.

I’ve always been a little bit of a question mark,
a strange child who danced to my own beat,
even when I tried to walk in time with those surrounding,
and there is a small piece of me that -
when a new life event of someone my age
visits my newsfeed -
wants the same, tired story for my own life...
and then I remember
I wasn’t made for this.

Sometimes
I’m not sure what I was made for anymore,
and I just keep waiting and waiting
until it’s my time to be on my own,
or catch my heart on fire,
or simply take a step forward,
and, yet, it
never
happens.

There are things I know about myself
that I will never explain,
and I shouldn’t have to.
I have a key-shaped hole in my soul
that aches to find its perfect fit,
but I’m not allowed to twist it yet,
though my fist has been ready for years,
and all I can do in the meantime
when someone asks me
why
is answer with one simple phrase
that stings each time it passes through my lips:

*It’s not my time yet.

I needed you today.
I caught only air when trying to wrap you in my arms.

I needed you today.
I needed to feel you lift my chin
And look deep into my eyes as if you were looking straight into my soul.
The way you always do.

I needed you today.
I needed to hear your soothing voice whisper, “Everything will be ok,”
To drown out the yelling and fighting in the room next door.

I needed you today.
I needed to feel your embrace, your protection, your love,
Helping me escape the taunting sobs two walls away.
I needed you to dry my own tears,
To let me bury my face in your shoulder.
I needed the simple comfort of your warmth next to me.

Can you feel it?
Do you hear it?
My heartbeat.
Because I still know the sensation of yours against my ear
As I lay my head upon your chest,
Closing my eyes,
Sinking into that moment and wishing for its eternity.

Can you feel it?
Do you hear it?
My presence.
I’m with you every day,
Though you would never know.

I close my eyes and see your sweet, captivating grin,
Your tender, mesmerizing eyes.
I search for silence, hoping to hear your voice.

I can still feel your fingertips brush against my skin.
I can still feel your hand run through my hair.
I can still feel my heart race with a glance at your image.
I can still feel everything that ever involved you.
Yet, I can’t,
For it is just a memory,
And I long to feel it again.

I summon strength from somewhere inside on most days,
But today?
I needed you –
More than I ever have in our time apart.

I needed you today.
But I cannot let myself run to you,
For I love you far too much.
And my love is your burden.

I needed you today.

Note to self:

Get up.
Get the **** up
Off your sorry, beaten ***,
And stop being pathetic.

And know that trust is a lie.
No one tells the truth anymore.
No one knows anyone.
Best friends and lovers?
It's all an illusion.
Reality screams that
Trust is game.
Who can fool who?

And the one who is always there for you?
Always makes you feel like ****, right?
Just get the **** up.
And fix yourself.

You ******* up
Because your mind was clouded and hazy with care.
You somehow found logic in the illogical.
But you can't go back.
So get the **** up.

We all victimize ourselves
And pour the blame on others.
We all ignore the things that we do,
Both to ourselves and to those around us.
We don't even see ourselves because we're too busy
Finding flaws
In our friends,
In our enemies,
And then we can feel okay about who we've become.

Well, get the **** up,
And look into a mirror.
You did this to yourself.
Now fix it.
You're better than this.

Sincerely,
Yourself.



Get up, my friends,
And take a whiff of the big, fat "*******"
Freshly painted on my forehead.

Spilling from wrists,
Staining on carpets,
Dripping from the knife left on the edge of the table
Is the blood poured out
Of the naïve, young heart,
Before beating strongly and slowly not able.

The immensity of love
She held in her heart
Caused her to harbor so much hate.
The world she’s come to
Know and live in
Is one that leaves no desire to wait.

Reaching through darkness
Was never success.
No one and nothing reached back for her.
So she took her own hand,
Hardened her soul,
Numbed her own pain, and they didn’t implore her.

Then she took her own knife
And stared at the reflection
Of the girl she’s come to hate and heed.
Reflections of them
Lie in her eyes,
The ones she called for, but her they don’t need.

It’s tragic when someone
Dies inside,
Screaming her loudest blood-curdling scream,
When outside they see
A pretty face,
The laugh of a life not what it seems.

And when someone shows care
And forces the help,
The last of her desires is to sit and listen
To anything and everything
She knows is true,
But her soul has blackened to a glassy glisten.

Do they regret it now?
Do they want to turn time?
Do they wish they could grab the hand that reached out?
Are they happy now
That she’s gone forever,
No longer a burden, stormy love turned drought?

She took her own hand,
And she took her own heart,
And she crushed her own soul till her dying eyes faded,
And she spilled her own blood,
And she took her own life,
First inside, now out, alone and unaided.

And she took their daughter,
And she took their friend,
And she took the girl not loved anymore,
And she took their student,
And she took their sister,
And she took the girl not feeling cared for.

She doesn’t blame any of them.
They just couldn’t save her from herself.
She’s broken herself for the last time.
She’s breathing her breath for the last time.
Feel all hints of life fade from her body...

Selective hearing
and meaningless phrases,
Controlling degrees
of each minute detail,
Praise with obsession,
shamelessly stab –
Just give this some ease,
and throw me away.

Swollen eye sockets,
all work and no sleep,
Ten seconds of rest
before dawn comes again,
Egotistical nature
slashing inspiration -
See ya, I quit,
I only do wrong.

As I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
I know I’ll die before I wake,
So, hopefully, my soul he’ll take.
This want in me has never died,
And life drowns in unending lies.
If I don’t, I’ll surely ****
Those who surround and all my will.
No longer can I be a toy,
No longer know this lack of joy.
And maybe this will cure what ails.
An empty bottle, it never fails.
I'm sorry for the mess I'll leave,
The pain I'll cause if you may grieve.
I hope you learn from all that's done,
And this can stop here when I'm gone.
So, yes, I lay me down to sleep,
And forever sleeping shall I be.

There is a stillness
in the absence of the television’s
jarring advertisements,
lethal dramas,
and fast paced sitcoms
just gnawing away at what little time we have here.
The last hour has been a week
of the relaxation I pursue daily.
Stuck in a world where the constant
is a sprint on a treadmill,
meaningless because I’m moving nowhere,
as others move about a steady change of scenery,
I am beginning to feel hopeless.
Will I get to climb my mountain?
Will I get to trip and skin my knees on the rugged earth?
Will I get to lay on a cliff,
enamored with a view I never thought was meant for me?
Will I feel pain?
Will I feel triumph?
Will I simply get to feel?

These years are getting old.
This faith is turning cold,
fickleness growing bold.

I can feel every voice inside of me screaming,
sound waves bouncing against every cell,
clashing with every heartbeat,
and colliding with each aching muscle,
but all I hear is the swish of the ceiling fan’s blades
as they slice this stale air.
I have no voice externally.
You’d think I would be used to this by now,
but I don’t welcome a home
that tries the beat the life out of my joy,
that takes every loving moment I feel
and replaces it with a reminder that I’m unnoticed,
Forgettable.
I want my real home again,
where my walls don’t form massive brick barriers
ready to cave with any gust of wind,
where the fence that surrounds me
won’t shock me when I try to escape.
I want to feel life in my fingertips again
and wake every morning to a day worthy of sunlight.
I want to be seen.
I want to grip every worry,
every fear,
every smile,
every laugh,
every vulnerability
so tightly in my fists
that my fingernails cut holes in my palms
deep enough for me to bleed out all of my insecurities,
and then I want to hold each hand out
toward anyone who claims to care
and release the muscles that are trembling so softly from grip,
so I can release uncertainties that have shaken me so swiftly from flight,
and I want you all to watch as each part of me
presents itself before you as it falls from my grasp,
each part of me that you didn’t know,
each part of me that I thought died,
each part of me that I’ve worked intensely to build,
and each part of me that you look over,
because every move I make
and every piece of my soul
is like a light breeze
in the midst of autumn:
invisible,
lacking importance,
nice to have,
but unnecessary.

For a split second
I remembered what it was like
To feel at home.

And with a breath,
It was gone,
Vanished with the footsteps fading down the hall.

I am my own shelter.
I am a rock.

I’ve watched sunsets
over oceans,
by lakes,
reflecting off of lighthouses,
blazing in deserts,
and while resting on mountaintops,
but…
Even though the view from here can’t compare…
there is nothing like watching the sunset
from home
on a Sunday
with the evening dew beginning to wet my feet
and the buzz of nocturnal insects
singing from the trees.

What is this place
that I can't seem to breathe,
like all natural reflexes in my body
undo themselves,
leaving me shivering?
It is fearsomely familiar.
Is my heart still pumping?
How am I still standing?
Have I met you before?
Can you see me?

If there
is a word
for
complete terror,
utter confusion,
unmistakable infuriation,
and stereotypical sadness...
please teach it to me,
because I'd like to know
how I'm feeling.

An empty cell,
The only light emerging from the small, barred window in the corner.
Slowly, but surely, the spaces grow smaller.
A light flickers off.

Silently,
Persistently -
She screams.

Illusion - muted echoes ring down.
They hear but don't listen.

Silently,
Persistently -
It beats.

Misunderstood - quiet tremors of pain shiver down.
They hear but don't believe.

Silently,
Persistently -
She fades.

There’s a whisper in the wind tonight,
a placid serenity I don’t encounter often.
Do you hear it?
Tell me of the shadows that fill your sunsets
with ebony-hued desires,
and burn me a fire down in your soul
to fill their empty spaces.
I can’t fathom a life without the laughter
that makes my sides ache from convulsion
until I have to,
And I don’t remember what it feels like
to have this every day.
There’s a thirst in my gut that never quite quenches itself,
but, good Lord, that doesn’t keep me
from filling it with anything that might.
Listen to the words that lie chained behind my tongue,
and submerge me in the freedom I feel
when I watch our star fall asleep on the horizon,
its dreams dancing above in purple and red gowns.
Leave your lines behind your lips,
and lie with me in silence,
a silence filled with the echoes of the rustling leaves in the trees
that hold secrets of eternity.
Then watch my reaction as a faceless ghost
hums seven songs in my ear:
Don’t go. Please stay. I love you.

In that moment she realized they are nothing.
In that moment she realized he doesn't love her, and he doesn't want to.
In that moment she realized she roams outside his walls.
In that moment she realized she's built her own.

Sometimes, we build walls because we don't want to let people in.
The risk of pain is too much to handle.
Sometimes, we build walls because we want to see
Who will work to break them down.
And sometimes, we build walls because we want to prove to ourselves
Who we desire to break them down.
And when that person fails to do so,
We find ourselves surrounded by loneliness and despair,
Pasting a plastic smile on our face,
And we have no choice but to drown ourselves in pain,
Because finding our way back would mean we have to feel anything but numb.

And in that moment, she realized she's still naive enough to continue holding on.

Are my eyes closed,
or is the atmosphere black?
After the hundredth collapse,
I’m back on my feet,
no crutch to lean to
or hand to hold.
The sensation of each heel strike,
each toe press the floor,
could delay to a hole,
for all I know.
Unsure and unsafe,
Undone and unreal,
I don’t see the strength
they see in me.
So, sometimes I wonder,
Should I stop moving forward?
Is this aimless?
Direction? -
I have none of that.
Still I keep going
in hope that eventually
my fingers will find
the light switch.

All I ever wanted was the truth,
But no one tells that anymore.
So, with what miniscule amount of faith I have left -
In any kind of god, but especially humanity -
All I can really do is try to believe in myself,
Wake up every day, hoping to feel a little bit better than the one before.
Because letting people in is the equivalent to losing control.
When you do it,
You just end up dying before you're actually dead.
And I got sick of being dead.

Love loosely -
Fight with fire -
Trust treacherously.

It's not hard to disappear
When you're already invisible.

Apparently, two years ago today
I bought a home.

I lived in the same house for
twenty-six years
eight months
four weeks
and one day.
Let’s just say
I was ready
for some freedom.

I thought having my own place
would fix me.

It crushed me instead.

I never realized a dream could betray you.
I thought cheating was something only
humans could do.

You’d be surprised how different you can feel
with a little bit of time,
a moment of blind faith,
and a fresh coat of paint.

I ran there today
in one of those moments of euphoric need.
I wanted to see the view they told me was so appealing.
I ran there today,
and even though I was accompanied by several strangers,
they were invisible to my eye,
so the lake’s peaceful atmosphere wouldn’t escape me
as sweet classical music whispered melodies in my ear,
a solitary canoe sent soft ripples from its path,
and eyes locked on a view framed by the most beautiful mess of weeds
on top of the hill where I stood.

“This was so much prettier last year.
They need to mow this whole hillside.”

I guess those melodies weren’t whispering loud enough
if I could hear an invisible stranger’s voice.

I loved those weeds.

You know when you see a cluster of friends together
and just by looking at them,
you know that they each have a sense of belonging in that group?
I don’t remember what that feels like.
There are pieces of me that fit into separate puzzles,
but I have not found the one that rounds with each curve
and shifts with each edge so perfectly that I am secure.
So when I look at these weeds,
I understand them,
and even though they are spiritless beings,
I can relate to them in a way I have never related
to someone of my own kind.

I am not a gentle flower
that must be nurtured to growth and bloom.
I am the white dandelion you picked from a patch of grass as a child
so you could almost effortlessly blow every seed into the wind,
scattering me in so many directions that my personas
fall far from my roots,
no two of them planting close together.
In college
I felt too goody two shoes for the theatre department,
too eccentric for the fitness nerds,
too simple for the city-lovers,
and too urbane for the country.
So,
though you may think these weeds are chaotic
and ugly
and unwanted,
these weeds are life,
and they echo our time here
far better than the flowers or grass you desire.
We are not clean;
We are wild,
confused,
and aching for the love of our onlookers,
when oftentimes we are ignored.

Sometimes
I whisper the words
“I love you”
into absent air
just to remember what it sounds like
coming from my lips.
The silence I hear in reply is a reminder
that my words ricochet off of the walls
and back to me,
bouncing off of my ear’s bass drum
a beat that lets me know I am okay,
but this beat is one that most can’t follow.
You see,
within me are two opposing existences,
both equally me,
but different nonetheless.
I am not emotional,
but I feel all of life’s idiosyncrasies deep within me:
the light that peeks through my blinds as I wake in the morning,
the solitary solidarity of a morning run when the town is still asleep,
the sound of nature’s white noise,
the crunch of autumn leaves and twigs beneath my feet…
I feel these things,
and my heart swells with a sense of liberation with each experience,
though I have not yet been liberated.

We may not be pretty to you.
We may not be cultivated.
You may think we are competing with your ideal aesthetic,
but we are just trying to make it through this tangled life
alive and well,
while the rest of the world attempts to rid itself of us.
Little do you know that we are your backbone.
We are your strength.
We are independence.
We are beautiful.

Don’t mow us away.

I love the scent of September,
The aroma of browning leaves in the air,
The soft crunch of them beneath my feet,
The sweet sun warming my skin to the perfect degree,
Combined with cool air surrounding.
I love the sight of the sunrise
As I trot the road at the break of the day,
Its rays dancing across the rainbow sky,
Its light dancing along unending hillsides
To the budding music of morning creatures.
And in this moment,
A moment filled with the serene unity of nature,
All I want is to venture into the middle of nowhere,
Scream at the top of my lungs,
And soak in the peace around me.

‘Tis the season for change.

You make my insides tumble within me.
You make that lump lodge into my throat
so I can barely speak or breathe.
You make my brain turn to
a puddle of melted ice,
waiting to be vaporized into thin air.
You make my eyes go cloudy
so that I am nearly blind.
You make this cool interior implode.
You make my sanity run a marathon
so fast I'll never catch up.
You make me crazy.
And I can't decide if this is good or bad.

There's a reason I've built my walls so high.
Are you trying to break them down,
Or are you trying to break me down?

I lied when I said it.
A perfect façade of satisfaction.
The shelter: built.
A citadel, blocking it out,
Or, rather, a cage blocking it in.
It will not escape me,
Not yet, that is.
The truth.
Truth is I’m not.
Truth is nothing’s wrong,
But truth is nothing’s right.
Truth is no distraction survives long enough to make me forget.
(Though, that doesn’t halt my attempt.)
Truth is I’ve secluded a piece of me for no one to see,
Not even you.
Not yet, that is.
Truth is I can’t quite tell the truth,
For this requires me to tell myself.
Truth is I believe I still have strength to gain.
And truth is…
Maybe someday I’ll tell.
Not yet, that is.
Truth is I lied.
I lied when I told you
Everything’s okay.

You know that whole
Perks-of-Being-a-Wallflower,
“You-accept-the-love-you-think­-you-deserve”
nonsense?
I don’t believe in that ****.
Because maybe some people accept the people
that display their utmost flaws.
Maybe some people see beyond that.
Maybe some people accept love
from those who need it the most,
Those to whom it is the hardest to give,
Because they know that person is doing their best.
That, to me,
is real love.
And just because you accept someone
doesn’t mean you believe in less worth for yourself.

When your heart explodes,
and your vessels burst,
and your brain caves in,
and your muscles itch,
when your lips overflow,
and your words under-praise,
and your neurons exhaust,
and your tolerance stops,
and you catch your breath
from your latest sprint,
a failed endeavor between you
and your mind,
you realize arrogance
in every complaint
proves an embarrassing case
of losing yourself.