"damn kid you write so much"
"how could i not when my home
was stripped off words
for so long -
so fucking long that my lips cracked
like aged paint tearing off walls.
and i thought my voice
will forever be lost in these desolate rooms
that i learned how to scream
without having to make a noise."
and maybe if they say,
"damn kid you write so well"
i'll reply with a shrug,
"maybe for you...
but i never thought about it
all i know is that i've felt empty
for so long -
for so fucking long that now i let myself write.
write whatever. to fill the empty
rooms with new, colorful paint."
i see you at crossroads
your face the only landmark
i have traveled both ways
more than once
the traveler in me
have been lost for ages
catch me turning around the corner
catch me falling for you
you are the crossroad
but none of these trails
will ever lead to you
when we break, sometimes we scatter
and that's okay.
what's not okay is
that we often forget
we have the power
and mend broken bones
and broken hearts
and broken souls.
never be back to what it was before,
but will be
what it was meant to be all this time.
it is that of my greatest curiosity
which have led me to question
how a simple, average girl like me
could be both weightless and heavy
at the same time.
i plan every anchor that grounds me
planting them like flower seeds
in flower beds, and not cement
i drive each steel into school desks
at corners and shared beds
trying to escape not reality
but the worlds i built for myself
"i fit in, i fit in, i fit in"
among a room full of beating hearts
and breaking hearts
i conjure distance - tied neatly
like a bouquet as i try to stay away
because planting anchors on people
is not the most ideal way to stay.
lesson 101, that's how i call it
a game i play, my life at stake
i look at you then far away
if i ever smile i make a mistake
if you're close to me i count
up to three, and then i stop
staying still so you won't feel
and hear my heartbeat drop
i must admit it is not easy
the worst i ever was in a game
one look of yours in my direction
i lose, i lose, it's all the same
but what a funny game, right?
one which i might never win
although there is no reward
to lose in this would be a sin
don't be disappointed if
you don't write enough.
you are walking poetry, a
breathing epitome of art.
you make up for it every
second of your life.