I drew a line in the sand
Hoping it would stay
But I watched the tide take it away

The water reclaimed its land
As I saw my boundaries come crashing down
While my pride began to drown

A fragile mark made by my hand
I lost control of my actions
Only to be fueled by passion

My mind is lost at sea trying to find its way back
But it's hard to stand on solid ground
When the lines are being washed away and drowned

you miss childhood so much you try dressing like you would if you were seven again.
sneakers and frilly socks.
big t-shirts and messy hair, because you’ve stopped caring about perfect hair.
you don’t mind getting your knees ***** or scabs on your shins.
those pains don’t make you flinch.
those pains don’t talk to you at night.
those pains don’t hurt like the hurt you’ve really felt.
the type of hurt that can’t be pin pointed or fixed with copious amounts of Neosporin.
you don’t worry about how you’ll feel in the morning until the morning comes.
you bite the skin off the tips of your fingers like your aiming for the bone.
because the stress and pain hits you bone deep.
bone deep.
its almost romantic sounding.
but isn’t being so broken such a romantic thing anymore?
sad music doesn’t even phase you.
its all you know. instrumentals lined with tiny violins and crying cellos.
you lay back in the grass and close your eyes. you try forgetting about the city surrounding you. the heat rises from the pavement and grips your lungs like my hands grip the small of your neck. the sun beats down on you like you owe it money.
but you don’t sweat.
this is the small stuff.
ice coffee and a bagel with cream cheese.
start your day happy.
fall apart at the end.
repeat. things get better.
then they get worse.
three months of total bliss for three months of total ****.
thats the way life works right?
it always gets better though.
be still.

there was a man in front
of me on the bus, sitting
cross-legged, casual with
one arm draped along the side
of the seat next to him as if
it were his long-time lover, and
there was a ring on his finger so
i guess it worked out
and he glanced back at me
and i looked out the window
trying not to be curious or poetic

there was a man diagonal
from me on the train and he looked
familiar but i could not place
his face, maybe reincarnation is an actual thing, i thought
to myself as he exhaled and turned
the other way, so
i guess not because if it was
meant to be then his eyes would have stayed
and he looked twice at me
like a stranger
and i felt ashamed

there was a man behind
me on the street and his steps were
uneven, swaying in difficult sound waves
along the cement and i could hear him
muttering under his breath but
i didn't look back for fear he might
raise his voice
because there is truth in madness and
i am afraid of that

today my poetry was
staggered and the people around me were
ragged and worn and familiar and torn and
my sentences broke off in the wrong
places, spaces hovering between letters and
i tried to explain my fear of
the human race
but this is just a poem and
the line breaks are weird and
i am sorry but
this is how my mind was today
and i am just being honest
these people make me
afraid