My thoughts come to me differently.
They find me in the form of riddles
And the form of prose.
Both of which I must pull apart
And study each piece separately
Before I can finally be sure of their meaning.
As if I am 16 again,
Sitting in my high school English class
Debating the meaning of a newly introduced piece of literature,
The only student in the room
Who truly cared
If the author colored the curtain blue
Due to an emotional turmoil he faced
Or simply because he fancied the color.
Because studying the work of literature greats
Who have long since passed from this world
Offers me the smallest sliver of hope
That I might be able decode my own turmoils
And be able to truly face them
Instead of running and hiding
When my mind once again becomes a whirlwind of unintelligible monstrosities
Made of my deeply hidden fears
And hopes that I can’t bear to look at in the light of day.

My head bobs above water
For just a moment
And I gasp for air.
Every lungful is a second
I don’t think of you.
But then a current
Pushes me back under
And you wrap me back up
Into your chilling hold
And draw me to the ocean floor.
You know I can’t swim.
You know I’m afraid
Of what’s under
These deep blue waves.
So why do you persist?
Why do you anchor me
To one of my greatest fears?
The only answer I can reason with
Is that you want to see me hurt
Like you said,
I hurt you.

My mind descends
Into the whirlwind of mania
Enslaving me to its whims.
No matter how drained
My spirit may be
I cannot seek rest
For it is a stranger to me.
I’ve been tired for hours,
Maybe even years.
But even if I lay like a corpse,
Still and silent,
Barely even breathing,
I remain awake.
No matter how heavy
My eyelids become
Or how sluggish
My thoughts are,
Sleep
Seems to always evade me.

I see maps
And roadways
In everything.
In the scars
And all the marks
Upon my skin.
In the veins on my arms,
In the lines on my palms,
And in my eyes
When I stare into a mirror.
But these paths,
Where do they all lead?
Where is it  
I am meant to go?
Where is it
I am meant to be?

I woke
From a fitful sleep
Where I dreamt
You had died.
You took your final sip of poison
And with its glisten
Still on your lips
You told me that you’d be ok.
But your next breath,
It never came.
You disappeared
Right in front of me.
You sank into the ground,
Swallowed whole by the earth.
You returned to dust
That clouded my path
And I no longer knew
Which way to go.

I don’t know how
To make my mistakes
Into something beautiful.
I only see them
As ugly scars
That mark my skin,
Like a roadmap
Of all my failures.
I’m all or nothing
And it’s dangerous.
If something’s wrong
I want to change it all
Not just the one thing.
I want to light a match
Burn the world to the ground
And start again.
A new canvas,
With freshly poured paint.
I destroy works of art
With a simple press of a key
Then I lose all hope
And abandon the idea all together.
Leaving it to shrivel
And die.
This is what I’m good at.

I’m standing here
Naked and bare
To you
And to the world.
I haven’t been ready.
I’ve been dancing in meadows
With my eyes shut tight
And covering myself
In hand-me-down clothes.
But I’m not dancing anymore.
I’ve shed the scraps
Of ripped up cloth
And my skin
Along with them.
My eyes are open.
I’m listening now.
I’m ready to see
What you have
To show me.
I’m ready to hear
What you have
To tell me.