I kept wondering if I would outgrow
The feelings of eyes on me.
I have yet to believe that they
Aren’t all staring.
I have yet to forget the taste
Of waxy nothingness on my tongue,
The guilt of sleepless nights,
The odd feeling of waking and
Not believing the world around me.
Each tree has grown mouths,
All are laughing.
I walk my dog and I feel the heat
Slither around my spine.
The cars driving by are all looking.
Why do I feel like someone is following me?
I check over my shoulder.
I am submerged in warm ocean.
I can breathe, but for how long?
this was written summer of 2016, i believe.
Dangerous words are the ones that slip
under our guard.
They nestle next to us at night,
and whisper treacle-sweet nothings
that trickle and slide down canals
to a dosing mind, honeying the way.
They want to ensure easy passage
for the poison kept still at bay.
They tuck us in,
fluff our pillows and our egos,
till we give them freely
those moments of sincerity.
All those genuine smiles and hitched breaths,
we suppose their value
was in their exclusivity.
We break off these pieces of truth
like our hearts are homemade chocolate,
and hand them over in pretty gift wrap.
It’s when these snakes have us so charmed
and they are sated,
that they finally snap and spit.
Their bites are full of venom,
and we see their fangs too late.
Edited version of an old poem.
I stopped writing.
Not because I fell out of love with it...
My emotions just seemed to disappear.
I started a new medication.
The doctor said it would help my panic disorder, and it did.
I took that pill, like my mother talks to God (every morning).
When I went back to the doctor she said we had to up the dosage because apparently having 2 panic attacks a week still isn't okay.
I told her that when I woke up this morning I got out of bed without crying, but she didn't consider that as much of a victory as I did.
When I was put on a higher dosage, my emotions shut down.
After a few weeks I stopped crying, my OCD got better, my panic attacks were gone, and I could even go into the student union of my college campus without my heart trying to win a race against my thoughts.
I could breathe.
But, I also stopped having fun.
I felt like a stranger in my own body.
My emotions found the exit on the plane and jumped, never to be found again.
Since when did being able to breathe require me to feel like this?
Love keeps knocking at my door
Just like a witness for Jehovah
Wanting me as its latest victim
It keeps trying its very best
In my face, so direct
Telling me I don't know what I'm missing
I keep peaking out the blinds
Hoping it'll go away in time
But love never seems to give up
Sometimes it comes with a disguise
Its true identity it tries to hide
But you can't fool me, I know it's love
I wonder how it found out where I am
For years now I've been on the lamb
It's almost like its carrying some sort of torch
While love's hanging out in front
Keeping up with its relentless hunt
I go and sneak out the back door
And once again I'm on the run
From the chasing down of love
It's all to familiar of a scene
But just when it is I least expect
Love steps round the corner, grabs my hand
Guess love was bound to eventually catch me
You will not be meeting me
at the train station,
wearing nothing but a sundress and
the warm scents of
wet desire rising as
a lustful fog
from your steaming forest,
The heat would **** the sun.
I will not be showing up
on your doorstep,
rigid and pulsing
with the blood of
centuries coursing through
my thick roots,
in the nearest future.
The pressure would crush the moon.
I swim in your teacup
and warm baths
while you roam in
the smoke at the edge
of my shadow.
I feel your soft whispers
across the ocean of time
as they float on broken
spiderwebs of memory.
Our love is in the words
between the worlds;
resting in the
wet soil of
an afternoon nap,
we bloom as one.
As the fire of night
the boundaries of time
we transcend all that
is cold and unforgiving,
leaving behind only
echos of wanting.
There is a part that lives deep inside of me
That throughout the day digs his way out
More often than not he likes to be seen
This part of me called "Self"
"Self" comes out when there's a problem
A problem with not getting his way
Which seems to happen quite often
At any given moment on any given day
He rears his ugly head
When he comes across an attitude
From someone else's "Self" that says whats mine is mine
And it's all about me instead of you
You see the problem with my "Self"
Is he's not the only one in the crowd
Not the only one vying for attention
Not the only one screaming out loud
Can't the people see it's all about me
All about me and nobody else
Why is it you think they call it
The art of pleasing "Self"
You would think that after all of this time
I would have figured it out by now
That in the end nothing good happens
When I give the reigns over to "Self"