I’d like to be your lungs,
a necessity,
forever expanding and contracting
always a place for me
inside of you.

Again I crack,
crumble
and settle at your feet.

Looking up at you,
you’re closer to the sun
than anyone should be.

I dampen my heels
in pools of nostalgia:
elixir of the heart
and a simultaneous poison.

Even the pale tree-leaves,
in a conspiracy
allude to you.

I tell myself
these circumstances
are beyond my control.

Sitting patiently,
I practice not thinking
of you.

He had a charm like the forest,
wet and murky
it could pull you under
like quicksand.

And like a simple reed,
I was part of him
not wholly insignificant
but expendable.

I would look on shyly,
as kaleidoscopes of grey-green mist
filtered through his underbrush
and finally encompassed me.

To fill one’s lungs
with his marsh-water
would be foolish,
yet divine.

She was the wilderness
in kind, earthy tones
and thick, lavish air
hanging heavy in the white
afternoon.

I was the ocean,
in heaving, sickish hues of green
and soapy, feverish fits
swelling onto the bay,
clumsily.

Her sunkissed stare,
and oleander skin
could bruise the freshest fruit
and so she left me with her
mark.

I spent August nights
dizzied by her spell
but encompassed in my sadness
I became
a ghost.

Even now, I drop apologies
like petals at her feet
and watch mournfully
as the yawning earth
flaunts her
as its bride.

most people see me as
a happy person because
i laugh easily,
i smile a lot,
i joke a lot.

but deep down
in my heart,
i am fragile,
i can get hurt easily,
but i choose to not
show it to the world.

instead of being sad,
i choose to laugh to cover it.
maybe you can call me
"the queen of the mask"

by this,
you can tell
that most of the time
when I'm laughing,
I'm not really laughing,
i was trying so hard to hide
my sadness.