a jealous heart
wants no more
than to forgive.
even when there
is nothing to be
forgiven.
this pulsing, throbbing energy,
takes refuge where you choke.
terribly sick from the throat.
my chest is a boat, and the
drowning doesn't cease with the life jacket.
vibrant and not easily forgotten
and yet still, you seem to have forgotten
what it is like to breathe with me, or rather
my feelings escape me as soon as I achieve the ability to explain them.
I reject the first thoughts that I recognize as uncomfortable
and give them to you for further translation, yet the energy within
those very words haven't diluted before they reach you and you spit
them back as "Ego".
I cannot help myself as much as I'd like to,
yet I try.
I cannot remove the parts of myself which I see in you,
yet I try,
because of the terrible, knee in my gut feeling,
and the rejection of willingness to expend your energy to help me find happiness,
because somehow if you can make me feel intensely about any emotion,
then to you that means I am only happy when you make it so.
**** that idea.
I make myself happy, I make myself sad, I make myself whatever the hell I want to,
although I sometimes fall into feelings, (a mistake which only proves more the imperfections
of being human), and the lack of control over everything.
Yet I try to take heed and pay attention to myself and how what I do effects others.
You bring immense energy, but you are not the source of my life, my light, or my darkness.
We simply share both,
from your prism to mine
and back again.
I shine through you and make color
and you shine through me to do the same.
We help cast shadows and peek through darkness,
******* hell, my heart feels so raw that I think it forgot how to break.
A jealous heart
wants nothing
more than to forgive,
and be forgiven.
I find that I cannot be everything, and I don't want to be. I simply wish for recognition. Although, something new is more exciting than what you know. Yet it seems you and I both know nothing, and perhaps you do care.
we are mirrors.