I’ve had this sickness in my stomach

For a few weeks.

Right in the center

Where the  butterflies should be

I feel like a rotting flower

And love avoids me

I can’t bloom like I used to

I’ve grown old and ugly

Can my life be like poetry?
I already see everything as a movie
And beautiful dramas play out before me
Can every word a I speak be a stanza?
Every yell and complaint a sonnet?
Or what if every time I spoke to you
It was a haiku?
In my body is where the punctuation starts
And my heart is the exclamation mark
Breathing in spaces and commas
Thinking in questions and run on sentences
Dreaming in synonyms and hyperboles
Rhymes about past lives
Inside paragraphs about past loves
Metaphors and similes about people I want to be

I spend a lot of my time living in fear
That I am chasing a love
Which always seems
To be avoiding me

I wonder what you saw
In that first look
When our eyes met
Maybe our shared loneliness
Urged you to approach
Like you already knew my secrets.
Late nights spent watching old movies of femme fatales and heroes
The sounds of pretty poems and old guitars filling our air instead of words from a thousand unknowns
Staring longingly at ***** lovers on silent trains
Feeling empty in our bellies as we walk home
Alone
To empty beds
Yet our minds are filled with plenty of thoughts to keep us fed
Falling asleep dreaming of the day
Where a you might  meet a me.

You are the wanted one, men strive for you
The serpent of desire,
Urging men to play with fire
They run and chase
But you play games
Like a cat with a string
Until your feet get tired

Depression must stem from boredom
Or a lack of inspiration
Monotony
Morning rituals and habits
Knowing what's next
Waking up at the same time
In the same bed
Security
Comfort
With little shake here and there
That rolls down your shoulder
Like water on a duck
After which you calmly fall in place
Unbothered
To continue on
Until madness strikes
When you want a change
But continue on
With the same

I've made a lot of mistakes
Trying to **** the pain away
Shedding clothing, like skin
To get to my core
Making love to closed doors
Running away in circles
When you were the only
Straight line I was looking for.

The airplanes twinkle in the night sky
These are my shooting stars
The city skyline glistens and shimmers
Prettier than Gods creation
I'll make a wish on every one I can make out
I'm not ashamed to admit that flying above all the chaos
Makes it all seem worth it

One day my dear,
This will all make sense.
All the lost loves
And little regrets.
Every teardrop in city streets
All the little defeats.
The smiles and the laughs,
Late night dancing in the streets
Things will make sense,
Just give it a little time.
I promise my dear
Everything will be fine.

New York City
Heavy, baby
Weighs you down
Holds you tight
Straight to the point
No Bull
New York City
Takes the right hand path
Full of logic and wisdom
Heavy, baby
Filled with concrete
Pick up your feet, stand up tall
Look straight ahead, shoulders back
New York City
Jazz and flashing lights
Leading the night

There’s an innocence
In 22
That I’ll probably never meet again
Blind faith meeting blind hope
Carefree meeting careless
The confidence of an undefined brain
Growing harder with age
Men see it too
29 will never be as fun as 22
When the male gaze
Looks past you
Because your head is held higher
And your body is no longer new
Especially to you

And I began to become obsessed
Obsessed with the vision of love
Observing
The way their pupils dilate when eyes meet
The trickle of a smile slowly drifting across a face
The breathing in of another before a kiss
The symmetry
Not at all of my own
Wanting to understand
Innocently trying to take a little of that energy for myself
To hold it, to feel it
To learn it and study it
Maybe hoping that I could replicate
Whatever I lack

I've walked over a thousand bodies of my past
Who I am no longer
I've felt the blood and the decay
I saw them rot
I killed them all
What joy!
I've set fires to myself
And like the Phoenix
I rise, I dance upon my ashes

How odd it is
To be on the outside of understanding
To have your feelings turned into spears
A prescription for hysteria
A life spent being a bin for emotions
Emptied when full
Quiet and strong
But I wondered,
What is at the bottom of an emotion?