Dec 2017
the water washes over me now
floods the Great Plains of my mind
the dripping faucet that is my heart
can no longer bear the weight
heavy still
I feel like my brain is a dusty attic
hippocampus filled with boxes
unopened
speak softly or forever hold your peace
come at me
broom in hand
sweep me off my feet
dusty books filled with blank words
tell stories of girls just like me
unable to speak
they’ve always been told, speak only when spoken to
be wary of storms in people for they have no boundaries
and sometimes dusty attics get picked up in the tornado
twisting about their lives
Loose in their hands
They follow
Jagged razor blades
Raining down feathers on a horizon
Blessed by currents
Dressed in black
Enveloped by an ocean
Strangled by casualties
Leaping onto a path of nothingness
Shadows, slitting their wrists and screaming
And all i hear are broken plates
All i see is the color red
All i feel is the intense movement of my body
Raining forward into a tunnel
Tell me why i always close my eyes and wish for something?
When i know that at the end of the tunnel there will only be light
Freeing my hands from broken glass
Broken plates
Swept up and thrown away
I am soft petals being torn by anxious hands
An energy disguised in limerick
A moon flushed by hungry eyes
An emotional ******
a collector of sorts
experiences kept on the top shelf
lovers on the one below
moving with the wind
never against
afraid to lock eyes with someone
because that, in itself, is too much commitment
an outward confession that I too, harbor emotions
the emotional addict
the adrenaline of shooting yourself up with a new feeling
terrifying
knowing that the drug will not suffice
one day
crave much more than the ache one causes you
one day, want to trip on the heartstrings of another
but most frightening is the possibility that people
will cease to be my fix
in hopes of bringing a puppet interest
A glass of thick tar, light
I need to learn that people are not antidepressants
When the bear faced me
Standing in the forest
Looking downward at the sun
I found myself standing in a river bend
Hand laced in hand
Round rivers, whispering wolves
Chants to the gods
Colorful skies
Mountains
Growing
Towards the seas
Ladies dancing in evergreen
floods the Great Plains of my mind
the dripping faucet that is my heart
can no longer bear the weight
heavy still
I feel like my brain is a dusty attic
hippocampus filled with boxes
unopened
speak softly or forever hold your peace
come at me
broom in hand
sweep me off my feet
dusty books filled with blank words
tell stories of girls just like me
unable to speak
they’ve always been told, speak only when spoken to
be wary of storms in people for they have no boundaries
and sometimes dusty attics get picked up in the tornado
twisting about their lives
Loose in their hands
They follow
Jagged razor blades
Raining down feathers on a horizon
Blessed by currents
Dressed in black
Enveloped by an ocean
Strangled by casualties
Leaping onto a path of nothingness
Shadows, slitting their wrists and screaming
And all i hear are broken plates
All i see is the color red
All i feel is the intense movement of my body
Raining forward into a tunnel
Tell me why i always close my eyes and wish for something?
When i know that at the end of the tunnel there will only be light
Freeing my hands from broken glass
Broken plates
Swept up and thrown away
I am soft petals being torn by anxious hands
An energy disguised in limerick
A moon flushed by hungry eyes
An emotional ******
a collector of sorts
experiences kept on the top shelf
lovers on the one below
moving with the wind
never against
afraid to lock eyes with someone
because that, in itself, is too much commitment
an outward confession that I too, harbor emotions
the emotional addict
the adrenaline of shooting yourself up with a new feeling
terrifying
knowing that the drug will not suffice
one day
crave much more than the ache one causes you
one day, want to trip on the heartstrings of another
but most frightening is the possibility that people
will cease to be my fix
in hopes of bringing a puppet interest
A glass of thick tar, light
I need to learn that people are not antidepressants
When the bear faced me
Standing in the forest
Looking downward at the sun
I found myself standing in a river bend
Hand laced in hand
Round rivers, whispering wolves
Chants to the gods
Colorful skies
Mountains
Growing
Towards the seas
Ladies dancing in evergreen
