I
am finding myself
in the shadowless
beings
that
fit in my heart
the way my hands
fit the sky.
But I am not sure
if I can be comprehended
by a pair of eyes
that do not know
that the depth of
ocean
conceals itself
right behind my mind.
it seems so limitless,
endlessly running
across the world,
the mountains / the wounds are the
only reminder that
contentment has
a certain end
where you wouldn't know
the way you and I will
hit the ground, soundlessly,
slowly, and the rubble will still breathe
under our weight, when did our bones
learn to weigh? When did
we become so hollow
that we cannot see past our
desires? Behind the dreams that are ours
there is an art that someone
else
has built. What do we
see in the frailty of these wrists?
This paper thin skin and hands we break
apart as though we never promised
to try to become forever.
But farther beyond the clouds
there is a place. That will feel
like it can instill your emotion. And
you will never know if you're actually a person,
or a phenomenal zephyr that entangles
within the numbness, a quiet place where
serenity is almost tangible, where you
cannot tell yourself apart from the sky.
Where your ears have only learned to
hear the smiles and the rainbows.
And then your imagination snaps,
a wire tugged on, you are so still
against the earth, that it creeps into
the tears your eyes let go of so easily.
And the scraps of yourself are still not
afraid of the things that are not going to
end. Like the ceaseless memories,
the seconds that tick silently, dropping
into the ocean of time.
It is an overwhelming tide of
the past, that doesn't hit you, doesn't strike
as hard as you thought it could.
but it does sway your stance, it sways you
ever so gently, that you are startled by the way
you thought you would never stagger.
A blink of an eye / I am not made
to be my own. I don't even fit in the shadows
anymore. But these are discordant voices
whispering with just enough of the emotion
to trick you into believing you can touch the
hands reaching out for you; hold them like you
always hoped you could.
You do not understand the
difference between me and my shadow.
it doesn't seem to waver but I,
I am always stumbling.
I am always in pieces,
always flying with wings
that never learned to take flight.
And my shadow, it is not real,
not a part of myself.
Because it dreams
of becoming what I used to be.
Throw me out of the sky, I am only going to
fly away.
I am going to fly
so long as I know
I can breathe. But
what if I fly
too close to the sun?