Hidden behind transparent looking glasses,
she chases red rabbits with ticking hands.

When she nears them,
she feels the wings beneath her bones awakening from their chronic slumber and her hands suddenly burn with the memory of what it’s like to familiarize.

Empty mailboxes and ink stained fingers;
her eyes furiously avoid the image of her palms.
One pair will never be enough.

The door to her conscious transforms into an empty battlefield.
Listen close and hear only the tangled whispers of her former lovers,
for it was they who birthed this war beneath her skin.

Angst trickles slowly into her chest,
filling the new found void.

She had learned to love her temple.
Saw a friendly face every time she encountered her reflection;
understood why it was important to reach this nirvana first.

But like the fostered youth,
there are only so many times one can take back their unwanted pieces without losing them all entirely.

Blue heart beating silently,
she awaits the season where all her colours will change.
Fall.

The soul of a writer is as tormented as the clash of tides in the sea.
There is an ongoing battle between what is right and what is wrong.
The writer's mind experiences an unexplainable turmoil of raging emotions.
There is no escape from the cages that surround the heart except for writing... writing till the words bleed with truth.
Till the colour of the ink becomes the colour of their soul.

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife:
Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm'd both hands before the fire of Life;
It sinks; and I am ready to depart.

hypocrisy is something that comes easy to me.
often feel the words falling out of my mouth but never taste what they mean.

lips know exactly what words to whisper when tear stained cheeks and broken pieces appear;
spent years formulating the right kind of glue to put them back together.

i find myself throwing out a never ending supply of lifesavers,
without even a cloud of thought to what might happen to my small boat with all this extra weight.

sometimes, little holes emerge on the worn down wood,
and suddenly all my passengers jump ship.

stuck figuring out how to fix them on my own,
most often they are covered up with only bandages.

every so often, my procrastination becomes bad karma and we both sink.
thoughts heavy like an anchor, my body lies contently on the ocean floor.
water filling my lungs like the feeling of giving in fills my frame.

self love is the biggest storm i’ve ever had to deal with.

lost at sea since i was ten years old,
it was then that i became acutely aware the space i took up.

had rolling hills occupying places where my best friend had only plains
and my smaller self never really felt small.

fast forward to the present,
where i’m often not present because i have made myself little in the only way i could.

now made up of whispered opinions and avoided eye contact,
i wonder if my younger self would smile at the thought of being slight.

i can teach you how to be content with yourself.
i can talk you through the motions.
i can tell you that i wouldn’t change a thing about you and mean it.
i can love everyone but myself.

i've been lying here for what seems like forever.
eyes shut tight, fists balled, i thought it would go away.
memories of yesterday reappearing behind my eyelids.. sleep was supposed to be my friend.
the one to take away all of my problems and comfort me until i felt myself again.
i suppose sleep failed me too.
it failed to take away the hurt and the pain;
visions of you, wrapped around her like the promise that still envelops my ring finger..
i am afraid.
for i know, if i'm brave enough to peek through my eyelashes,
i would not see you laying there.
this is all your fault.

if i could have one wish, it would be to time travel.
i would go back to that day under that tree..
what kind was it again??
oh yeah, an apple tree.
i can picture all the fallen apples just laying there,
some bruised, some half eaten, others just completely destroyed.
you know, i kind of feel like those apples.
unwanted, damaged.. not really fulfilling my purpose.
somehow i understand.
they too were once picked out among all others,
chosen over every other option
and then suddenly, thrown back.

YOU PICKED ME YOU IDIOT.
YOU CHOSE, ME!

(why was it so easy for you to throw me back)

take a deep breath.
can you feel that?
the warm sun bursting through your window?
you have been given a new kind of warmth.
the spot next to you, the one he once occupied,
is now painted a beautiful yellow,
no trace of grey to be seen.
open your eyes darling,
for today is a new day.
and it's all YOURS.

i want you to destroy me.

take the jagged pieces of my puzzle like body, apart.

cut down the flowers i've grown in my lungs and douse my dreams in kerosene, burning them all.

i beg of you, construct a black hole and watch as it swallows up the billions of stars that once occupied my now blank stare.

COMPLETELY obliterate me and never look back.

leave me in pieces, scattered amongst those of your past lovers; forgetting about me like you forgot about them.

for this is what it seems you heard me say when i softly whispered that i was in love with you.

i want to kiss you,

everywhere

i want to hold your face in my hands
and i want to feel you lying next to me when my body has given in to exhaustion.

i want to see you smile,
and i want to make you happy.

i want to know what made you,
and i want to know what makes you doubt yourself.

i want to know if you've ever let the voices in your head get to you.
and when you tell me no,
i want to know what they could have possibly said to make you lie to me.

i don't want you to keep yourself hidden.

i want all of you.

i want to know about your demons,
and i promise i won't leave you when you finally tell me about them.

i want to know about the ones who make your days grey,
and about that time you almost let them win.

i want to make you feel powerful
and i want to make you feel loved.

i want you to know that i think you're beautiful,
and that i think that scar above your right eyebrow makes you a work of art.

you are an unfinished painting.

and by the time God is done with you,
you will be beyond perfect.

and when He puts you in a gallery,
next to those who are known as angels,
you will know then,

that you are extraordinary.