I whisper poems in your ears when you've fallen asleep
Half wanting to be heard and half wanting to stay safe

I leave maps all over kitchen counters for you
The ones that are so Easy to read that even I would be able to make sense of them

I turn my head to look back at you while I'm walking away, Just like they do in those movies I've memorised
But you get swallowed up by the people too **** easy for me to be able to meet your eyes

I sing my jokes and laughs in the valley of your sadness and when they echo, they reverberate in pride
-Oh to be the one who made you laugh-
But my own sighs fall flat on your ground, I can't deal with my own grief, the only impasse

I swallow my wooden ego down My throat
-I will always swallow gladly-
And open my mouth to get you to open yours
But your silence has become my frequency

We've run out of things to say and games to play
But we still keep on rolling the dice
I have a thing for love but my lover is distance himself
No wonder then that abandoning you is the only love poem I know how to write

Sister,
You are my skin
My bones,
My blood,
You're flowing through me
You ARE me.

I feel you.
Rushing in my veins when something exciting happens,
Because whatever it is, I'm rushing to get it to your ears.

I feel you.
Pounding in my head like the reverberation of a deep bass song

I feel you.
When I hug our mother and you're not there to hijack that hug
Or when no one argues with me when I say that I'm the favourite kid.
I'm not the favourite kid.
I promise I'm not.

I feel you.
I've grown up watching your smile take over your whole face so when something makes those very lips tremble and cry, I taste it in my own mouth like acid.

I feel you.
Every hit and every blow that you have ever felt is a bruise that I have tried to heal on my own body.

I feel you.
So deep inside that unreachable part of me that to hug you I sleep in a foetal position, all bent inwards.

I miss you.
So much that my throat constricts and expands and constricts, as if I'm trying to choke myself

But THAT is where I finally stop.

I stop myself
Because you said that
If I don't breathe,
Then you don't breathe.
And you,
You better keep on breathing.

I tapped on your door
To get your attention
And you opened it partially
I tiptoed in

You started humming to me
Beautiful music
And my steps became more sure
Less trepidation as they hit the floor

And your wings stretched,
your music, it roared
My feet twirled,
seeing you, I soared.

But you started beating the air
Way too fast
My legs started shaking
But I was still trying to dance

But I slipped and fell
On the marble where I'd used to fly
I stretched my hand to you for help
But all the music had died

You'd walked out of the door
I was left locked in
Bet you hadn't seen me dance
To whatever music you used to bring

If you'd just gazed once
I'd have have danced to anything.
I would've danced for you, hon
But you forgot to sing

She called last night
After months of radio silence

The first ring
Why? why was she calling?
Did she need anything?
that's why she'd usually called earlier
Did she even deserve my help?
She was the one who stopped
Stopped talking stopped calling stopped sharing
Nothing. just nothing.
like I was nothing
like we'd been nothing

The second ring
Why the hell was she calling?
how dare she?
I should just pick up and scream my head off
hurt her with my voice as much as she hurt me with her silence
or I just shouldn't pick up at all

the third ring
What's the whole point?
She'll listen to my rant with manufactured concern
and when I have bled everything out
when my bones have been robbed of the anger that galvanised them
she'll crumble these bones to dust
with a 'sorry'
and it will start all over again

the fourth ring
Maybe it could start again
once she apologises, we can talk
I won't be emotional, I promise
I will be cool, more detached
it's just fun to talk to her
I just won't have any expectations

the fifth ring
It could work this time..
I mean, this plan didn't work the last time she came back
Or the time before that when she returned
Ugh maybe I should just let it ring.

the sixth ring
You know what I'll pick it up
I can do this
I'll just find what she wants
It'll be okay

*My hands reach out, trembling
About to click on that green button
And the phone stops ringing.

A teacher with a nasal voice
Droning on with as much passion
As we listen with; none.
The whirring and intermittent squeaking
Of the ceiling fan which has
roofed over God knows how many
Indifferent young bloods
That sat on these very benches
And contemplated, maybe over
Their own nasal voiced ghoul
Or how this wasn't true knowledge
Or maybe how nothing is worth it anymore.
These "guides" that force feed us facts everyday
Like a mental patient being fed his meds
I don't think I'll ever get out of this asylum.