I'm at war with myself.
My confidence caught in between
a battlefield of destructive choices,
defeating words and deafening voices,
that strike me down constantly.
I'm over taken by armed anxieties,
their vocalities violently shattering
any chance I've had at victory.
My white flag falling at my feet,
as I hear them scream,
"You'll never be good enough!"

To my literary soul mate,

As your journey continues
in vast and distant lands,
I watch your life
pass in pictures and posts.
Catching a glimpse of you in
quick and witty tag lines,
of a great story yet to be told.
Ones I may never hear the words to
as life has taken us both,
down two very different paths
that may never meet at a cross road.

I just want you to know
that a heart react on a post
can only convey
so much of what I want to say.
A “hello, hey how are you?”
“I hope you are well and safe.”

There’s something about the look in your eyes
that sinks me deeply.
Your gaze an anchor in my chest
that’s managed to snag onto the edges
of my fluttering heart.
And with every breath, I feel you pull me down into the depths of the blood that rushes to meet the surface of my cheeks.
I can’t breathe when you look at me.

My universe is collapsing
at the heart of the sun.
My skin scorched to
bare bone;
the weight of the world
coming undone.
The cells of my existence
evaporating,
as gravity pulls stardust
into my lungs.
My last breath a whisper, of
"Will you miss me when I'm gone?"

I try to grow wild flowers,
in the empty spots of my chest.
The sunshine tricking my eyes
into planting seeds,
beneath clouds that have
darkened around the edge.

A hope starts to bud,
as the light breaks enough through
to sprout dreams inside my head.

And just as roots settle into place,
the loneliness cracks across my skies,
and I break.
My weathering heart opening at the seams;
I'm a storm, ready to rage.

I am a glass,
sitting full on a mattress,
ready to spill across
your linen sheets.
I feel your heart shift,
and it tips me.

I used to draw us together;
graphite lines stretching
across our empty skins.
And like a pattern
we found ourselves connecting
to one another
like tiny constellations.

Then, one day your hands
began to erase away
at the lines that once traced
our pencil pressed affections.

Now, I find myself shading you
the darkest of blues
like the way my heart breaks
on those cold winter nights.

My fingers ache to forget you
as they erratically color
outside your dark lines.

I try to tear up our image,
but cling to our broken pieces
in hopes that they may
come together one last time.

But, they never do fit quite right,
and I draw you out of my life.