I'm having one of those days
Where my thoughts go South
And breathing gets tough
And icicles stick to my
Vocal chords
And the snow is so thick
That my blood striped hand
In front of my face
Disappears.
And eventually
After a while
I need a map
To find my way back
North.
But I'm so far South
That my fingers are too frigid
To make a snowman.
And my mind's too numb
To think South anymore.

Day after day, I watch as you pass me by.
Always afraid to speak, even if only to say "hi."

My stomach sinks when our eyes meet.
I'm shaken to my core, unstable on my feet.

If I could just squeak out a simple hello, I might be fine.
Instead, I gaze awkwardly in torment, barely able to smile.

Whenever you've passed by, I feel my hope slip away.
As if I'll never speak a word to you; failing day by day.

It kills me to be so weak, to not go after the things I want.
It's like I'm ******* in a web. I feel so helplessly caught.

Will I ever be brave enough to speak? Or forever remain mute?
Always terrified of failure, I've not the strength for pursuit.

I feel like a wall without mortar; too fragile to push, too strong to move.
Both outcomes are the same. I'm so terrified, I always lose.

Its hard not to stare
after being so close
the rush of heat that courses through me after a touch
Its hard being in the absence of abstinence.
Looking at the one next to me, I can feel my eyes changing.
You have my attention, and his is fading.
Knowing its wrong
touching you in the shadow looking for an excuse to feel right.
How can we have these ties, that bind both our hands so tight.
I think about our bodies
So elegantly intertwined
I think about the sinking feeling
of leaving another behind.
What is it to be human
and how do we move forward.
Cannot find love in lies
and I do not want to watch it die.
I hold the knife.

I like to wander to places
Places full of letters,
Places full of words,
Places full of stories.

My eyes are burning with passion,
Letters swim across, in front of me.
They pull me in, never letting go.
I'm trapped in a story I cannot fathom.

I am a part of a story.
A story filled with emotions,
Lessons, reasons, and seasons.
Yet, I am only on chapter fifteen.

I am a character of a story.
A character who has problems,
But caring, appreciating, and understanding.
I'm still trying to find a place in this world.

My life is a plot.
I will never know what would happen tomorrow.
The tranquility of time scares me.
I don't want to be afraid anymore.

Our story is unpredictable.
We are in a book of life.
A dictum of peace.
A tiny spark of hope.

Don't close your part of the book yet.
Something good is still happening.
Never ever regret.
This isn't the end.