There’s enough language inside of my mouth to be understood.
I unhinge my jaw
my tongue rolls out
you can see the words sewn into my muscular tissue.
sentences lodged deep into my pharynx.
I clean my act, flash my cheekbones.
So there’s enough language inside of my body
to create the thought in your mind that
“I’m okay.”
Pain masked in articulation.
The lack to find all the points in communication.
The curse of comprehension.
All while sitting with doesn’t exist outside of
the novel continuously writing in my head.
There’s enough language inside of the world
to prove that no word can describe
my intelligence of my own being;
with coexisting with people who become illiterate
to the dictations of my mind.

By the time earth is finished making it’s.   rounds
on all sides of the sun
my brain has already calculated twice a billion ways to stretch myself thin between
the moon and the stars.
I’ll settle for the ambivalence that links
my emotions and the atmosphere;
to submit to the gravity of what the world
could be.
All while knowing who I should be,
I float higher and higher in the opposite direction .
So the empyrean can cradle my chaos,
quietly without judgement.
The only reason I live is for the credible fact
we will all return back into stardust
and be spread out equally between all corners of the sky.

a candle dances and burns in a distant window
while the city beams as if the night
never needed any light.
As if the flame screams to be what illuminates
the crossroads and windows.
Bound to its wick.
A candle who wants to be a star, to join the sky all eyes find peace in.
Longing to be more but still fulfilling
it’s sad purpose.
Tears of wax, only full of potential in the dark.
The city hums an artificial tune,
the candles wails the song of your essence.
Yearning to explode in the sky though
condemned to glow in isolation.
a candle dances and burns in a distant window
to give all eyes a warm welcome.
while the city beams as if the night never needed any light.
Dreams of ignition without restraint.
Still only wax and wick.
Destined to soften, burn, melt.
Still it shows off its light.
Not because it’s seen.
But because it cannot help but glow.

There’s words inside of me not just my head.
They curl like smoke behind my ribs.
Yearning to be named.
Reluctant to cathartic practices.
Burnt out due to unraveling each letter
that goes through your ear and out the other
I feel the sadness in my throat
the disgust in my mouth
the anger in my head
the fear that crowds my chest.
don’t worry yourself with what I can’t speak out loud.
Silence is loud, when it’s full.
Such as my days, flooded and useless.
I hope it will all make sense
E-l-u-c-i-d-a-t-e.
I nurture the words that are only felt in my bones.
I will never know how to translate them into a sound only you can feel.

I’m constantly trying to do the impossible
grab the incredible.
express the inexplainable.
stop the inevitable.
I am not a pioneer of my own future.
I’m a prisoner of my past, look at
how the shackles dangle from my feet,
how they cuff my hands like dainty bracelets.
I refuse to care for the pragmatic whole of the world.
When I step on freedom it will be everything
I want it to be.
The flowers will grow upside down
The sky will be a rare shade of blue.
We’ll share hands and explore the world
created by the love in our hearts.
Freedom will be something I can hug
I will not drown in the pool of my own desires
The world can’t intervene now.
I can love you so freely without being
killed by my own limerence.

For love, it is mandatory you pay the price of grief.
I’m afraid I’m in treacherous debt.
Swiped love off visas.
more discounts than Mastercards.
50% of your attention only on Saturdays.
What a deal!
At least I had your eyes to myself just for a while.
I knew every second that I was gonna lose you.
Which is why every second mattered,
why every second costs.
I didn’t count every minute like quarters.
I nurtured every hour.
I spent all the time I had on priceless affection.
You can see everything I owe to myself in my eyes.
Pat my pockets feel the left over potential.
Turn over my wallets and try to count the hopeless pennies.
I have nothing else to give.
What about an arm? A leg?
How much more can I give of me just for a little more time with you?

You could hold me.
Look into my eyes, read my soul.
Kiss my blemishes.
Color my whole entire world pink.
You could find me.
Trail back to how it felt to be part of a whole.
go against whatever's above us just for that.
You could relearn it all again,
desire rampantly and through it all wait.
You could ride a frequency only I can hear.
Still cherish who I am once I disappear.
Know that one day love will find you again.
By the true fact you are apart of me and that is where this love resides.
What I want is impossible but, you could.

There's this repulsive need to be anything other than myself.
Without finding myself stuck between the space of,
what would I turn into and who I could be.
To be made of flesh is a mortification.
Still I crave the compassion from others
made the same way.
I'm yearning for something I can not reach.
Something that is not real.
My brain is a graveyard of all my hopes to be
who I should.
There's this intolerable need to be more than myself.
More than human, something worthy.
So I won't be so impassive towards my own reflection.
I'm ragged and uneven, I feel i deserve it all
but, in small micro portions.
Maybe I shall change, with hopes of giving my pain definition.

I can say I've touched the sun.
The radiation was nothing compared to my salvation.
The sensations welcomed me home.
A place beyond time, beyond one's mind.
I lived what past versions of me never dared
and lost it all in a instant.
So to now stand in the silence of what once burned bright.
I become a fleeting spark, what was once our light.
I chase the whispers of the sun.
Hoping to undo what's already done.
Yearning for the sky to cradle my heart once more
but I am grounded to dirt and grass.
Like a bird, I used to be one with the sky.
I've hit the window too many times.
You clipped my wings.
Why do you still expect me to fly?
Do I keep reaching for what can’t be found,
Or surrender to the weight of the earth beneath the ground?
Am I meant to rise again, to heal, to soar,
Or remain rooted, in the place I implore?

People say i'm insightful.
when I hear the word and find the interrelation between it and I,
I'm placed back in a room with emotions coating
the surface of the walls.
Each corner is covered in passion.
I'm surrounded by all the things I've swallowed down,
they have returned to choke out of me.
The outside world does not know who I am, they cannot reach me.
I can barely reach myself.
No one came to save me and that drove me mad.
I lost my mind in that room.
I forgot how to breathe, I forgot what I was made of.
More unintelligible than articulate.
I lost so many pieces of my mind, I ate at the passion coated walls.
I got lost in the spirals of my own finger tips
I had sat within myself instead of the emotion sealed room.
Would you understand if I said that the parts of me that die still stay with me?
You use the word insightful.
I know myself so well that I see myself in others
and if I see repetition I fix it.
In his addiction I see connection
In her depression I see expression.
I connect with all of you because part of you was once me.
So insightful maybe.
Maybe I drove myself mad for a reason.
To lose my mind, find my soul.
Connection is a privilege, your experience is a process, to grow from it is a gift.

I wield a non-physical entity buried underneath
subcutaneous tissue, muscles, and bones.
I can animate the principles of a living being with ease.
Though the essence of my soul is at war
with its own morality.
All the different aspects of me leak from my pores,
they burn my skin as if they weren't just a part of me.
others clash together and form into something unrecognizable.
I am in a battle between words and sensations.
A plethora of conflicts placed within me.
I am just an Individual.
I am one person and I hold the guilt of my innocence.
Hopefully one day the scales may tip in my favor.
I've thought of waving the white flag
having the potential to survive physical death.
I am a delicate being.
know that there's more inside of me
than what I allow you to see.

They say to learn discipline
you have to train your brain like a  dog.
So to heal, do I raise my heart like a child?
I put bandaids on cuts that are a little over minor.
I cannot risk help that is greater than me
afraid it might be diagnosed with something fatal.
I say you cannot indulge in memory of who is now
when your mind is supposed to sleep by 8.
I hold it's hand in big unfamiliar places.
I say it's okay to express yourself
but when expression turns into deflection
I thought it may be time for a nap.
I fed you portion sizes bites of courage
I don't remember why I always fed you chunks of lost hope.
I am sorry.
I let you roam outside to explore and play.
You come back with a small scrape.
I haven't let you back outside for a while.
I'm afraid you find no joy in playing anymore.
You have dreams of going to back to who was then.
Riding the roller coaster of emotions.
Cotton candied hope.
never ending building blocks of devotion.
doesn't it sound fun?
Horrifying.
I've whipped my brain into a machine.
My heart has it's own mind.
I think it's okay to let my heart grow and touch what's
outside of me once in awhile.

And that's okay but,
i'll never admit this to you so I'll say it here,
where I know you won't see it.
I miss you.
Why do I deny myself the chance to go after
the love I deserve?

I have 1,440 minutes.
How many memories can my cerebrum calculate?
There's this ache in my head.
I want it to go away.
Throwing my brain off a cliff
would not make things okay.
Perhaps I'll be like the rest
braindead and my pupils won't respond to your light.
If you would stop lingering here
wouldn't that mean I'll be alright?
The lights fade my eyes close.
A new 24 hour period is proposed
What was yesterday
no remembrance of what whoever was
There's something I'm supposed to be holding on too.
Time is slowing
My days are meshing into each other
I'm literally so full of myself.
There's a familiarity in this feeling.
Not only that someone who touched it with clarity.
The lights fade, my eyes close.
What was yesterday
I have completely forgotten about what was
and who is now.
Nothing to consume.
The entire day feels like 30 minutes and I'm just eating at
the second's left overs.
The lights fade
This time when my eyes close there's a face I pushed out
by force
and it reminds me of all I have abandoned.
I cannot open my eyes I'm forced to rest.
I NEED TO WAKE UP.
In hopes of not forgetting tomorrow.
I HAVE TO WAKE UP.
I woke up.
Lost memory of my last name.
Who I am supposed to be,
But there's a feeling that is harboured in me.
A feeling that used to rip me to sheds
Is now warm and fragile.
What sparked this feeling?
I fall asleep earlier than I'm supposed too,
and forget all that ever supposed to be.
Have you forced yourself to forget who I am and what we were too?

The world feels lifeless as I see life everywhere.
I know the people who cross the street breathe
the same air I do.
I know the trees I walk past are very much alive.
But the picture my eyes are allowing me to see
feels unauthentic.
Maybe it's not the world.
Maybe it's the way I'm looking at it.
Maybe I picked at my mind too hard
Dug into my subconscious too deep,
now it all looks fake.
My feelings about it all are illegible.
The change that will come is inevitable.
If not I'll force it.
I'll forge a way to see the beauty of the sky again
I hope misanthropy doesn't take me away.
I'd like to find joy in the people who always smile
when I did, again.
To trust others and the fullness of what makes up the world.
To not always figure out the reason for everything.
The universe is always reforming itself
I'll never be able to catch up with it or the why's
of why people are the way they are
or what actually makes me, who I am.
What gives me the ability to still grip onto life
as I'm opposed to it.
I hope I enjoy it all before I fade away.

There's a blockage in my creativity pipe.
There's some potential I haven't tapped into yet,
I read old pieces and wonder
where is that inspiration?
I'd hate to think it's because I'm over the fact you left.
Why am I only able to create when my heart
doesn't function how it should?
The words are falling out of my head
I wish they would fall onto the page.
I used to be all the 3 "I's" in imagination
Originality ran through my blood
I could mold my pain into something so delicate.
I touched people's soul with a simple sentence.
And now I can't even create something I'm mildly okay with.
There's no endearment to kiss on letters.
Nothing to set my eyes on.
I guess alterations had to be made.
There's a blockage somewhere inside of me.
A change is coming.
This is more than a simple poem.
When you feel this lost, you are bound to find
what your soul is searching for.

When you lose your mind to find your soul.
There's pieces of you that are left behind on purpose.
Pieces that are lost from your mind,
that you have to find again.
Chunks of me were knocked out by devotion.
Blessed with gifts of a reconstructor,
Given the title "autodidact".
When all the love 1 human can channel has gone dismissed
Do you know how much willpower it takes
for that human to learn not just to love again
To love themselves over the expected limit.
I begin to think I've done it all wrong.
There's this selfish dedication that I have towards myself.
I refuse to indulge in any type of intimacy.
Afraid of picking up pieces that are supposed to be apart of me.
I can only allow myself to love me.
Anything other than that is foreign to me.
I do not need your commitment
I have shown myself that word is an understatement.
I wipe my own tears.
I hug myself.
I wake up and force myself to eat when I do not want too.
That is the allegiance I have for myself.
I do not NEED you.
So I HAVE TO be everything I want in the next so I do not
fail myself by begging like a dog just for reciprocation.
I'm labeled independent by some.
Characterized myself as foolish,
for not realizing that it is adequate for any version of love
to love me as much as I do.

these days I analyze and modify my routine
each second I spend of the 24 hours,
with hope I can control the fluctuations of how I feel
in a day.
I brush my teeth, I critically think of everything,
I'm going insane.
I'm normal just like you.
I Feed myself scenarios and "what ifs" for breakfast
(I'm feeling all of it for a reason, it'll come back soon.)
Ponder much more, move much less.
I'm normal just like you.
I'm scanning over old art to feel the emotions I once felt,
(is it possible to feel comfortable within anger?
Shall I not propose a better path for myself?)
Then again, pondering more, moving very less.
I'm normal just like you
By the afternoon my conscious mind has ran it's way
through my past experiences
always giving me the urge to ask questions
I wish I didn't know the answer too.
I'm normal just like you
Now the world has shut down
and I sit in my room, empty mind
mouthful of smoke.
I'm able to see it all clearly,
I'm normal, the things I indulge in? Maybe not.
Do you remember who you were before the world
told you who you should be?

I want to rip the flesh off of my skin
there's a need to burn the love
that is left lingering in my heart.
I have gone mad.
The percentage of oxygen is going down.
I'm inhaling dejection and I can not let myself exhale.
I've flooded my sheets with tears.
The hallways mimic the sounds of my despair.
I want to dive my hands into my chest
and give my heart a fatal hug.
I wish I could pull the strands of nostalgia out of my brain
from my ear.
If only I could tell my 13 year old self
"love will ruin you, especially in the ways you were not taught"
I thought love was my parents tucking me in bed at when I was 4
or my sister taking me to school every morning
nobody told me it's the universe's biggest set up.
That I am locked in a cage and I'll be 24
still wondering if your eyes look the same
still wondering if your heart still sings the same song as mine.
I wish the love I have for you had conditions.
Rules, regulations.
All I can do is kiss my skin in ways you couldn't.
And put out the fire that burns inside of me.
I have to learn how to breathe all over again.
The rest of my tears seal up the end of this love letter.
I close my eyes and let my head dump everything out.
In the morning I hope it stays empty.

there's a night where I look up at the ceiling
the same way I do every night
and won't see pity in the
love that is left over.
I'll take it as what it is.
I'll stop trying to choke it out of me,
like it doesn't belong with me.
As if my love doesn't make me who I am.
I'll stop taking your lack of reciprocation
as a declaration of war
to prove to you I'm worth being seen.
I won't mistake convenience as connection
attention as affection.
I won't rebuild my heart with solid pieces.
I'll still love in colors and respect.
when that night comes I'll still love you.
I'll always love you, but not in ways that flood my eyes
or in ways that can physically make me feel my heart shatter.
I'm not afraid of loving you from a distance anymore.
I'm not afraid of the version of myself
that has moved forward from you.

I seen a picture of me back to the time
when my hair was teal
my hair is raging red now.
I seen the smile on my face and wondered
what back then could have replaced my melanin
with shades of pink.
It was a picture taken by my sister
while I called you.
I seen a screen recording of one our FaceTime calls.
This time I wasn't so focused on you
but the lightness in my voice
I speak too harshly for some now.
and the look on my face.
I smile less more now.
I know her, but she doesn't know me.
I know things she'll never know.
She wouldn't believe me if I said we don't talk anymore
I seen a picture I took of you.
It's been a while since I've seen those eyes.
I push back my teal hair to reveal the rose on my cheeks.
I smile.
I smile and actually mean it.
I'm still that girl, I'll always be that girl.
I'll spend a lifetime trying to find something other than you
that will make her come out again.
I miss you, me.

it's like my pen is filled with love instead of ink
and writes your name in the color of affection.
Missing you isn't
"I miss talking to him."
           or
  "I miss his laugh."
  even more not "I miss his voice."
it's pining the placidity behind your eyes,
seeing a sliver of your soul in a stare.
The way my name spirals off of your tongue
alerting the butterflies in my stomach to scatter.
The way your body was sculptured so perfectly.
Each muscle, every vein.
I thank whoever is up above and the time they took.
How the smile lines sit upon your face
and I see a glimpse of the child within you.
It's mostly the way you look at all I am
and see everything in nothing.
It's like my pen is filled with with love
the only difference is there's hints on melancholy
and writes your name in the color of woe.
Loving you isn't
   "I love his vibe."
        or
      "I love his style."
even more not "I love his personality."
It's me loving everything that makes you
who you are
Being present to watch
each birth
every era
into the person you become
it's wondering what can I do to assist you?
Giving you pieces of me without hindering myself.
it's knowing in this realm and outside of it
I will follow the traces of your essence
left on my path
I-
Great, now my pen is empty.
At least I'm still able to write your name in my head.

I find excitement in the unknown.
There's some comfort in never knowing what's next.
This is your sign.
choose risk over regret.
At least you know you tried
or maybe you've been waiting
and realized if you did, it'll be fine.
But why wait on time.
Use it to your advantage and grab today in your hands,
claim it yours.
The gods will not punish you for making a choice.
(Take the risk.)
Do not listen to the voice that speaks outside of you.
Do not push away your desires.
These are your dreams that are so carefully painted out
so why not grab the pen and take the risk?

pain of the cycle, pain from growth.
I had to lose my mind to find my soul.
so if pieces of my soul
are way too far from home
there are pieces of my mind I have to abandon.
pain of the cycle
             or
pain from growth?
which one will you choose ?
When you realize, you are not human.
But a simple soul bounded to flesh and blood.
Having that human experience
and another soul formed the same way
has found itself knotted in yours.
pain of the cycle or pain from growth?
Which one will you choose?
As you keep letting those corrupted memories
swirl around your brain,
when you realize the happiest moments are the saddest,
when you disconnect from the human experience,
and drown yourself in a feeling
that releases you from the chains of the physical.
Pain of the cycle.
Pain from growth.
1 comes after another.
Do not postpone your growth.
The problem is not the intensity of my love
but the quality of the soul I coated with it.

I lose all sense of corporeality,
the saturation that fills the world
with the simple things
lose all color
I start to not be in tune with the hues anymore
and I can only find myself
in the walls of my own encephalon
there’s a familiarity that loiters my brain
I do not have the ability
to tap back into the actuality
of my own physical existence
all the pigmentation is gone
it’s like I’m sitting inside of my body
yearning to go somewhere else
there’s somewhere I have to be
and the disillusionment of reality
grasps onto my heart
and reminds me of the soul
that took the color of the world with him
with every step took back from mine
and instead of my world returning back,
flooded with saturation,
I see through the eyes of a poor soul
though not in wealth,
in a helpless brain stuck way.
I am chained to something unconditional
when will you bring back
all the colors you took with you?

"I use my telescope at night, won't be for stars, instead I hope that I can love you from afar" -mts

People fear you.
Run from you, try to overcome you,
Defeat you.
Others wish for you.
Desperately need you.

But I live for you.
it does not matter we're all gonna die anyways.
But that is the reason why you should live.
To not die a empty life.
Or to live a boring one.
Do not succumb to death.
Do not let fear swallow you whole.
I will live to die.
To be reborn and do it again.
Experience.

The cycle.
I will greet you with open arms, because once you come for me I will know that I have lived.
That I have created the world around me to serve me.
That even my happiness will live after I die along with my love.
2 things that will live forever on.
Each day a step closer to you and another day to live.
Hello death and goodbye yesterday for I do not fear you.

A month ago I told myself
not to mold my love
into words you cannot hear anymore
I haven't wrote a new piece
in 33.2 days.
About anything.
I think of myself as a very poor artist
with little much to lose.
do you know what it's like
to be part of a whole?
To have the other part of you
tear and rip away from you
each and every day.
it is not like you fade into thin air.
it's like something was made for me
but then taken away.
do you know I stopped believing
in what one called love for 730.5 days
before my eyes seen yours
How dare you teach me what it means
to love.
Then leave me with it.
This is the worse thing you have ever done.
You have left me with love
other than for myself
and I have no way of expressing it
because it is for you and you aren't here.
***** you, love.

I don't want to die
I just need something to make me feel alive.

I pick at my skin
to the sounds of our memories
I pluck the hairs that stand up
when I hear your name
I tear myself down in the love
I have for you
There's a leash around my brain
I'm tired of yanking it away
from the thoughts of your eyes
that wont ever look at mine
there's a cage around my heart
wired with hope
(where is the key?)
and while I'm filled with so much affection
I look at myself as a joke
once a queen, now a blue fool
I apologize to myself for being so cruel
It is not your fault you are tangled
in another soul
but I still blame myself
for always watering a plant
I should have sold.

When someone asks what my biggest fear is
but I cannot tell them it’s me being 32 and still writing
about you
so I just tell them the “dark.”

I'll continue to use my words to light up the rest of the world.

As it does people's eyes when I speak.

Preach.

Talk.

Because emotions I find stronger than words,

Hold comfort behind the stiffness of the letters.

My words have no movement, my feelings linger on the pages.

But they do not waltz or cheer.

Yet yearn to escape me and the blank lined cage.

A minimal analysis
a set of conditions, withholding truth
that need to be satisfied in order to believe what you think is true.
belief that is knowledge.
the state of being aware of something within yourself.
psychology presents intuition as a form of knowledge
which we know as having a hunch about something
which is generated by the unconscious mind rapidly shifting through
past experiences.
cumulative knowledge.
my intuition never tells me what to do.
sometimes it's more like embarrassment
knowing that it's there and pretending like it's not.
because when you're always right
there's always that one time you hope that you're wrong.
so now my ego is linked to my emotions
and I can't help but find myself, not finding myself at all.
the disconnection between, myself and my thoughts
and my perception of the characteristics that shape me.
call it derealization if you want to get technical
but I see it as an imbalance.
if I do not see eye to eye with myself then I am not equal to the other side of the scale.
I will continue to fall until I satisfy those conditions
I lie further more to myself into this poem and reach what is self-awareness.
so I admit
I will continue to fall until I satisfy myself with the truth for these conditions.
or at least until I know what I feel is wrong.

There's no such thing as "love isn't real"
love is inevitable.
So as I ride the wave of resentment
and dip myself in the ocean of fluctuations
I still nurture my love for you

respecting your decision
disrespects
the affection in my heart
the affection that has already made its way through my bloodstream
giving me that sense of high

the love that has already infiltrated my lungs and stole my breath away
i do not wish to press charges.

Love is inevitable but heartbreak is a privilege and to grow from it is the gift.

If I were to **** a butterfly imagine all the looks of discourage
the world might as well paint me the shade of evil
but to **** a 6 legged beetle many would receive applause and praise
the world might as well paint them a hero.
That’s humanity for you, some ******* world we live in.

And I further more can not hear my own thoughts without hearing you.
I’ve accepted we won’t get far.
there's no point to ask the question i know the answer too.
I do not have the ability to experience love without wanting to consume or the need to be consumed.

I got my first comment and repost on one of my poems
I do not know why I cried
thank you for showing appreciation
it is the first time my tears actually hugged me instead of stinging.

between the painful ****** of nostalgia from the past
and the hugs and dreams of fantasies from the future
there’s no room for you to live here
maybe if I evict my equivocal feelings
and start thinking less and saying more
at least you would have something you would want to respond too
without just replying to me out of pity
maybe then you would move back into my present
silly of me to think i could even pause time for a second
but I swear when i’m with you it’s like the world moves slower
but now I sit on top of the ordinary
and the world still spins without you here
the sun sets a little earlier
the birds still flock in sync, how they did yesterday
everything is still the same, but i look at the so normal world
with wistful eyes.
and i’ve drowned myself in sentimentality
not because I don’t know how to swim, but I just choose not too.
and as I navigate through this world without my muse
with potential as an artist, with dreams of a time traveler
I pray to stars and ask for a split second just to be with you again.

it begins as a song in my head
and i flow with the rhythm of love
until the lyrics become harder to hear
and the beat starts to fade away
i cant catch the rhythm anymore
and then there’s a ringing in my ear
and suddenly you pop into my head
and there’s not enough love songs in the world
that could express how i feel about you
that i dont feel myself 10x more.

there’s no doubt that my brain reminds me
of your existence by the second
i won’t deny the fact that i take you everywhere with me
without you being there
i wake up and i open my eyes
just to feed into the memory of your face
you know i could tell you so many things
you know how i am with words, how articulate i become when the topic is you
but imagine the things i cannot tell you
the things i wish i could express so bad
im not afraid in following my heart
my heart is what i always speak from.
but my soul..
....she doesn’t have a way of communicating
the grief just sits there and swallows her whole
my soul sits in my body, cold.
it’s easy to guide my heart away from you.
but how do i tell my soul to stop searching
if she could talk to you i’d doubt it would change anything
but it will prove that you will always be loved.

if you were to put your best memories on a scale alongside your worse
both holding the same intensity
neither more impactful than the other.
your worse memories will still outweigh the most positive ones.
we as humans are sadly inclined to internalize the negative
we are persistent to recall the bad over good
you can have a basket full of good apples
and still throw it away because of one that is rotten.
how many good birthdays can you remember?
how many times can you recall yourself crying as a child rather than laughing?
how much do you remember?
and how many times will you keep trying to forget?
avoidance is temporary and accepting it means that hurt from remembering is permanent.
being numb is growing tolerant.
how much do you want to forget?
dwelling on things that can't change, won't change anything.
this defense mechanism gives importance to negative experiences
and I begin to find myself always remembering
then here comes the self questioning
becoming cautious
always looking over my shoulder.
I remember never liking myself because of what others put me through
I remember never having the strength to tell myself different.
Instead of asking how much I remember
I think of what I know.
I know that these experiences do not define me but shape me.
I know that if you never remember who you are
you will always see yourself with the eyes of others
and everything you've been put through.
if you were to put what you know on a scale alongside with what you remember
both holding the same intensity and impact
depending on what you truly know instead of what you think
depends on if it outweighs what you remember.