watch me make the same mistake twice.

placing one more finger on a fragile house of cards,
distinctly aware of the fall:
of the wind-swept,
                                                          blowing away,
                              lifting off the ground,              head in clouds,
                swirling,                              mystifying,
                                                                                        close to heaven
purgatory.

watch me pick the wrong god to worship, again.
offer Him the same gifts that were not enough the first time around
blindly hoping he'll acquire taste for it,
for me.
maybe, persistence is key.

maybe,
if i jam my square-shaped love into the round hole of his heart,
it will shift just enough to squeeze in there.
shall i cut some parts of myself out?

will i be enough then?

Why did you say you             L #  $ @                  me?
Was it a lie? How can I learn to believe you, when everyone's told me otherwise?         ^           Is it too late?
                                                                ­         %                 Am I too late?
Do you no longer care for me? Am I no longer worthy or your attention, when I don't sing your praises? When I don't
         #                        *                 hang onto         ;
                     -               every word                                      ~         &
                                         +    you say?                    =

If I told you I             ! & % E            you, would that change a thing?

Is there anything I can do? Were we ever truly friends? Was I just a game to you?
          +             Am I that disposable
                                        that replaceable                  =
                                  ­             that obtainable?
                                 .                                                               @
                ^                                        .
    ­                                                                 ­           .
                                     *              ­                                    Will I ever learn?
When will my eyes stop meeting yours? When will they stop searching for you in every room and -                            &
           &                   -  every city and                       &
                          &           - every particle that grazes my eye?      

Why do I miss you? What can I do to make this better? I know it's not my job to but with you- with you I feel like I have to, you know? Why can't I lie to you ?

                                                            Do­
Do                                                              ­     you
    you                                             Do   you         still
                        L                  @               ­                          %   !   V   #
                    $               0                                                                ­          
                                                      ­  V      &
                                               ^                                 3
                                                               ­                               
                                 ­   still
                                                        ­                                             Me ?

gather round, as it is the season of stress:
as it nears may and june and
corners the wisps of summer that sting the air.
the scent of freedom and flights,
so close yet never close enough.

gather round, and watch as the silken spring leaves
(or, the strands of your hair)
turn inch by inch into summer screams of green
(or, the jealously burning inside you--
when you see someone smarter
see their right answer
see their paper; green and ticked and better.)

gather round, for it is almost over.

and you have worked hard- you have
(or, you have tried to)
and often that is enough.

the season of stress will fade soon,
but summer?
summer will always come.
summer sings in sun-kissed skin and lazy leaves
and blithe birds and timely trees;

gather round, to hear summer's sound.

i kinda miss the moments
the sunny days
or the ones that rain pink
rain red and orange and sunset and end of the beginning

when i walk by the cafe
the sign board urns into a cinema screen
rewinding to
reading books and
long discussions

spilling tea and
drowning coffee
and then drowning tears
and then just-

or maybe, i kinda miss the feeling
the warmth that came with every evening
home
familiar scents enveloping all senses
sometimes when i close my eyes
i can still see the sound of your smile

i can still feel softness in linked hands
and then empty in a hand
and then wet in my hand
wet from my eyes
and wet from my cheek

or, i kinda miss us
us when it was us
when it was you and me
and not just- me

whole, still
still one (1)
but

two (2)
without you
feels odd

i kinda just miss
you?

you
and your giggles behind your hand
bubbling up your throat and into the air
i feel like i'm in disneyland

you
and your words
sometimes soft and sometimes spiteful
but always sure
your sentences spell a delicate decision i could only dream of delivering

and even then, in my dreams
my mouth shapes to form syllables i cannot say

and even still, the only word that comes out of my mouth
is your name

you are the only thing i have ever been sure of

so when i say
i miss the moments
and i miss feeling
and i muss us

what i really mean to say is
i just really miss
you

sometimes you don't need a reason to justify how you feel
and i miss you
because, like loving you

i just do

Hey, would you like to know a secret?

It slits and stings and scorches the tip of my tongue
A scalpel painted with a sickening slice of hope
Of I know you used to
And I said I used to
But I meant I still do

My heart— no head still throbs
Thuds like the tapping of your fingers against the table

Your fingers
Light and floating and still too far
Flying too fast

My head
Heavy and sinking and still too close, to me
Still too close, to you
Still too close, to every synonym of unecessary
Still, too close, to my heart

Do you want to hear my secret?

My head throbs because of you,
No, not because of you, because of me
Because of confusion as to why
My mind is able to solve math equations that I hate
If I try hard enough

But for some reason my mind can't solve the question
Of why it keeps flitting back to you
Even if I try to will it away
And always to you
I have a million other things to do
And somehow you're always still the first priority

My head throbs because it doesn't understand
Because I don't understand
How is it then when you're vulnerable
And ask an "are you free to talk?"
The truth is no
I'm really not
Yet yes is the only word running through my head

Somehow
You always come first
I find that strange considering how the most you've ever thought about me is probably the second best thing

Here is my secret

I am sick of this
I am sick of you
But somehow your laughter is the antidote
It is the vaccine
The dosage I get daily

But eventually
It starts being less effective
Because I hear
Her laughter
In yours

And the more I get to know you
I feel like I'm just getting to know her
You say the same phrases
And so many things that you do
Are just so her
She's so thoroughly embedded into everything you do
It's almost impossible to separate the two of you

And I am sick
Of this
And I am sick
Of you

And how you say you used to
And how I say I used to
And how I still mean
I still do

.

page one
it starts with the wave of a hand
a simple introduction
'hi, what's your name?'
it starts with looking and seeing nothing but what is there
skin and bones and blemishes and human
it starts with feeling no cliche butterflies in your stomach
and no additional voice in your head
amongst the others
and no rapid pulse in your still-beating heart

page two
somewhere along the way the waves turn into inside jokes and small smiles
crinkles by the corners of eyes
and light chuckles
and glancing just a millisecond too long

page three
and, well, glancing just a million times too often

page four
and you write poems in attempts to make yourself believe
to drown yourself in denial
to avoid confronting the - nonexistent - blooming bud growing
sprouting from all angled corners
and cracking curves
and jagged edges of you

page five
spoiler: it doesn't work

page six
and it's strange because apart from seeing what is there you see more
or really you don't see what is there
you see what you want to be there

page seven
you see skin and bones and beauty and freckles and stars and constellations in eyes and ethereal -

page eight
perfection

page nine
except perfection doesn't exist
and what you see doesn't exist
it's just your unrealistic expectations piled up from miles and smiles of movies and books and manga and everything

page nine
and you know this

page nine
but it goes into one ear and out the other

page nine
and it doesn't stop you from claiming

page nine
you're in love

page ten
if love is just infatuation with a physical manifestation of your ideals without their consent
then i guess you're right

page eleven
there are butterflies bending, banging on you, begging to be released

you wonder when your definition of beauty became a name and a face
and you wonder when love became synonymous to pain

page twelve
the butterflies turn into birds and then bears and then freaking buildings
except these building are moving and apparently earthquake proof because you can't seem to break them down
instead the buildings are breaking you down

but the truth is no, no they aren't
don't you see?
you're breaking yourself down

how do you heal if you are both the poison and the antidote?

page thirteen
if only you could rewrite the story
but how could you?
how do you rip the pages
how do you erase the sickeningly sweet
slow stabs slicing through your spine every time a smile is sent your way
how do you mute the thudding in your brain telling you that this could never be
how do you ignore the extra echoes in your head yelling at you to get yourself together

how do you get yourself together?

page fourteen
you've been asking so many questions lately
but you know the answer to all of them

page fifteen
there's a small voice
a minuscule, malevolent voice whispering maybe
whispering maybe and perhaps and potentially
maybe you're not the only one who wants to hold on just a little longer

page sixteen
but see
it's funny how the story starts with two people and now it's just one person with an overactive imagination
illustrating a person as something more
something better

page seventeen
but you're not creative enough to keep your illusion for too long
and soon you start to see less of what you want to be there and more of what is there
skin and bones and blemishes
and human

human

page eighteen
human is ugly and human is cruel and human is wretched
but human is somewhat
beautiful
in its ugliness
and human is raw in all its dishonestly
and human is real
even if you made it out not to be

page nineteen
you will never truly now human
you will never truly know anyone or anything that isn't a figment of your imagination
but it's enough

page twenty
it starts with seeing nothing but what is there
skin and bones and blemishes
and human
and then it ends
the story ends somewhere
anywhere really
but it ends

tiptoeing on table tops
covered behind colourful masks
a facade we can build, that'll last for tonight
a night painted from self-pity and hopeless hope

let's pretend
pretend that this masquerade will go on forever

take a step
step back
step forward
step back

a waltz, almost a waltz
swinging to the beat even though i can't dance
walking with confidence despite these high heels
velvet curtains like violent seas
bring out the pain within me

tonight is the only night we'll ever accept the compliment of

"you're beautiful."

"thanks, I made this mask myself."

carve this night into the depths of your brain
a masquerade stitched into my heart
embroidered into every night I spend alone

masquerade

mask

hide the one beneath the mask
help the one beneath the mask
hide their fears
hide their pain
help them pretend that they're okay again

masquerade

mask

this night will end
this haven will end

until we meet again

i used to think that there wasn't a sight more beautiful
than the sun embracing the sky
or the waves kissing the shore

until i saw him smile
and laugh
genuinely
the dimples in his cheeks
the crinkles by his eyes
his body moving along with his laughter

how lovely it would be
if he could laugh
and smile
like that every day

and i know this is selfish of me to ask
but if only she saw him like how he sees her
then perhaps i could see
that beautiful sight
one more time

he knows that i noticed
of his love
for her
i became a bridge of some sort
a connection
an outlet to vent to

i became all his unsent texts
all the unsaved draft emails
all the crumpled love letters buried at the bottom of his bin

and somewhere along the way
i became a friend
a source of comfort
warmth
and just as he opened his heart to mine

i did too

at least that's how it was for a little while

i get mad sometimes
though i have no right to be

she doesn't notice the way he feels
and i think
does she not see?
that she is the cause
of his pain?

but none of it is her fault
absolutely none

love is not a choice
it would be far easier
to live in a world where feelings were nonexistent
and love wasn't so significant in our lives

but then the question arises

is a world like that
worth living in?

she gets a lover
proclaims her love
screams it at the top of her lungs
glee flooding her eyes
i'm happy for her

but why is it
that as she talks about her lover
i glance over at him
and watch as he smiles a
sad synthetic
smile

am i the only one
who can see his tears
threatening to spill

it's her birthday
i give her my gift and he does the same

but he steps forward with a certain
hesitance
a slight colour to his cheeks
he lets go a second too late
and she flashes a grin
he smiles too

but whilst red spread to the back of his neck
and the tips of his ears
and whilst he heard his heart

stop

she felt nothing but warmth blooming in her chest
for
a
friend

and i watched
while the spring breeze swayed the curtains
and a weak smile played on his lips
her eyes were closed
dark lashes fluttering gently
light snores escaping her mouth

he held her hand in his
and i couldn't help but to wonder
how could a love be so pure?

once you know something it's hard not to notice it
how his gaze seems to linger
how he hugs her as if he never wants to let go
how he stares just a little too long

how behind his smile
and in his eyes
for a fleeting moment
hopelessness
is all
you
see

look up.

watch
as the watercolours bleed into the canvas of the sky
see the freckles of stars and constellations
bask
in the momentary warmth that you feel, comfort; safety

it's beautiful isn't it?

see the white clouds
bright and ever so superior
stretching across the horizon
carelessly
the area that belonged to the dark seas
but no longer
ever since the clouds claimed their territory
smiling, careless clouds

believe
that the world we live in is like sugar
sweet and pleasant and utterly pure

pretend
that the sugar isn't crumbling
bit by bit
piece by piece
falling apart
dissolving into sticky, empty nothingness

look down.

see the cracks on the ground
tell yourself that they're only on the surface
shallow
that they can be easily mended with cement

(they can't.)

and rehearse
rehearse the parts you're meant to play
a good sibling, child, friend

person

act as though you put others before yourself
as though you think their happiness is more important than yours
as though you'd sacrifice your life
for them

because you're selfless, aren't you?

(you aren't.)

perform
the rehearsed banter and
the perfected smiles and
the expertly timed eye roll -- **** your head to the left squinted eyes
glare for half a second before rolling them

and watch the stars dissipate
disappear
as the haze clouds over it
from all the pollution
problems that we promised we would fix
and the sky soon settles into an eternal darkness
dry acrylic

look straight ahead.

see eyes and noses and lips
some familiar and others not
see sincere smiles and forced smiles
see the world we live in
beautiful and wretched and human

did we make it this way
or did it make us this way

see the people around us
the eyes and noses and lips that form faces
the sincere smiles and forced smiles that form images
we're all beautiful and wretched and human

and there's absolutely everything and nothing we can do to change anything

look up or down or straight ahead or whatever
just look

(maybe that's all we can really do)

just look
and see
and breathe

(breathe.)

and be

be beautiful and wretched and human
be everything you've ever wanted to be
or everything you've never wanted to be

it's okay to be okay
it's okay to not be okay
it's okay to just be

it's okay.