I want the world to admire me from a distance
To say in sub par prose
She did not try to be different
She just loved completely

i've learned the hard way
that life will never be
as beautiful as poetry
and that we will never be
as perfect as we sound
when squished between
similes and metaphors
so while we don't fit together
quite as well as puzzle pieces
and you sometimes
might not complete me
as well as a cup of coffee
my hand still feels
quite nice in yours

and i don't need a poem to say that

I am complete -
with or without him.
he is not the glue
for the cuts
on my heart.
instead,
he stands by me
as I heal them.

Retracing my way out where I belong,
Re road mapping the roads I walked,
Under the sun, beyond the clouds
Below the light, away from the dark
A piece of the soul,
An intensity of delight,
Stream of thoughts, forthcoming thoughts!
A puzzle solved. (Period)
Walking ways
Twisted, yet simple
Playing parts.  
A piece so small, an impact so big.
No words,
;
An umbrella covering the void,
Makes no sense, but can be felt
No completeness for the sake of the surrounding
Neither none or everything. ✨

if you had never fallen from heaven, i would not have loved those broken wings. if your blood did not trail into my house, you would not lay on my couch as i wrapped you up. i've heard heaven is lovely, free of pain and brokenness — but when you are whole, you do not need someone to complete you. no one looks after you, or asks you how you are. but there is only so long i can tend to your wounds. so why, after all these years, do you not spread your wings to fly? did you really fall from heaven, or did you jump?

i am overzealous and underwhelming. i say somethings and i regret them. i say nothings and i wish i hadn't. i am weighted and unbalanced. i place value where i think it belongs. i lean heavy into things for too long. i am uncertain and so sure. i run out of thoughts before my heart runs out of feelings. my thoughts run over and overwhelm my heart. i am liminal and concrete. im incomplete but hoping i could be.

I have nothing else -
Not one person close to me.
Only ever ostensibly known,
Via some overrated reality.
Truthfully, a manufactured facade-
Beneath, a much less pretty wasteland.
I want my real self to be known,
Have all my understandings understood.
First I must find the right words,
But they always pale in comparison.
There’s no real description, it seems
Of our inner-most workings,
Even here I pause as my depiction stutters.
I wish I could just bequeath my mind
And have my soul be exposed;
For someone to retrieve my thoughts
And need no explanation.
If I can’t emit my true visage,
If only I can see color,
Then I have no hope for completion,
And the loss is overwhelming.

Physics acts on every one
Of the baffled little parts of me;
Gravity refuses to leave,
Drags my eyelids down to active sleep
(I chase after life in each scene)

And in the morning, right outside,
I fail to hide from the hands of the sun
Its filthy fingers pressed to my skin
Letting the heatrays in so easily
You'd think I was a plant.

(I need it as much as if I were green,
It turns my fears golden
And lights my eyes clean.)

Eager to grab control
From my little follower who rules it all
I pull muscles and harvest bruises-

Newton's third law, impact and force,
Of course:
Heads against shoulders,
Leather and walls,
Thighs against doors,
Lips on lips and disappointed synapses
That serotonin can't quite reach.

If I am blood,
Fresh experience is bleach.
(A dark little figure of speech)

But I light candles sometimes
Just to blow out the feathery flame
To feel temporary, precious
Like rosy musk enhanced by rain
And fill up the tightest corners in my mind.

Life, in the end, is stupidly kind.

And in the evening light, she and I remain,
The world entangled in my limbs,
Breathing in, and out

And in.