black and white lines
my mind with meaning
lost in the
cycle of searching for
something to see and
believe in that means i don't have to
be something i can't be
that perfection is possibility
and that--possibly--
i won't sink into
everything i need to be
to believe i don't hate me
and need to continue to be
alive
and that living in sight
of everyone's
awful eyes
isn't as condemning as
i think it is
when i'm
not quite asleep
but nonetheless dreaming
everyone everywhere
hates to be
here with all our
collective sadness
and that sadness isn't
a death sentence
and we can speak something
else entirely
ennobling eternity
and our live so fleeting

this feeling is believing, so call me a saint of
spoken
sorrow
and

contradictions

As I sit here consuming the evenings last few conscious thoughts,
It occurs to me that the thoughts in my heart do not match the way I talk.

I talk of kindness, care, and of love, And of putting everyone around me way above.

I think and feel that I could ****, at the slightest drop of a hat.
Normal people do not think like that.

Knowing what I am is the scariest of thoughts.
Knowing I’m undeserving is a feeling that I’ve caught.

The darkness that resides within me, consumes my every thought.
Yet I have the audacity to walk a kindly talk.
I have the bare faced cheek to ignore my darkest thoughts.

They are part of me I know, but I must not put them on show.
The darkness is my failing, nobody else needs to know.

to be desired but never valued or loved all the way through.
chronicles of a girl who's never number one but always number two.
half loved by those she puts above everything.
always left on the sideline for the more favorable option.
she's been through it all and still fights to love everyone the same.
she sees through everyone's flaws and faults but they can never seem to do the same for her.
perhaps it's the quality of people she been loving on.
people that, in fact, don't love her but they love how she loves them.
people that can only handle the idea of her but not the reality..
she's a paradox.
she's gentle yet tough.
she is chaos yet she is peace.
she'll set you crazy but she'll also keep you sane.
she's fire and ice.
an angel with demons.
night and day.
she is me and I am her.
everything, nothing, all at once & not at all.

We're a contradiction

For with every breath
We live to die
But with every beat
We die to live.

My feet are anchors, sinking as I collapse
into your arms; hearth-warmed fabric wraps –
your quiet affection – around us; communication lapses.

No words are needed, for the light fluttering of
our hearts join in subtle chorus, muttering
unutterable truths about love, and suffering.

*

Unutterable truths about love! – and, suffering,
our hearts join in subtle chorus, muttering
"no" – words are needed for the light fluttering of

your quiet affection; around us, communication lapses
into your arms: hearth-warmed fabric wraps.
My feet are anchors: sinking as I collapse.

We were taught to love others
But truly we lack love for ourselves

We learnt to love the flaw in others
But never the flaws in ourselves

They say do unto others what you expect of others
But truly have you done anything unto you?

We seek a reflection of ourselves in others
But you reflected on your own?

Contradiction's a paradox of imperfection
But can imperfection be a paradox of contradiction?

These were the feelings when our eyes met
Or was it when my eyes met you?

You have accepted the flaws in my chronicles
All that I have yet to come to terms with

I'm a walking imperfection
And you lived in contradiction

Guess you could say we are a part of a paradox
But are we yet a paradox to be?

all of my steps forward
are really just steps back

i want to love
but when given love i cannot accept

i desire to be happy
but the sadness is so familiar