Its sad to think
That when we drifted apart
It was because you let me go
You stoped thinking about me
You stopped "wasting time"
It is true pain changes people.
But you know what pain also does;
it hurts you,
it breaks you,
it drains you,
it disconnects you from the
people around you at times.
It sometimes makes you feel
like giving up on your life.
But maybe that's just a phase.
Maybe we have to break to heal.
Maybe we have to fall to rise.
Maybe we give up to fight.
Maybe we have to make mistakes to learn.
Maybe we have to tear to be courageous.
Maybe we have to go through chaos to find peace.
Maybe we have to feel weak to be strong.
Maybe we have to get messed up before we step up.
Maybe going down was a part of the plan of rising
up once again better.
Pain brings out the worst,
the best and sometimes
it is just different.
And you get to choose
who you get to cast yourself as.
You get to pick up those pieces
and place them the way you want to be.
Sometimes it isn't bad, it isn't good,
it's just different.
And that's alright.
last time i was hurting over you it felt worse
and the new cycle of sad songs that remind me of you
are happier somehow
someone told me something that made me realize
i've (on average) loved you harder than you've loved me
it was one of those painful reminders
that i've put a human on a pedestal and called them god
i came to realize
that people won't love each other simply, as we wish
you were neither the religious nor romantic solution to death
people won't love each other simply, as we wish
they can depersonalize a body
and spitefully ******* to your best friend
when they're ******* done with your apprehensiveness
and your sick brain that didn't let you love
your parents sick brains
that they each gave you half of
Let me show you
What it is to be inside
Experience having hot blood
Rush to the back of my neck
And color my cheeks
When burning anger and shame.
Feel the tattoos
Carefully grown in my hours of darkness
Seeds of ink
And coaxed to the surface.
Feel the balmy spring afternoon
Bring shining droplets if sweat
To my forehead.
Let me write my body around you.
Breathe the harsh toxic fear
And feel it in my lungs.
Fill my nose with the smell
Of green growth
Before the sunrise.
Feel what I feel.
Live inside my skin with me.
Because I don’t know how else
To explain myself to you.
I have come to accept
that a writer who
creates on paper
is not the same person
who walks on Earth
I’ve lost the present.
I know where it’s gone and what took it.
I yearn for it momentarily,
but my mind wanders habitually from home into other peoples lives,
this evening’s dinner plans,
or the lack there of.
Anything but complete disconnect.
If not in communication, do we even exist?