These days, anxiety pools around feet And I drown, which means I wake up randomly gasping Pulling at the air, searching for a ladder Flailing in early morning As if I am trying to fly I want to fly away or pull the moon down So I can build sandcastles on its surface Then move in, taking residency up in the stars Fear comes in waves, ebbing and flowing Over my nerves, breaking down sandcastles Anxiety, a fountain, always overflowing Seeping into the corners of my eyes And I cry for a raft in this tumultuous sea
every night i end up writing something about you- the way your lips moved along with mine to voice our poetries together the way your hands slipped around my waist to lead me through a slow dance the way your eyes twinkled into mine to make me want to write something about them; about you- i don’t want to write about you. i’m done with making you the ink of every phrase i scribble of letting you be the canvas of my artwork it’s like this poem isn’t mine anymore it belongs to you you are the words in it and, you are it’s heart; our heart, It calls for you because, i’m too scared to do it on my own- call for you. i can’t let you have more pieces of me than you already do even though it’s me who’s still holding onto your memories your touch your voice your clothes your scent you. here here is the only place i have you for me it’s like the world goes in a blur and, it’s just you me and us holding onto each other grasping clutching not letting go. but, it’s just me who’s hugging my memories of you grasping, clutching- not letting go. the pen slips my grip your warmth escapes me i did it again. i wrote about you. again. and like every other night tonight I end up writing about you- but i don’t want to.
Tears flow down her face. Agony from recent past, she clings to like a drowning body floating at sea. Useless debris. There's a taste of duality in all things. A sorrow reality can bring. Though this is a mere moment in time it seems like it is everything. How does one gauge pain if it is something we hope not to be remembering?
She lets herself became jaded, a heart slowly turning to stone. Heading down a path she lets herself believe she knows. She lets herself believe she knows all there is to know. If she takes a wrong turn there could be more suffering, or more joy then she would have otherwise know. Who really knows which way to go?