One moment words are so heavy I cannot carry them
Other times words are too light like a feather that is carried by the wind
Words are so heavy when they are complete
Words are light when they are incomplete
I feel so alive with you
That words are too light
I love you so much, that words are just too light
I wish I could do so much better than words
Because you are worth so much more than anything in this world
Limbs like bricks;
Weight to heavy to carry,
Don't have the energy to drag them.
Not sleepy, but too tired to get out of bed.
Acting like a child; pretending to sleep,
Lying about having a cold,
But simply sick mentally,
That's not a good excuse, I know.
Never thinking enough,
Then thinking too much,
Repeat, repeat the process.
It'll pass sooner or later, probably later.
This burden is not only one person,
It's now infected the loved ones,
So apologizes come out for the burdensome ways.
Shall stay in bed today, shall wait for it to pass,
Missing another day, wasted away,
Oh well, it isn't missed anyways.
The numbness has sent in,
The burdensome ways already in control,
Will just wait it out, and wait for tomorrow.
The blessings in my life
when I really think about them,
but for some reason
feels heavier than the one before.
Why can't I just be happy?
My heart wanders
away with this thought
until the emotional waves
of pain and heavy sadness
carry it back to its place.
I cry -
not because I am lacking anything,
but because I cannot count
all of my lucky stars
(for they are far too numerous),
I am still not happy.
I can feel
the heavy pressure
none of this is getting any fresher
they've concocted an anaconda plan
that has increased the size of my black caravan
into an elongated limo
with empty seats
and a bunch of flashing lights
from cameras of people
who really could care less
i'm not looking to swindle or impress
i'm just try to address
my clear insecurities and shortcomings
it's not worth singing or humming
is it worth anything at all?
there's always something trying to stall
there's a more content version of myself
it's mostly likely inhabiting in the Persian
where the least amount of peace exists
arrows, guns, bullets persist
elbows, arms, knees insist
to be without
what do I have to be upset about?
You didn’t turn the pages and you refused to look past the cover
The dark overtones and jagged edges repulsed you
It wasn’t flat. It wasn’t cut and dry
You wanted simplicity and the book was anything but that
You left it laying about your house.
A landing spot for your coffee mug on your way out the door
A place to toss your keys as you dispersed your belongings around the house
This book had you taken the time to open it would’ve intrigued you
Piqued your interest
Caught your attention
Left you holding your breath as you turned the pages
Had you opened the book you’d have found exactly what you thought you had been missing
Had you opened the book you’d have been left, rivited by the last page
You’d have reread the last 4 pages over and over becuase you weren’t ready for it to end.
But instead you judged it
And the cover alone scared you
Do you realize you didn’t even get to the good part?
You missed the best parts and you aren’t even aware
How do you miss something you never had?
Do you feel the regret wafting in like a Still breeze, you don’t know what you had
Or maybe you did, maybe the cover was all you needed to see. Maybe that was enough
Maybe leaving this stone unturned, that page unread, this book unopened was exactly what you needed.
You didn’t keep the book because you knew you’d never see the words it held between its dark covers
You jammed in into the drop slot outside a library it didn’t even belong to.
Anxious to rid yourself from the feeling of impending emotions
Desperate not to feel, not to give in, not to let the middle precede the last
I wish you would’ve opened the book
Not to the first page, not even to the middle. I’d have settled for the last page.
Becuase it’s there where I finally got it together.
It’s there that I laid it all bare, a night sky open for All to see. It’s there that I sewed a piece of myself into the words. It’s there that I’d have taken your breathe away and stolen your heart.
But again, these are all just words trapped in a book you returned. unread.
Intoxicated from the weight of euphoria,
Silence drips viscously into the soul
Until drowning is no longer a fear,
But an option.
Feet wet from nostalgia
Of ungraspable motions,
Time rests heavily on dewed eyelids.
The soul buries itself further.