Scars, that I’ve been hiding all my life
With scarves
Bruises, witness of what the truth is
Red eyes, brimming pearls of lost truces
Yelling, Blaming and banners of ‘Deserved it’
Never saw the alarm signs
They were not bold enough, like me
Always told that I’m fine, when I couldn’t even breathe
Maybe it’s been hash on me lately and
I don’t wanna make you too feel low
Maybe just pull me closer and never let me go
Cause the scars are now aching
And the bruises, deep blue
The pearls are now sold for ground breaking news
The yelling has me shaken; I stand with heart that’s broken
Too many times like my body
But you’re innocent, oddly.
Scarves, that have been hiding scars for long
I put them free
Cause I again, wanna feel like me.

sometimes I have a hard time
perceiving myself;
the person who I actually am,
I am used to be filled with negative
and draining thoughts
but who am I next to that?
some days I forget that I'm actually
me
under a surface of anxiety and thoughts
under a layer of the weird way my brain functions
maybe I find her again,
I hope to meet her soon.

i am lying on my stomach
after having spent hours propped up on my elbows
spent hours reading, sunbathing
spent hours getting drunk and tired in the sun
i am outside our new chicago home
in a courtyard belonging to only us

i am sprawled on the transparent blue plastic of my past
the cerulean beach chair that never made it to a single beach.
its plastic wound and woven around the metal
like nothing i’ve ever seen before

and i fall asleep

and i’m awakened by the raindrops on the low of my bare back

but it is not raining

and i wake up naked, inside, in your arms as you tap out a tune on me

and the blue chair that we put in the shower
when my brother was too weak to stand
because my brother was too weak to stand
is nowhere to be found
even when he went to live in the hospital
that chair
gathered rust
in a closed, dripping shower

we threw it out
it reminded us of a hard time
he was our only surviving souvenir  

i miss the chair
and i miss the person he was before it all
before he gathered all this rust

Though she fears he may be gone
when Darkness brings her back
his heartbeat sends fragmented light
to pierce the blinding Black.
His fire a beacon every night
she stumbles Sorrow’s path.
Lighthouse sawing the Abyss
his love ignites the map

I put my head on the pillow and drift off….

But in the night, someone from somewhere
Hits the reset button on my mind.
My emotions, strivings, fight from the day before
Deleted in one action.

Shiva sweeps aside the remnants of yesterday:
Gains, strivings, losses and ambitions
Clearing the table for tonight’s game
Flanked by greater and lesser angels and demons.

I’m lost in dreams while a silver ball spins against the
roulette wheel of my soul.
Each number an affection, a state of being
randomly selected for the next day.

The silver blur slows
Jumps, flicks and rattles from one bay to the next:
Happy, blue, angry, drained, joy, sorrow, hope…
Each have an even chance.

The crowd around the table leans in
Waiting to see it fall, to claim possession.
The fate of the following day rests on this outcome.
A day of peace or another of battle?

But they wont know, I wont know
Until my head lifts and my eyes open
And I feel it saturate my body and soul
Ready for another day of starting again.

am i deserving of love, to love and to be loved? my mind started to question back as if i have had enough. it is the pathological effect from my illness that makes me feel like my mind was playing trick.

my days consisted of hesitation, building me a wall between what i used to feel so heavily and what i push away to the point where it’s hurting me. being vulnerable sometimes isn’t right way to start it off but on the other hand, refusing to be vulnerable can be more of a tired pattern of pushing people away and hiding your emotion too. seeing the breaths of silence dancing on the screen that parts us, makes me wounded to the pain of being vulnerable.

time to feel it blowing through, i’m trying hard not to sabotage my happiness anymore.

Plastic sarcophagus aspect
of the breathing machine -
feed it broken foam
to make me free.
Paper sound lung,
a landscape of coral,  
tape the needle down -
we don't get many kids here.
My blood wandered
to another face -
my chest a kennel.
What's yours is
never wholly yours.

some say she was born with a broken heart,
unmendable by word or deed, and now armed
with a quiver full of witticisms and deft vertical
palm, friends, lovers, the world, all held at bay,
lest they discover her sorrow