Writhing within her chains of thorns,
Feeling great intense remorse-
Never sure of what she is-
Confused
Dazed
Sleepless and insecure
There are the years you learn
You learn to live, to thrive

but some don't make it out alive

Public places
now empty spaces
free of all familiar faces

But there is an upside
a turn of the tide
away from environmental suicide

Shifting towards clean
Mother Earth more serene
thriving more than I’ve ever seen

How long did I beg for you and call it optimism
I come home and set down the baggage that has my shoulders aching
carrying you was heavier than I wanted to admit
I run the wash cold, separating yours from mine for the first time
I'd like to think I'm learning myself all over again
I'm taking back the pieces of me you used to hold

It waits for no one,
not even for the most powerful and rich.
It moves on the same paste from when we all know ourselves.

It could never be controlled,
never.
I wonder if it rewinds sometimes,
Because then I could say I know the reason for deja vu.

It can be very funny when we say "time fly's fast"
Or "time is moving very slow"
It makes me wonder and think.
But what I do know,
It waits for no one.

Shedding skins of old –
                                     peeled from my frigid bones,
                                     touched by sizzling cold,
boiled down
            to just my soul:
Here, I roam.
                          Learning as I go, the beauty of alone.

For every response left unread.
For every thought trapped in my head.
For the way you make me feel.
Decrypt if it's fake or if it's real.

It's hard to explain a feeling you don't quite know yourself.

Understanding your own mind can be tricky sometimes.

We don't quite know each other yet, despite that fact.

I still feel comfortable to talk to you.

 it feels like we have already had a wonderful first date, a romantic second, and our third wasn't the best but we are both don't care because we are spending it together.

 It makes me nervous, not knowing if you imagine the same thing.

That's why I panic when I talk to you, not knowing if the thing I just said was good enough.

so I say something new before you can type back, and believing that isn't good enough so I repeat the cycle.

Becoming stuck in a whirlpool of my own anxiety and overthinking, just because I don't want to miss my chance at that bad third date.

I don't want to miss the chance to stare at you, on a night not going as planned, but still being able to smile when I look at you.

I'm sorry I'm not good at talking, but I promise you would enjoy my rambling and awkwardness if you gave it a shot.