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lex Dec 2018
I fall prey to the creases in my cranium
as I’m destroying from the outside in -
inside out.

Do you think the moon ever fears the darkness?

Slices on my hips
silence on my lips
as grey matter turns against itself -
worthless. waste. not. enough. never. enough.

Do you think the moon ever fears the darkness?

I’m a person I do not know anymore
maybe I never did,
the voice inside my head is not my own
but my skin will not separate enough,
tear deep enough,
to extract it from my soul.

Do you think the moon ever fears the darkness?

It’s two a.m. and I’m staring at my ceiling
begging the sun to rise faster
or not at all
because it’s two a.m. and the night hides no one.

Do you think the moon ever fears the darkness?  

the ticking of the clock conspires with my heartbeat and I

Do you think the moon ever fears the darkness?

My thoughts come in waves
so I am neither drowning nor afloat
trying to make it to tomorrow but
hoping I won’t.

The moon and I have grown close now and tonight
she fears the darkness.
lex Nov 2018
Smile soft, darling
I know you think you love me,
I can see your eyes looking into mine -
cerulean waves rolling gentle and hopeful.

You’re taking my hands in yours
and holding tight,
but I am a flight risk -
my hands are scarred,
my wrists stay bloodied,
my heart is slow to open and quick to leave.

I know you think you love me,
but my skin is bruised,
my bones are fragile.
I am tearstained imperfection,
and your soul is far too pure -
beauty embodied breathing light.

Smile soft, darling
I’m afraid
your lips cannot touch mine,
for darkness seems to spill with my exhalations
a sure antithesis to your emanating sunlight
and I cannot be the one
to make your smile harden.
lex Nov 2018
& so I ran
fast and far
to escape
from stress, people, limitations,
to breathe
air that felt unburdened,
to exist
in a place where I was not known,
hoping that
if I suffered enough,
//lungs burning, feet bloodied//
if the distance was long enough,
//miles ticking by to the unrelenting sound of my toes atop the pavement//
if my speed was high enough,
//faster, faster, one more level, one more level//
just maybe
I'd be able to outrun
myself too
lex Oct 2018
Recovery is supposed to be
synonymous with Renewal.
Rising from the ashes,
old flames re-lit,
persona rediscovered.
But what do you do
when there’s nothing to Recover,
the Before
up in flames and gone with smoke.
How do you start over
when you don’t know where to start
when you don’t know who you are
when you don’t want to be an also
a prop to someone else’s story
while yours is left unpenned
And within just a moment,
you are not Less,
but Different -
a shift that feels nothing but Empty,
a tear in the fabric of your soul
ripped by the slamming door;
a gap just wide enough
for salty tears to sting a freshly broken heart;
a laceration just deep enough
for time alone to heal.
Introspection and reflection
deftly weaving silken threads
to bring renewal and resilience
to a mending soul that is now stronger than before.
Filling the Empty
with purpose
instead of validation.
Not destroying the Before,
accepting the damage,
rising from the ashes not to relight but to renew,
beginning unhindered by the past -
letting sunlight stream in
through stained glass windows
formed as you made peace
with your broken pieces,
igniting beauty from destruction -
a fire all your own.
lex Oct 2018
Wake me up
I'm laying down restless and rising exhausted,
sleepwalking where I should be inspired.

desire to change
need to escape
slowly drowning in the inevitable,
oxygen just out of reach.

smother my thoughts
suffocate spirit,
take passion and turn it mindless.

I don't feel much anymore,
my mind alive in catacombs.
tear me apart
break me down
at least it’s not indifference

lonely tile nights,
the voices in my head
don't scream as often anymore.

wake me up
hold me tight (you’re not alone)
know my name (you’re not alone)

this is not the story of insanity -
I'm taking my mad back
as I'm crawling from the underground,
giving voice to where I'm from.

let silence succumb to authenticity,
let pain fade into strength.
I'm rebuilding from self destruction,
tearing down the walls I set.

recovery revival renewal
maybe I'll feel something again.
until then
I am looking in the mirror to hold on,
I am screaming toward the empty,
reminding myself to be real;
hoping that my voice uncensored,
filled with truth,
laced with fire
will echo through the city that surrounds me,
ricochet through the hearts of those who need to hear:
this is not the end
this is not the end.

wake me up
I only know how to disappear.
lex Oct 2018
But it's hard not to
fall in love
with someone

they recognize the chaos
and fragmented pieces
that is your soul

they understand
the darkest and
most complicated corners
of your mind

they look deep
into your eyes to see
what you are trying to hide
and hear
what you do not say

they know the words
"I'm fine"
are habitually untrue
but they never demand the truth,
instead simply
holding you tight enough
to make you forget
that you're broken

it's four in the morning
and they call
because they know
lex Sep 2018
We are falling apart,
desperate to love
and be loved,
searching for people and places and moments
that will fill the cracks in our broken pieces
within a world where
transparency is a radical notion,
and we never say what we mean.
We internalize instead of articulate,
existing in solitude instead of alliance,
living ambiguously instead of authentically,
feigning indifference to avoid revealing vulnerability,
so committed to conforming to social norms
that we'd rather tear ourselves apart
than tell the people we love that we love them.
lex Mar 2018
I am inherently a writer,
sometimes by choice, usually to a fault.
I look into your eyes and see starry skies,
but often I see stars in places they are not -
my linguistically focused romanticism run amok,
showing me the dancing rain in the laugh of a friend
who has a sunflower smile
and hair from a windswept afternoon.
But I am just a writer, and her laugh is just happy,
her smile is just pretty, her hair is just wavy -
and your eyes share nothing but their color with the night.
I am just a writer, and we are not in love
so keep your stars and keep your ebony kissed moonlight.
Your eyes are just black and they do not see me
lex Mar 2018
Who are you?
But who are you
when the titles are stripped away,
when extrinsic definitions lose their meaning,
when you cease to see the value of the dollar
of power and status?
Underneath these shallow words
is the person who remains
representative of who you want to be?
Do you remain true to your morals
even when they contradict societal expectations?
When you are asked a simple question:
who are you?
Can you respond
I am
or the rarest of all:

— The End —