I keep hiding my words from the pages I write,
there is this fear of what goes on in my head may be interpreted differently than what it was never meant to be to begin with,
the anxiety builds upon itself,
manufacturing "could be's" and "what if's,"
when all I want to know is if someone is safe,
I regard myself to high standards but know that I can become a victim to my own open flaws,
like all open targets my heart sits open to public view which is alright to me,
I'd rather let the heart bleed than tend to the wounds others have made on it,
I am more than a collection of patches sewn on by lovers who thought my heart was saved,
I have a mind and body that holds scares and lacerations much harder to see,
for a longer explanation refer to my thoughts,
waiting to be written,
waiting to be found,
waiting to be understood,
on this ramble I'll simplify it by saying that you and I are so much alike,
and that is all,
our differences come from the experiences telling me how we are not like the other,
here I am still confused,
trying to understand why I am so different from those who I know,
why they don't express themselves the same as I,
it seems that answer is already known,
yet with this loose cannon brain taking shots at itself,
I forget easily,
that I am growing or fluctuating,
finding a balance that may appease the gods staring back at me,
there will be a day when all of our scattered thoughts combine,
I will finally be able to speak the words that you will understand.
I ramble on
to fill the gaps between words
the spaces of the silence
to cover over the static buz on the telephone
I ramble on
because you're important enough to want to catch up on my life
to tell you the stories of an hour ago and a year ago
to tell you about work
even though my work is simple and timeless
to make you feel more comfortable speaking
because mabe if I say something stupid
you might say something stupid back.
and that would make me smile
hearing us speak in our stupid language
about stupid things
I ramble on
as I'm doing right now
so please stop me
because I will ramble until I have to learn a new language to speak to you
Take some of my rambles,
I would love to hear you speak
You have lost something
Dear to you
And seek it in my eyes
You kiss my wounds
And make them deeper
You take my mind and words
As separate beasts
To the same cage
You will kill me
When the time comes
And your affection passes
Like a fever dream
And on these strings, I write a symphony of Eskimos,
Of the unknown.
I write a ballad of rhymes, almost-rhymes
And nonsensical bullshit.
I spill a little of my soul
Drop by drop
Into a song that no one will fully understand.
Not even I understand these things.
But they just seep out of me like sweat from a pore.
You make me happy
Even when you dont shower for
Because water hurts
Or when you break away from
To discuss your game
Or when you dont get out of bed until 2pm
Because you couldnt sleep
( you kept me up with you)
I love the glow in your eyes
When you discover something new
I love when you give me
As you beat me with
a stupid combo
When you strum that guitar
It feels like you
stopped the world for a minute
The anxiety goes away
And all that exists is you
You're all that exists
When the last note rings out
And you look at me
with that smile
I forget how I had to
drag you into the shower
I forget that you
can't kiss me without interupting to teach me
That all thats important
Is being happy
(And breaking the game)
The door in my mind
Has been locked for a very long time;
Probably from the smoke drifting
From the alter I've built to my misgivings
There are tally marks on my stomach
Counting how many times I just stopped
And I feel my chest turn to stone
With every breath.
Sometimes I wonder what the fear
Of a storm at sea feels like,
And if it's anything similar
To the paralysis I feel when
Someone is screaming.
There are days when I wish
I could speak in color.
When a shiver goes down my spine,
I wonder what you're saying about
Maybe life was just an accident God made
When playing with dolls
Sometimes I wish everything made sense,
And that my mind wasn't so faceted
And tangled like string
But maybe Everything is a jigsaw puzzle
With missing pieces.
Maybe we're not supposed to understand.
Or maybe there's not anything we're supposed
Maybe life is screaming and color and a storm
Maybe God is still playing with dolls.
don't know what I'm doing here,
came with high expectations
for my pretenses to fall through,
but the only one falling now is me;
I can't seem to understand,
how everyone else can do this so easily
live a life they never asked for,
as if they did and they're happy;
how could anyone be happy
in a world as cruel as ours,
where its cooler to not care
than to get angry and cry,
because there's nothing
that any of us can do to change it
what I'm saying is again,
I don't see a point to this bullshit
why fight, struggle, cry, and hurt
when the end game is the same;
dead and then forgotten, buried in the dirt
or burned and turned to ashes,
sitting pretty on a shelf or scattered to the wind
our bodies becoming nothing fast,
while our soul begins a new journey on its own
wherever that is, whatever it is
maybe I'm more ready than I thought
to taste that kind of freedom
i find that even when i sit down to read a book, before i begin, sometimes i’m hit with a wave of sadness, this heart-dropping feeling of loneliness, fear of the emotions i’m about to feel, the emptiness, the focus i’m putting on my own mind… allowing myself to face my own thoughts all alone as they run through my head… it’s a scary, weird feeling and i wish i didn’t feel like this... i need to stop being afraid of being left to myself, of being an individual. i need to find fulfillment in life, in things, in reading alone, in taking photos alone, in spending time alone, in going on a walk alone... in being alone. at the beginning of this year i wasn’t like this, i found happiness and made peace with myself when no one was around but it’s changed, because of /you/ it's changed, something’s shifted, and i want my old self back, i want it to shift back, can i reverse this? can i please take back my old self?...
what have you done to me???
All the stars in the sky couldn't outdo your shine...
sorry, that's a cliche line
so should i compare thee to a summer's day instead?
no, sorry, that's plagiarism;
i guess i'm not as good at this as i want to be,
but it seems every time i try to tell you how i feel
the words just escape me.
There's nothing original in my head,
so i resort to using poetry
that's been recycled instead. You do that to me, you know,
you take all these impressive thoughts, long words
revised from dictionaries during high school essays where
i should have been focusing on the question
but found myself
more interested by the way words with more letters
could have so little meaning; words with less letters
could store enough emotion to fill a blank void with
billions of burning lights - you could create a universe for somebody with
just four letters, but you could
simply make a small dent within the air by using nine.
l o v e
r e d u n d a n t
nine meaningless letters for a pointless word - even
the word itself acknowledges its lack of necessity.
It was upon pondering these thoughts, just now
as i write this silly little poem that's
lost its flow, lots its rhythm and rhyme just as i seem to
lose myself when i'm around you,
that i stumbled upon a discovery
and though this discovery held no comparison
to the miracle i uncovered in
discovering your existence, and the way your eyes shine warmly like lanterns
whenever you're happy (something which consequently brightens my
dark and broody spirits, lifting them out ever so slightly from the hell they reside in),
i found it to be an important discovery all the same.
See, words and letters and literary features,
they're all so... simple, and how better to communicate with another soul
than doing so simply, in language even toddlers can understand?
If a four letter word can be more meaningful
than a word containing nine letters, then maybe less
really is more.
I'm coming to my conclusion now, just-
bear with me, here. It takes a guy like me a lot of courage to admit to what he feels.
See, i was going to write about the way your smile shines
bright and beautiful like the sun, but i realised that would mean that i'd never stand a chance
because if ever i drew close enough for a kiss
you would burn me.
So here it is. Plain and simple.
I love you.
there is a plant in my room that,
with no rhyme or reason,
withers and droops and snaps
whatever the season.
at times when there is plenty of sun
enough for its buds to open
and leaves to unfurl
they remain closed tight
against the light
i do too.
there is a plant in my room that,
when oxygen is inhaled and
carbon dioxide absorbed,
it picks up its branches and tries
to let the warmth reach its skin,
to bring back its colour and bloom a little.
but the light does not warm any deeper
than a layer or two
and when the exchange is over and left
it droops again
i try too.
there is a plant in my room that
can sometimes forget its water
and its dirt that keeps it grounded.
though it knows that
its roots will shrivel,
and its petals will fall,
that the watering can will gather dust
and its tray will fill up stagnant
till the sheer weight of negligence
can tip over its pot and scatter its soil
i forget too.
there is a plant in my room that
knows one day the sun will stop streaming
and warmth won’t reach.
that no buds nor leaves will remain to hold tight.
that gaseous exchanges cease.
that layers will shed and bare branches.
that roots will disintegrate,
and that water will evaporate.
it knows one day it won’t find its way back
after tipping over one last time.
that its soil will find other
weeds to keep alive
and it will decompose.
and i will too,
for there is a plant in my room that
dies when i do