i spent sleepless nights alone in my bed,
caccooned in white sheets
reaching
for you,
resting my fingertips on myself in an
attempt to mimic what you may do
if you were here.

not out of lust but
longing for you
and your touch,
your presence,
your
scent,
your gaze.

without your body, soft but solid
and your petal-veined skin

hr.

In wakefulness,
Your heartbeat stutters in its attempts to make peace with the impulsive evening rain.
But when you soak in the fog and embrace the coolness of winter's breath,
you will find that it will quietly sew itself into the scars that line your heart, and illuminate through your wounds in the shape of a dying ember, radiating warmth.

There is so much beyond my bedroom door.
But for too long I stay,
Pacing along the same old floor,
Until my world turns still and gray.

I ask myself, am I ready to leave?
So long my peace of mind.
But for my past life, I will grieve
As I  leave it all behind

I climbed the highest mountains, saw the greenest trees.
Walked along the lonely trails.
Counted fish swimming in the bluest seas,
As I leaned against the ship’s billowing sails.

To settle down again will be tough,
But for one life, I’ve experienced more than enough.

gloves-off, she
leans on her back foot
moves fast and hides tired eyes
behind a battle-blue arm  

from a punch-bloodied mouth
she spills and spits words out on canvas
makes way for cool air- tries to
pacify lungs before they explode, calm
a heart that longs to rebel

she needs to feel loved, but can
be understood only by tracing braille-like-trauma
on her Vaseline skin-
and if she’s not out for the count
she doesn't keep still

the voyage of innumerable miles
furnished strength, of a thousand sails
guiding each yonder the reach
off to a boundless expanse
of the new tomorrow

in countenance
with arms outstretched
to tolerate contentment
to acclimate to the average
and want for far less
smiling

I found that the cracks in my skin began to heal whenever the moonlight lingered by my window,
during the nights when I let the wind bring in its cooling remedies.

I would sit still, lost in my head,  
With a storm brewing in my swollen heart,
Ruminating as I opened my eyes,  
And I watched the dainty fabric of my curtains as they danced with the cold breeze.
Slowly sunlight leaked into the sky as birds sang their delicate songs,

And I found my restlessness fast asleep on my palms.
For a moment, time was standing still and I was...

healing.

there's a war waging on in my head

as it turns out, staying inside these walls while the world passes us by
isn't the best for our creative minds, or is it?
3 am often hits me like a brick and is met with tired eyes and yet another restless night.
crumbled, torn up pages collect in the corner.
the contents will consist of unfinished pieces
and disconnected thoughts;
acting as a representation of my muddled mind.
and it could very well be the wine,
but this state of being is beginning
to feel all too artificial.  
its almost as if we were programmed by our creators only to be destroyed.
and those of us who lack conformity are sent down an assembly line labeled as ‘defective.'  
Our box will read, "Lonely twenty something-year-olds with mild to moderate ******* addictions. CAUTION: has a temper."  

But darling, don't be fooled:
for we are all the same.
We may be hiding behind
our individuality or lack thereof,
but we are, in fact,
only pawns in a game.

Restless.
The unknown and the very familiar knocking on your door.
Everyday.
Forcing you to have them make their way through.
You.
Breathing in and out, you try to be one with everything around you.
Wind.
Thinking the rain would be refreshing but today you can’t smell a thing.
Walking.
So restless and no control so having to surrender and give in.

To everything.
To everything, sometimes it gets so old to be dealing with the same things.
And not knowing if they will be what you hoped they would be.

So nice to just be able to be in the moment.
So nice to be able to share it.
So nice to have it all for yourself and not care whoever else is there.

Sing.
Breathing, or just making noises that you’re feeling like making.
Moving.
Not fighting your body in moving and movements in moments.
Cuddling.
Under a sheet and really loving somebody, their body.
Noticing.
And smiling and strechting, take a little breather.
Waking.
You know you’ve been through the night and there’s a new beginning.

Always hard and not very interesting and somebody will be taking your place.
Whether you’re rushing, stressing or forced to be resting.
Always starting over and over but oh, sometimes these moments...
They feel, taste, smell and look just so amazing.

And so you’re jumping and floating into the unknown or the very familiar.
And you’re opening the door.
Oh please, just open up that door.
I’m knocking...
I know you hear me.

Train horns pierce the muggy night.
Persistent in their cacophony.
They shake the walls and sound the time.
Like midnight roosters.

I shift beneath my stuffy sheets.
Roused from fitful sleep.
My eyes move to the bedroom window.
Drawn to the alure of night.

The moonlight has me in a trance.
Stray beams beckon me.
Dancing light to call me closer.
Through intermittent haze.

Now I feel the fog behind my eyes.
The night's hold has loosened.
I drift away until I'm awoken by birds,
Or the siren songs of boxcars.