You and your romantic ways, your countless list of reasons, your lovely lilac haze
Shadowed only by your fears there's not a universe where I stay.

Battled me.

And all my disarray
The timing and the distance, my thoughts that force resistance.
My lack of patience sure put up a fight, and mix her with my temper and we'll be here all night.
My fear, always ready to run, pulling me back behind the wall I built, away from the warmth of your sun.

The same girl with the most extreme opinion
draws her lines in sharpie.
Won’t speak to anyone
who colors outside them.

I remain her friend
because my spine is too loose
to hold true under weight.

She keeps saying
“If you disagree, you’re part of the problem,”
and I justify our friendship
by telling myself
that holding still,
keeping quiet,
lets me hear
past her static.

But somewhere underneath
it bothers me
that I don’t stand up and say
what the **** are you blabbing about,
you idiot.

It feels like a bulge
under my jugular notch.
That pressure when someone’s talking
and you want to speak
but must wait your turn.

A tingling, burning sensation
just behind the sternum.

If it had looks,
it’s the flame of a candle
someone just put the lid back on.
It slowly extinguishes,
leaving smoke
to fill the vacuum.

30 days ago, I set a challenge for myself:
       No ***, for 6 months.

I am on day 31.
        That means there are 149 days to go.

This is
the single  
most idiotic
decision I have made in a long time.

A wild rose is a lasting thing
Growing amongst the ruins
Full of life despite neglect
And you know the place one blooms

A wild rose is a pretty thing
To decorate your room
All pink and leafy splendor
To cheer away the gloom

A wild rose is a thorny thing
Its vines tear you apart
You can’t grasp it directly
Work gently towards the heart

Push aside its catching strands
Leave the petals strewn
Take the freshest flowers
For more will blossom soon

A wild rose is a stubborn thing
You may plant it if you dare
Take a cutting from its base
But make your choice with care

For a wild rose is a feral thing
You can’t charm it to your will
Forever spreading beauty
Is its nature to fulfill

now
and then
i like
to turn off
the lights
let the moon
and instinct
guide me
swallowed
by the dark
there is no path
   to choose
only chance;
blind luck
balancing upon
   the finest of lines

eyes will adapt
to the pitiful offering
of the clouded crescent
but
there is neither
enough silvery light
nor confidence
to be sure
of safety
for long

in the enveloping darkness
anxiety rises
fear overpowers
and faith
in the self
becomes questionable;
headlights
are flicked on again
in panicked haste

as the road
and its obstacles
become clear once more
i am left
wondering
if i truly believed
i could navigate
without the help
being offered
or
if i simply
wanted to
force myself
into failure

A year has passed,
and I am still writing
poems—pleas—for her

Three years,
and my stubborn heart
still yearns for hers

It has been so long,
and I fear I may have
dreamt you, dear one