strong>is spending more time
waiting than moving,
living?

If so:

is spending more time
remembering than making,
mourning?
I just need some
Different points of views

Sometimes the galaxies
Are on my shoes

Fitting perfectly
Into this sky of hues

Like im navigating winds
With the palm of my hands

Bare and free
Karmatic sleep
I never thought it was permanent,
But I knew it was good.
surrounded by darkness and the secrets you kept from me. I close my eyes and place my hands together, i ask of him, why does he keep lying to me? I stumble to my feet and grab the half full bottle of whiskey, I pop open the cap and drown my throat with the venomous substance.
I got so tired of
Trying
To
Drag you reluctantly
Towards success

You don’t

See
Hear
Grasp

Me

Where I am going
Who I am
And why

How can

She

Possibly know better than me

???

Your biased mind has taught you so well

I will continue

Forward
Now
That

I have cut

Away
From
You

Sailing is so
Smooth
Without
All
That
Dead
Weight

Dragging me down
Holding me back

Moving forward in
Optimistic
Lightness
Fast
Away from
Your
Drama
I'm being selfish with you, I'm sorry.
It's just that, I'm in love with you, really.
It's hard for me to say goodbye to you,
once we do I stay wondering if you're thinking of me too?
The sound of a distant highway
a constant noise, but never the same
much like my thoughts, an endless stream
during the day and well into my dream
The only respite, during the last hours of the night
no longer the burden to carry

Until the next day
Be the one in control.
Don't wait for him to decide when he wants to call you.
jess Feb 12
the sound between the music is comforting to me,
it's almost like a void -
but a happy one.
it gives you a slight moment of euphoria,
time to think about, time.
time advancing.
time.
it lasts long enough for you to think.
the static is the anticipation of,
"whats next?"
a soft presence.
it appears for only a moment,
time sails on.
-j.p.
idk what this is but it was in my notes with the prompt of "Write about a record player"
The weekly Friday recounting
of everything I've said:
Did I hurt someone's feelings?
That's what I really dread.
Was I rude to my cashier?
Maybe only in my head.
Didn't talk to any friends.
No one close to me is dear.

Almost two years in this city
and no one even noticed.
You'd think they'd have some pity
for someone so focused
on never saying the wrong thing
and therefore nothing at all.
"Social anxiety" is what it's called

but I don't want that.
A therapist wears an expensive hat;
I wear my hair different ways
every day in hopes someone
will say anything.

They never do
and neither do I.
I don't even have the audacity to cry.
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