everybody talks about life. how great and how sad it is at times but nobody seems to elucidate the dread of living your life on sidelines. how painful it is to let every moment slip up for the hopes of it all.
we forget to feel to see to hear to sense in general. the morning rushed and evenings quiet nights hollow and words a burden  the expectations shattered, prayers unanswered and wishes that never met this truly all what we possess? and with all that time still ticks and we forget to live those little moments. we are all quite aware that this is our last life,  the last breath the last fight so why why are we in such a rush. as a kid restlessly waiting for being a teenager as a teen agitated to become young adults and as young adults dreaming for a quiet tranquil seniority and as elderly craving for the sweet  age of innocence and carelessness. this is your life your view your opinions your thoughts your air your breath your words so sink sink in deep feel it intensely declare it profoundly live. and as you are there sinking back in the realm of momentarily funny reels and stuck in the painted picture of others in social media i want you to take a deep breath the deepest you could breath hold it as long as your lungs could possibly could and exhale it as loud as you can immense yourself too and promise promise the little one the little zygote that cried in the embrace  of your mother The tiny spark that fed on the umbilical cord—the little zygote that braved the trek through your mother’s ****** to start your story. promise promise you will experience promise you will escapade promise you will embrace  promise you will feel and promise you will perceive. promise you will live.

I held your eyes,
When I knew you wanted to die.
I held my tongue,
When you asked, “are you done?”

I held myself,
While everyone rushed to hold you.
You spoke like you knew all the right ways to hurt me,
But you sat there and cried,
In the silence after screams,
While I stared at the open sky.

I still have your letter,
Telling me that you trust me,
That I was beautiful,
Sitting in a box beneath my bed.
And now you can’t pick up the phone,
Or answer my texts.
I sleep above the burdens of my love,
Every night,
it tugs, incessantly, silently,
And there is nothing I can do.

I can still feel the door on my back,
My knees against my chest.
You, standing stoically on the other side,
Oh, how I try to imagine what your face held,
As I bared my heart to you in the darkness,
Every vein so carefully shielded by bone.
“Are you done?”
Am I done? Am I well and truly done?
The words ring in my head,
Even now, as I watch the moon rise and fall.
I don’t remember what I said that day,
But I remember footsteps receding down the stairs,
A door slammed shut,
Taking with it all of my air.
I remember the cold floor on my cheek,
My chipped nails digging into flesh,
To keep my own heart inside of me,
To keep it beating, breathing.

And still, you thought you could touch the knife,
Twist it, even.
But I am not a stagnant creature,
I will not be bit once, and reach into your jaws a second time.
And you, more than anyone taught me —
What is love but conditional?

She is the life,
He is the death.
She was mistreated,
He held no breath.
She hoped to end,
He fought to stay.
She kissed him once—
He rose,
She slipped away.

You cannot swim,
So do not drown in me.
You cannot dance,
So do not break your legs trying.
You cannot fly,
So do not starve yourself, kneeling at your bed,
praying your ribs turn to wings.

Up,
   Once.
Down, down,
             Twice.

Art is the only good we will ever do,

Pas,
     Pas,
            [end]
Curtains. Bow. Open your eyes.

I do not have the words
to tell you how beautiful you are.
             Ô, ballerine, comme je te méprise.

My art rots inside me.

It is ridiculous,
To be here in this world,
In this body.
It is stupid to love by my blood than by my heart,
And who allowed the maniacs to have minds?
Who attached thinking and knowing to peril?
Why have history’s artists scoured for an answer,
Tirelessly,
Fully and utterly,
When the only answer they found was the ending.
The closing of the last chapter, the last word on the page.
When all you can do is stare at the ink and wonder,
Where is the rest?
This must be all there is.

It takes one look into your eyes,
and I can tell you're not alright.
The words you don't say aloud
lay heavy on your chest at night.
Every time you cry
I wish I was allowed
to give you a reason why,
a will to live, a will to fight.
I want you to be alright.

It took one look into your eyes
to know you would rise
high into the sky
after you said your last goodbye.

i spent my childhood outside.
screams and rough slaps punctuated
dinner time, and the wind became a familiar feel.
“didn’t i want it? why would i act like that
if i didn’t? why would i misbehave, bare my teeth and bite  
if i didn’t want this?” pull the collar tight and watch me
beg for more. i whine out my forgiveness, waiting for a
drop of love, and i begin to wonder, what if this is love?
chained to a sharp, rusty fence, waiting for warmth,
i watch the sun go down. i am loved, my mother says.
i am safe, my mother says.  she locks the dog door.

i learned to slip by, padded paws across carpet,
trained my ears to know their voices, trained
fear into my heart, traced love into my heart,
but no reward awaited. no gentle touch, just
another chance to put my training to use. i
grew up, perfect and pristine in all the ways it
mattered. i grew up, colourful and careful, in
all the ways nobody noticed. it ached.

in the glow of rose vanilla candles, im pinned.
i lie in bed, hit after hit, asking for more, bleeding. i
come, and ask again. it feels good, shouldn’t it? why should it?
i smile, sobbing, and ask for more, until i cannot no longer, when i
come and come to, to soft caresses and carefully spoken coos.
this is love? i whisper. i am safe? i question. i embrace my neck.  
outside, the world sands down my past, icy and frostbitten.
i stay inside. it is warm, and there is no rusty fence to hold me
back, and as someone's arms surround me, i know
this is love.

in a way.

God I miss you; I miss every bit of you
But I have to let you go
Goodbye to the boy with soft fluffy hair and golden eyes
Goodbye to the boy I would’ve stayed up to any hour to be with
Goodbye to the boy who made me feel more than I ever have before
Goodbye to every piece of you that cared and every piece that ran from me

Goodbye to the boy with the angelic voice
Goodbye to the boy with the strategic mind
Goodbye to the boy who always knew how to hurt me
Goodbye to the boy whose smile made it better
Goodbye to the boy I cried for
Goodbye my love who never quite was “my” love
I’ll see you again one day

Am I too young to miss the past
Am I too old to enjoy the rain
Too young to notice the change
Too old to be immature

Or maybe too young to think when to blink
in fear I’ll miss the bliss if I stop to think

Or maybe age isn’t real
Just there to control when we do what
When we should be embarrassed to cry,
or when to start to live our lives,
and with a blink of an eye
you’re caught barely alive,
wore out from existence of time

I hate how many words I've wasted
Just thinking of you
How many poems pile
The washed away blood
In my bathroom tiles
Which have haunted me
Since I first spoke your name
A title so mistaken
It has a different ring to it
Nowadays