i wrote a lot of great poetry when i was in love
i wrote even better poetry when i was in pain
i wrote the best poetry when i realized that the two emotions were actually the same.

the bruises on my legs mark the lies of you from a past when all I did was bleed on your bed sheets and whine about the aesthetics of any place that didn't feel like home, that didn't feel like you. but I digress. but I digress.

My eyes are glazed over from all the times I have said, “I love you”.
Like a blank slate, my soul is empty.
My tongue hurts from all the times I asked, "What are we?"
Instead of just waiting and letting time tell its tale.
My body aches from grabbing my stomach and questioning, "Why can't I lose this weight!"
I'd feel so much more beautiful if it would just leave!
My shoulders crash into the couch cushions
I stare at my phone, my laptop, then my floor.
"When will he reply to me?" I wonder.
I have been waiting on a response all night long.
All day. All year. All of my life. I have been waiting.
But will I ever find peace in anything I am given?
"Why isn't anything ever enough?" I ponder.
Do I simply overlook the beauty in the things closest to me?
The way my hair curls up over my ears,
The way one of my teeth is a little crooked.
Are these the little things I have never appreciated because I have always expected someone else to appreciate them for me?
"When will I be satisfied?" I question myself in the mirror.
Then softly whisper a response,
"Never."

I yearn for a beautiful mind.
I sit crossed legged on the floor a foot from my tall bookcase, trying to absorb the wealth of knowledge that hides between the pages. If only I could stop time and read them all. I would read everything.
I would read the lines on every person's face, the history of each road and the story behind each wood, but time is forever chasing me.
I have put a bookmark in the pages of life, perhaps when I am old I will have the mind I so wish to have.