I tried.
I did.
I lied.
I did.
I failed.
I did.
I cried.
I did.
I blamed.
I did.
I stopped
I did
I waited.
I did

I changed

Everything has changed
Even the honesty in me

I feel like a puddle in front of a school.
Having children jump in me one after another as they see me on the ground.
But every time you jump in a puddle,
the water disperses..
the puddle gets smaller from the water splashing out.
And oh my,
far too many feet have dipped their toes into the hollows of my being for me to feel functional.
I feel as if I’m shrinking like that puddle in a sense.
Tainted by ***** shoes making permanent alterations to my pre-existing form.
Maybe sometimes there’s no “adaptive responses.”
The only way for the puddle to fill and grow again,
is for more rain to fall.
But there are no clouds in this sky of “me.”

“..And just like that,
Emotions shifted faster than the changing seasons-
Undoubtedly as the leaves did on my favorite tree,
I seemed to be falling-
Falling a little bit more in love with you during each passing day,
But unlike the trees and the seasons-
I don’t see an end to this decent...”


                                  Alysia Marie 2018 ©

The cicadas were chirping
(or maybe screaming)
moments ago.
It was a nice sound,
if bittersweet.

This morning I said
“summer mornings are nice.
I never enjoy them as much as I should.”

I did today and and I want to now.

I don’t want to spend the last day of summer
alone,
in my room,
waiting.

Saying I’m doing something
but really,
all I do in here
is wait.

To be alive,
First and foremost, is to love.
If you haven’t loved, you haven’t lived.
You haven’t seen all that this world can give.

It can give, but it will take away.
The cost of living is that you feel.
You feel, and you feel and you feel.
Until your pain seems just unreal.

Someone once said,
“I think, therefore I am”
But that might be wrong,
You know you are,
When you laugh too hard,
When you cry too much,
When you speak too loudly,
When you’re much too proudly
In love.

You can think and feel
and touch and smell,
and do all these things to survive,
but when it’s all too much,
that’s when you know you’re alive.

What is the point of love,
if it be never-lasting?
This intense hormone-driven
connection
serves to satisfy a few present moments.
We may remember,
but only because it was our first.
And I may regret
becoming so embittered,
at so young an age.

Every moment spent with you,
I can delay these thoughts.
But alone,
on a fruitless Sunday,
with nothing to satisfy me,
I think to myself
that we are more lonely-
that I am more lonely-
than I want to believe.

The same stifled,
recycled air
has been circulating
in this glass box.

My body inhabits it,
never fully exhaling lest
I lose sight
of the things in front of me.
Never fully stretching lest
I break the glass,
and all my work falls apart.

But the cage has dissolved,
until I re-build it again later.
the glass has simply melted away,
until I will come back.
to put pen to paper,
for the last year.

So now I breathe
the tendrils of the night air,
the warm atmosphere
as you play with my hair.
I breathe in the time before me,
and exhale everything
that I’ve been ignoring.