The world is the paper.
The torn corner is my world, my life.
It's my town, off the map, on the edge.
Broken, battered, unnecessary and useless.
Pathetic.
We can write all over it but
the more we do,
the less we see.
The less of a point there is
to that torn corners
already meaningless existence.
By the time
there's no more white space,
it's too late.
Another child dead, in the dirt.
An overdose due to a drug deal,
a fix
wrapped in a torn corner of
a sheet of notebook paper.
The dealer knows-
the rest of the fixes-
he throws it out of the window
as a perfect paper airplane
for the children on the street corners to find.
Candy,
they notice
the corner is missing.
It is worthless to them
but the candy is
priceless, precious.

You prepare for the worst
like a soldier in a war zone.
You crawl forward, testing every inch
in fear of being blown to bits.

Broken conversations,
empty lungs,
doors half open,
hearts almost out of love.

We used to talk of how
we used to be infinite.
But now every second now feels
like a stroke against an unforgiving current.

Our conversations broke
as the flaws of our souls
fell through the cracks of this glass foundation.

These upset words that escaped you
left the air around me a little sad,
a little awake,
and with a lot of echoes.

My lungs went empty
talking you down.

I left the door open for you.
So you can walk in
and slip in quietly-
I won't say a word.

And this heart could never go empty,
not mine.
Yours,
at this point,
I know not.

Flowers never lost their color
as long as you walked this earth.

I am so loved.
And it hurts me.
Because I don't know if I will ever be able to love them the way they love me.

When they are down and low,
I am there to pick them up and help them grow.
However when the roles are reversed,
I push away and isolate.

I don't let them love me, because it hurts me.
I don't want them to feel the pain I ache,
For if I confessed and had to watch them break along with me,
it would only cause me further to bleed.

I know everyone tells you you shouldn't face it alone,
and I bid that to be true.
However, I can't help but be consoled by the deprivation of my isolation.

So.
Here I stand in my twisted musings,
Knowing that my seclusion will lead to no means of deliverance,
but only further increase my resistance.

Nonetheless, I will reside,
for though I am deprived,
I can't help but sort of...

kind of...

enjoy this ride.

In the light of the moon
I see your face.
You laid next to me,
warm and silent.
On your side of
the bed.
I wonder if you dream
of far away places.
I wonder if you dream of
me.
What is running through
your head.
On your side of the
bed.
I wonder 'til I fall
into a deep sleep.
I dream of far away places
I dream about you.
On my side of the bed.

I found your love letter today. I couldn't open it.

And in that moment
I finally realized-
All we'll ever be,
Is just friends.

© 2014 Christina Jackson