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And so my heart tore into two
and the wind blew and blew
and finally the pieces flew
As leaves, we will fall,

when the right wind comes howling,

we will all scatter.
It finally stopped raining,
after endless hours of trying to fall
into the deep rhythms of sleep.
But the rain just kept tapping on the windows
while the wind blew like the Big Bad Wolf,
those **** plastic window frames

I lay flat on my back
while you were there by my side.
We watched as the stars slowly reappear into
the night sky,
the moon waxing.
We had our sweaters on
to keep the nasty cold bite out,
yet I was comfortable where I was,
the warmth between us enough.
Our bond, stronger than ever.

went the lightning,
and I awoke with a startle.
The wind was heaving pellets of rain
to my window
as the frame bent and swayed
in response to the wind's force.

I got up to look outside
and I saw: *nothing;

It was dark, empty,
and very cold
chilled to the bone.

*not again
is it really difficult
to want something that tastes so sweet
yet feels so painful
There are roots that
delve deep in our bones,
wrapping us like our skin.
They define who we are.

who am I?

I am learned, sophisticated,
well versed in history and language.
My companions are numbers, papers, pens, and letters.
I drive a fine silk suit: shiny, clean, fragrant...

am I, really?

Or am I
one who acts the opposite?
One who is
surrounded by those who have numbers, papers, pens, and letters as companions
whilst I am with pebbles, leaves, sticks;
driving a worn out hide made from a dying pig.

Or maybe,
I am both...


I am not common folk who act out the Streets
on a home lined with shiny rocks,
smooth paper on a lap,
twinkling fireflies hanging from the roof
whilst displaying what I've learned from being raised around uniforms and books.
I think I was just brought up, and therefore am used to, a different culture. Maybe it's time, after 5 years, that I go back to said culture and *disassociate* myself from the other(??).
Everyone is scared of Death.
I'm petrified of Death.
But am I scared to die?
no, I am not. I welcome the end with open arms.

At night I shudder under my blanket
dreaming of the paths that Death leaves
in its wake.
In the darkness of my room with thunderstorms inside my head,
I fear the hole that is left
after Death has struck.
I wonder what,
who, might come out of it:
Depression, Mourning, Sorrow, Confusion, Emptiness,
and even more Death.

I miss the good old days
when Life could be as easy as
going to bed at night worrying
about what Pokemon version to get,
how to get the latest game console,
what skill in basketball I need to improve in,
when my parents will find out I had an infraction,
how the test next day will go.

But it's funny, Life,
the more you grow in it
the more you approach Death.
"Years from now, I hope we'll still be in each others lives"

I truly wish for this.
What would You do when you can't have someone you want?
Would you
lift a finger and whisk it like a wand
wishing everything would fall in place
the way you'd want it to
in a tick of the clock ,
would you struggle with your brain
between finding a solution
and living inside your head, dreaming of


I would get up,
trek to a forest with my trusty machete
and hack away at the thickest bushes I could find.
I'd hack away, hack away,
and ignore the sag from my arms, the stress on my back,
the sweat pouring down my face like water off a cliff,
the unsteady footing caused by wet mud and unsteady, unsure legs.

I would keep hacking until I reach the end of my arduous quest,
where I would come upon a clearing--
A clearing with an aisle made of rose petals
that lead into the center,
surrounded by white chairs and sunflowers.
And Someone would be there,
in a white dress and veil, waiting for me.
this is what it feels like,

to be buried under heaps of leaves,
like gold in a treasure chest
living in the hold of the Galleons
of the Spanish Armada,
lost at sea, in the frozen
crevices of the Atlantic.

I'm still free
like air--
sweet, beautiful, fresh
who filter through
the cracks
and holes.

Nothing's changed,
I am still
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