it's the golden one that you want,
that which is burried deep inside of me,
you dont want the heart who beats the same song
for everyone it meets,
its charm blinded you into reaching
for more,
for more,
for more than that, even.
its not all of me that you love, then,
your fingers only crave the sad embrace
of my golden heart,
i'm not giving this one away.
i'm not.

How do you feel ?
Loveless,
How do you feel ?
Full of love.

A nobody in a sea of people,
Only existing in the eye of the beholder,

Reach for me if you dare,
Love me entirely if you dare.
I've tried before,
I've tried.

in the waves of any river i search for you,
on tennis courts and the old bricks of those crippled houses,
in the harmonies ancient trees make when they meet in the wind,
in the souvenirs of your crinkled hands, working their magic peeling tomatos off their branches,
i discuss you fondly, i see you vividly,
mother of my mother,
like an old love,
a decayed photograph of childhood and
loud kisses on my cheeks.

as i grow and search for a home,
the only one i wish to hold kindly in my arms is
the house of memories built upon your shoulders,
i used to be scared of its ghosts before i learnt about
the passage of time and,
the love it leaves behind.

all the faces full of paint, nailed to the walls,
the abstract shapes of your most prized possessions,
copies with the wrong colours, the lines so thin i thought they would disappear if i looked tightly enough,
unearthed mysteries for the child  i still was.

you were the first to make me breathe out life.
you gave me all the poetry i hold inside.

and in that happiness i see myself becoming
the funniest person i ever met,
this is my most caring, most daring self.
still,
i loathe the selfishness hiding behind my freedom,
i loathe my need for more,
i loathe my undying devotion to desires so unreachable they become almost laughable.
and still i am happy, i can just tell.

i wanna untangle myself from the ashes of the world
we are too rotten to be grateful
horrid little creatures of the land, stomping on it, spitting on it,
too putrid to deserve the right to make amends.

You, who has been pretty all of your life,
the world loves your skin, the crowd loves the thin
curves and contours of your soft body.

You, who is loud like a tornado,
bright as the thunder shakes the earth,
taking up space, filling it up, making it yours.

You, who knew what being coddled truly means,
asking for it then getting the sweet delivery,
the grace of a child, its want for engulfing love.

You, who looks at me just like
I named every planet in the sky on a whim,
and maybe, just maybe, I could have,

But I am just me,
I am just me.

Mine and everyone else's, it seems ;
I should send you poetry, singing your louanges,
your graces, your beauty. Words of god,
Gratefulness unyielding, pouring from every ounce of
my exhausting body.
Let me stop speaking, then ;
So your voice can fill the blank,
teaching us the ways in which we all lack,
humbling us, making you rise.

Have you heard the story, of the man inside the earth ?
Mouths say he stays holding it all, this miracle,
Thanks to all his hainous disdain for anything else
𝑏𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑒.

Bow down to his feet, kiss them a little bit.
He, who surely must truly be
The Man above us all.