i miss the days when
i was content with what we shared
when i had hope we could be more
but didn't want it

i miss the days when
your smile, i thought, could be for me
when we were simpler
and feelings easier

i miss the days when
we were younger and closer
when i knew you better
when i knew me better

but you feel different, and not quite so close
and i want more
and oh, i wish i didn't
because when it was just you and me,
i was content

i wish i could see myself through your eyes
and convince myself i'm beautiful

growth is charcoal-smudged fingers
and the rustle of papers

growth is smiles with a little less pain
but also a little less innocence

growth is stopping to gaze up at the stars
when it's three am and the whole world is asleep

growth is breaking and healing and breaking
the shards of your thoughts cupped gently in your shaking hands

growth is accepting distance
and demanding closeness

growth is forgiveness,
and growth is pain,
and growth is hope,
but growth is always
good

my skin is blue with depression
my breaths are yellow with anxiety
i bleed red from anger
and my heart is grey with apathy

i love in chocolate browns
i hurt in deep maroons
i sleep with the deepest of blacks
i speak with the quietest of greens

my shame is pale orange
a sickly, strange color
it coats my fingertips
and it hurts to look at

my fear is a midnight blue
soothing in its constancy
it sings to me in the ruddy moments
it calms me during the greyest of days

my loneliness is a royal purple
in the paintings of my youth
it stands out
it overpowers all other colors

i live in shades of colors
together they paint a picture
of a person
or, a palette

windows in train cars
full of grime and stray fingerprints
we exchange glances
via our reflections
distorted through glass
and our own warped perceptions
of those around us

no words are spoken
the silence revered

we exist in bubbles;
no, not bubbles
we are trees
we whisper quietly
words of no meaning
and we reach so silently
for each other
but cannot move

i wish i could tell you

everything

the fights
the tearful nights
the pain and the hurt

it's so hard to keep things from you
because your eyes hold concern
and you worry for me
i can see it

but i've been taught,
brainwashed,
trained

and the very thought of those words leaving me
the taste of my confession on my lips
makes my being so very, very afraid

and sweetheart, you're
not in a position
to protect me
but
i still
love you

sometimes
talking to You feels like
leaving a message on an answering machine
how do i know You can hear me?
call me selfish,
but i wish i could see Your face