It started with our eyes.
Mine caught yours,
and yours caught mine.
It was friendly
and innocent--
just a quick little glance.
I could not help but hope
that one day
my eyes would catch yours again,
and this time,
they would be acquainted
and we could gaze.

After came our lips.
Mine turned up into a shy smile,
and yours could not help
but copy.
It was friendly and innocent--
just a quick little grin.
I could not help but hope
that one day
my lips would talk to yours again,
with their language, and ours,
and this time,
they would be acquainted
and we could beam.

Next was out ears.
At first, we heard each other,
mostly short phrases.
It was friendly and innocent--
just a quick little chat.
I could not help but hope
that one day
our ears would listen to our lips,
and this time,
they would be acquainted
and we could listen to each other’s stories.

Soon came our noses.
We did not know each other well,
and neither did our noses.
Mine could detect the scent
of Giorgio Armani on your skin,
and yours, a sweet vanilla perfume on mine.
It was friendly and innocent--
just a quick little observation.
I could not help but hope
that one day
our noses would know our scents,
and this time,
they would be acquainted
and a blindfold could not stop me from recognizing you.

It continued with our fingers.
Occasionally, they would linger
and sometimes intertwine.
It was friendly and innocent--
just a quick little connection.
I could not help but hope
that one day
our fingers would be closely clasp
and this time,
they would be acquainted
and our left hands would both wear a ring on out fourth finger.

It ended with our hearts.
They were old and worn out,
but still loving.
The doctors said yours was slowing down,
but you disagreed,
and told them to listen to it
when I was around.
It was friendly and innocent--
just a quick little heartbeat.
I could not help but hope
that one day
our hearts would connect again
and this time,
they would be acquainted
and mine would be still and soundless, along with yours.

There was a point
when i knew that i
was going to die.
And at that moment
i couldn’t help but
think of Hazel
and infinities
and breathing
and death.
I recalled the day
when hazel was sat
next to me and we
talked about
infinities. How
between one and
two there are many,
and even more
between zero and
two. Now, i can’t
help but think:
breathing is our
largest infinity. Like
the numbers between
one and two,
breathing never
ends. But like the
person who
eventually stops
counting the number
between one and
two, my lungs get
tired. And
eventually, they too,
must
stop.

I cannot say much
about the first time we met.
But when I saw you standing there,
you took away my breath.

I’d like to know,
where your thoughts go
when you’ve left them alone.

are they under a rock,
counting the time of a clock?
or behind a tree,
waiting for you to open your eyes and see?

maybe its floating in the air
and dancing through your hair,
or a small little speck
sitting on your neck.

perhaps it still there
but you don’t care,
so you gave it a smack
and pushed it back.

now it sits in your mind all alone;
a forgotten thought waiting for the day it regains its throne.

Alone in the corner is where i sit
drowning, are my emotions in a bottomless pit

I take a deep breath and attempt to take two
my head is a jumbled emotion zoo

Three breaths
four breaths
i’m wishing for my death

Knees cuddles to my chest
i try to make my brain rest

Breath five
breath six
my life needs to be fixed

Tears spill from my eyes
and splatter on my thighs

Breath seven
breath eight
these feelings are what i hate

My emotional intelligence is becoming weak
my emotional danger is about to reach its peak

I beg for breath nine
i feel like a wilting vine

Gasping for air
my head feels like its been mauled by a bear

Breath ten?
when?

The night I attempted it
they said it was just a phase
I was not suffering,
it was just a hard day.
Little did they know
it wasn’t the first try
and I really did wish I could die.
I guess they didn’t know
all about me
and how i was an artist
underneath my sleeves.
But if they saw inside my head
they would know the truth
about that night
on the roof.
Because it was not a phase
or just a bad day,
my mind is a twisted
chaotic maze.
They would see
it happens all the time,
the depressing thoughts
that suffocate me like a vine.
Perhaps it’s best that they don’t know
the reasons
because every day to me
is suicide season.

Human.

That is what we all are.
But sometimes,
we can be more.

We are heroes.
Courageous,
benevolent,
and sprightly.

We are monsters.
Cruel,
******,
and avaricious.

We are mice.
Meek,
timid,
and reserved.

We are flamingos.
Peculiar,
distinctive,
and eccentric.

Sometimes,
I believe we forget
that inside,
we are all alike.

We may not have the same hair,
eyes,
or personality.
But our skeletons are similar,
and our hearts are the same.

No matter what,
at the end of the day,
we are all
Human.