the one

thoughts are racing through my head,

i have no words to give them meaning

and there’s this lingering, empty feeling

- reminding me we are apart

the nights are cold and sleepless

i have no one but myself to blame

my body, paralyzed by my own brain

- and my own manifested weakness

i anticipate my return to you

and though i know i left

i’ve become emotionally bereft

- at the absence of your being

i love you, my sweet city of angels

my home, my heart, my muse

i’ll return to you when i’m ready

- you’ll always be the one i choose

soaked

the cold wind hits my face and i immediately freeze. i try to take a deep breath but my lungs refuse to take in any more of this chilled-air... i feel like i’m gasping for clarity. my hands are numb and shaky, making the smallest of tasks significantly harder, slower... impossible? i fumble my car keys and end up dropping them in the puddle between my soaked flats.


i’m cold.
everything is wet.
i can no longer feel my face.


i’m willingly driving into the darkness this time, hoping to find my light on the other side. i have the most intense feeling that i am exactly where i am supposed to be, and that feeling alone offers enough warmth during my first cold winter.

me too

there's broken glass on the bathroom floor again. i sometimes wonder if our neighbors can hear the shatters through their wall, and if so, do they care. as i sweep up the pieces i can see my reflection on the ground looking pale. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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you always lovingly suggest i wear pants to school the next day, "you don't want anyone asking you what happened."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

i nod. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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as i pick up the last piece of glass with my fingers i realize how fragile we all are; your temper, my body, our family. maybe one day we can keep something intact for once. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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i wish I could say she grew old right before my eyes, but i don't believe that to be true. she appeared to inherit two decades worth of wrinkles and a slightly less energetic stride overnight. 

i have taken her aging body with a slight disinterest, until thinking of my own. when before she would rise at dawn and stay up past midnight, she now lays and rises to the sunlight, in almost complete synchronicity.  will i too wake up one morning with a new set of lines upon my face? 

will i move slower to accommodate life's change of pace? 

may you find the flowers and breeze you have always wanted.

i hope you have gained the confidence to wear your hair up like you practiced so many times before leaving the house with it down. i expect that your lips are still stained red from the beet juice you religiously drink every morning. and that you still smell of that sunflower perfume, the one that always made me sneeze. i sometimes miss your voice telling me to talk more, instead of just taking you in. 

i hope you found those flowers, and figured out that you are the breeze. 

find inspiration in the shadows.
the chords you have been so desperately searching for are at the bottom of that bottle; be careful not to drink away the melody again.

find the blank pages that you swore you would fill with ease and dedicate them to your past. find the soft tissue that you violently and repeatedly abuse, it won't be going anywhere.

find and differentiate, between darkness and shadows. don't be fooled by the night's invitation to dance and lay with her. when it's this dark in our smoke-filled corner, it's hard to tell who's who any more.

presence

it's a connection built lifetimes ago, full of beautiful vulnerability.

perhaps it's a coincidence in the crossing of our paths. perhaps my mind isn't used to all the openness my heart is willing to extend. there's a definite change in the perception of my being, my presence. there's a leap that has been taken in the trust of your words. perhaps it was a mere coincidence, but i feel as though i may have loved you before. something inside of me reaches out in familiarity and yearning. perhaps we've been down this road before, though i don't seem to recall.

there's a sweet stillness within her. 

she always knows where to place her hands and how to have her head just slightly tilted. she listens intensely, nodding in agreement every few minutes while never breaking her eye contact. there's this sweet smirk she gives when you compliment her and it makes her entire face glow. she makes you feel like there is no one else who could possibly be more important or interesting than you. 

 i wonder who listens to her stories or what drives her excitement. i've actually never asked her about herself, i don't know that anyone has.

cuts

you can pretend you've never counted, but i know those scars on your arms are actually tally marks and the exact amount is burned into your mind. i can see that every scab is a map and your bruises are invitations to sleepless nights. 

you can stop hiding all the bandaids and iodine, since we all know it doesn't do much anyway. at least the stinging is real... perhaps later you can show me the ones you've managed to keep covered. 

feel free to lose control now.  scream, get loud. it would be a wonderful change from the cold silence.

smoke

walking into smoke-filled rooms with silhouettes

you start moving closer to their flowered scents 

you sense the warmth coming off their skin 

until you can finally see their face's grins

you see the aches and pains on lit-up faces

inked, soft skin, and their close embraces

sober yet dizzy, you try to stay still

you keep your hands steady only through pure will

they finish their dance, some finish their drinks

you shake off the feeling of being in sync 

until the next night, you're summoned to come

you can keep fighting it, you'll always succumb