happily under your spell

you make me vulnerable,

i can’t even function like a normal human being when you’re around.

it’s out of my control,

my eyes draw circles around your lips and i have to look away because i forget how long i’ve been staring.

you make my mind mush

and that’s okay. 

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what’re you looking for?

i don’t know what to tell you,

only that you’ve been looking in the wrong places. 

this is the climb

and when i want to give up,

i think of where i want to be.

i visualize victory and joy and peace

and

take a breath.

i want to be better.

i want more than this.

so i continue to amad,

and stand firm and still.

i’m not giving up this time,

no, not until i see the finish line.

 

 

let go

i am at an age

where i am compelled to

seek

yet

you keep pulling me back 

into these boring, repetitive 

scenarios. 

let go of me.

the things i won’t tell you

sometimes i blame myself

for your lack of interest in me.

how do you await heartbreak?

if the anticipation doesn’t cut through you,

his voice will. 

red light (green light)

being still makes me feel safe.

as if movement is enough to freshly shatter the broken pieces that have been healing.

it is when i must move

left

right

left

right,

that i fear i will slip

and fall.

it’s the fall that hurts,

bruises,

and scars.

if i stay still,

maybe i’ll save myself from it all,

or maybe fear has just convinced me that the place that i am in is 

“safe and sound,”

but really,

i could be sitting on land waiting to crumble. 

i am so alive

i don’t understand how some people

do not feel as deeply as i.

every infliction, fluctuation, nervous touch upon my heart,

seeps into my being and is circulated throughout my veins.

this is not what pathetic looks like.

this is not what weak looks like.

this is what a burning heart looks like

and how lungs filled with crisp, piercing air inhale 

and then exhale.

this is life.

deep,

true,

horribly beautiful,

frightening and

raw life.

i am so alive.

to forget

sometimes i find myself wishing

my coffee was alcohol.

 

i drink it in the morning and it leaves

me awake in bed

and during the night,

all i have is memories in my head.

aloud.

“i silently read 

and

i silently write.”

what an internal juxtaposition.

in all that silence, there is a billowing cry. 

can you hear it?