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.
i am so alive.
sometimes i find myself wishing
my coffee was alcohol.
“i silently read
i silently write.”
what an internal juxtaposition.
in all that silence, there is a billowing cry.
can you hear it?
my feelings keep whining in my ear,
whispering things that i don’t wanna hear,
branding their curse onto my shoulders,
a heavy weight like a ton of boulders.
my heart wrenches forward in an attempt to escape the torment,
but the waging war won’t give my heart and mind a moment.
i’m bruised all over,
my skin was warm,
but it’s getting colder.
the voice of truth can get drained out by the rain,
i try to yell and thrash against my brain,
but the pain…
it has adopted my name.
i hardly have a rhyme scheme
for my poetry
because i feel like it
pushes thoughts into superficial forms.
it may sound good to the reader,
but it’s no longer flesh from my bones.
it’s neatly put into a row or stacked into a pattern
but skeletons don’t put themselves together,
they fall into a random, scrambled, beautiful, mess.
that fact is,
you don’t know me so well,
and i shouldn’t be hurt by your lack of knowledge of whether i prefer purple or blue,
but i can’t help but be disappointed in you.
and at the same time, it’s my fault too,
i kept to myself because you wouldn’t include,
me in the world you shared with
i get that time has been lost and neglected and laid aside,
but i think it’s time that we’ve tried,
to get to know one another.
thoughts like fists around my throat,
growing unconscious from its tight hold,
this was how i used to fall asleep.