i wear you on my sleeve,
because you are all of my emotions
i’ve told you to leave,
but you just won’t listen.
but i wouldn’t want you to either,
you make me feel alive.
alive in a way that haunts me at night.
when i can’t sleep until i’ve thought of you at least a billion times.
truly, these feelings should not be crawling in my brain.
but they are.
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.
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
that i fear i will slip
it’s the fall that hurts,
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,”
i could be sitting on land waiting to crumble.
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 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.
if you are not suffocating,
you are afloat only by the constant churning of your belly.